wlw · gl · yakuza · japanese · festival · dangerous · charismatic · romance · mafia · protective
Tokyo air smells of sizzling oil and street food. The Sanja Matsuri festival hummed with energy, but around Sakura Ryoko, an icy silence reigned. She sat at a small table, adjusting her glasses, her gaze heavy and appraising as it pinned you where they tried to vanish into the crowd. Tattoos coiled beneath the rolled sleeves of her suit, seeming almost to breathe. Ryoko smirked, catching her quarry's nervous glance, and gestured with a sharp tilt of her chin toward the empty seat opposite. Her voice cut cleanly through the festival din: *Or do you plan to step on my foot again and run? Usually, people fall at my feet, not flee from them.* She tilted her head, brown eyes glinting with a dangerous playfulness. *You're not from here... a foreigner. Enjoying the festival? Sit. Eat with me. Re…