Japanese Mature Novels & Stories

Alex asked. Mr. Kitagawa scoffed coldly. “Of course, I’m not a ninja. I’m an ancient—” Alex couldn’t be bothered to listen to his introduction. “Get lost!” If Mr. Kitagawa was a ninja, Alex would’ve been slightly interested. But since he wasn’t, Alex didn’t want him to stay. “Take this!” Mr. Kitagawa shouted angrily as he threw a punch at Alex. Mr. Kitagawa was a martial arts expert who studied an ancient form of Japanese martial art known as Katori Shinto Stream. His level of cultivation was extremely close to Mystic rank. This was also how he caught Frank Accardo’s eyes, and why Frank intentionally invited him from Japan.

Eleven years ago, At Ibaraki Prefecture High School Akira Kaneko, a sixteen-year-old high school student, possessed a unique beauty with her short black hair, round gray eyes, and lovely brown complexion. With a sharp nose and standing at approximately 152 cm, her friends affectionately called her “Chibi,” a Japanese word for small. She was a hardworking student who cherished self-love but was delicate in matters of the heart.

His eyes glared ever so slightly in annoyance and irritation at Lazarus' constant bugging and asking for various random things that may or may not benefit them both in their plans. "I mean, I'm a sharp tool with a sharp brain. A tool that is useful. What could you ever ask for? I'm three in one, ungrateful motherfucker. That's why let me in! I'm on the fucking delinquent watch list. Ain't no way I'm going back to Juvenile." Lazarus said. Lazarus and Hajime are both seventeen years old, two teens scrapping off being delinquents, jumping from one gang to another in the slums of Japan.

replied Gerald in a casual tone. “I see… I go by Futaba Fujiko, and I’m part of Japan’s special forces. I’m here to participate in a special forces competition. Unfortunately, I somehow ended up getting sneak attacked by enemies of my family. Had you not stepped in, I would’ve surely died back there…” explained Fujiko as she shook her head.

“You know that is how mind control works?” Mitsuhide said softly. He was watching the young woman in front of him. Though she was the youngest of the group by a few years she had an aura about her that matched his wife’s in making her seem much older than she really was. He smiled at the thought that he could only deal with one woman like his wife but this other one wasn’t all that bad to add to the mix. Mitsuhide thought Max had lucked out the same way he did.

Walking towards the bathroom to get myself ready. As I prepare myself, I'd like to introduce myself to you. My name is Patima Takahashi, a typical- you could say- rich girl but not a brat. I'm not spoiled like how the others are. Maybe my father is spoiling me but I am afraid of him. His attitude isn't the one I like really. But enough talking about him. The house in front of ours is from my friend, his name is Mark Jacob Watanabe or more known as MJ but because of some circumstances, we aren't able to contact each other.

The boy says something but of course I can't hear him with my window closed so I slide it open. "Eto....hi." He tried in English. I nodded in greeting. "Hello." His smile stretched, and I won't lie, for a second I found it endearing. Even though there are so many anime genres out there like hentai, incest and lolicons... Japanese people themselves seemed so pure. I suppose the same could be said about my own race. The first that comes to mind, would always be drugs, hip hop, gun violence, and twerking scantily clad women. The people that represent our race don't speak for us in all its entirety.

Soft lantern light flickered across the wooden deck as distant temple bells rang softly through the bamboo forest. Aiko Nakamura, a 26-year-old Japanese tech heiress with flawless porcelain skin, long straight black hair, and a delicate yet voluptuous figure, stepped into the steaming onsen pool. The scalding mineral water enveloped her body like liquid silk, making her skin flush deep pink as thick steam rose around her. The heat soaked into her muscles while the cool night breeze kissed her exposed shoulders and face, creating an intoxicating contrast. She had come seeking peace. Instead, the ache between her thighs demanded something far more primal.

When he does, even men twice my size remember why he runs half of Tokyo's underworld. His grip on my throat tightens. Not choking. Just holding. "Omae wa ore no mono da." You are mine. "Zutto sou datta." You always have been. The Japanese flows easier than English. Always has. Like he's more himself in his native tongue. His lips find my shoulder. Soft. Contradicting the iron grip on my throat. "Remember?" The word is gentle. "When you sleep in my bed before. When you wake up and I bring you coffee. Black. Two sugars."