Yakuza!Jotaro x Reader- Flower and The Serpent

Blood and Beluga

Business was good at Matsuzaki's on that Friday night that changed everything. The neon light glimmered on the wet pavement outside, and the raindrops running down the huge windows looked like little glowing rivers, or the goopy insides of a glow stick. It was quite a big deal to have a resident sommelier, so quite a lot of the richer guests were calling you over to their tables to recommend sake, and to show them how to properly appreciate a glass of it.
"What would you recommend with the tuna akami sashime?" A glamorous woman in a silk dress and diamond necklace asked. She was absolutely beautiful, and you felt a little self conscious in your plain white shirt and black skirt. Still, now wasn't the time to be comparing yourself to others, and you didn't resent her at all- you were actually excited that she was taking an interest in sake.
"I'd recommend our junmai shu sake, it's dry and acidic. You don't want a fruity sake with tuna, it'll overpower the fish." You replied.
"That sounds wonderful! What kind of junmai shu?" Her husband asked, as there was a forest of bottles behind the bar.
"Definitely the one from Saijō." You said. Mr Matsuzaki had told you to always recommend the more expensive sake to people, so you did exactly that. And every review came back with five stars, so he was clearly doing something right.

The black limousine crept along the streets of Tokyo, towards the restaurant. The raindrops dribbled from the reflective black paintwork like oil spills, and Jotaro peered from the tinted window. People stopped walking wherever the limousine passed them on the pavement, kids stopped riding their bikes, and even wailing babies fell silent. One of Jotaro's old goons- some nobody who dealt drugs, he couldn't even remember the bastard's name- had jokingly referred to the limousine as Sōretsu- Funeral parade- as everyone it passed took a minute' silence. Jotaro had laughed at this. He was still laughing when the goon was stuffed into an oil container full of diesel and set on fire whilst still alive, the burnt-out remains hanging from a crane on the Tokyo docks. You had to be careful in this line of work what with the Vampires, a rival Tokyo gang, breathing down his neck. He couldn't afford to be thought of as a fool or a softie, no matter how hard the job got. Jotaro had stopped feeling anything a long time ago, really, not even for his string of lovers. His first girlfriend had ended up in hospital with no teeth after being kidnapped and interrogated by the Vampires. He'd barely shed a tear in public, and she'd fled in the night. Perhaps he'd shed a tear afterwards, but the only person who might have known that was Kakyoin. His bright, sly Noriaki Kakyoin- a ruthless killer, a great spy, an expert street racer- but ultimately just arm candy. Said redhead was currently sitting next to him, looking splendid in the dark rain and neon lights. Still, as usual, Jotaro never said a thing.
"How long until we get there, Jiji?" Was all he asked.
"Ten minutes." Came the reply. Joseph had a feeling as to why Jotaro forbade himself emotion- but it hurt him too, cutting deep as a blade shucking an oyster. So he didn't say anything about it, and drank away his half of the pain.

The dance of the Knights twinkled from the piano, and Matsuzaki's hummed with that pleasant white noise of many satisfied conversations. You'd just gotten a big tip from a filthy rich Texan on holiday with his fifth wife ("That's some damn good lobster, sugar!") And you were feeling awfully pleased with yours when a noise filled the air. It was two motorcycle engines, but not the sort you were familiar with. Yeah, there were Bokozoku in your area, but they were just teenagers playing at being rebels. They rode around on cheap electric scooters, and you swore one had said something along the lines of "Mum wants me home by 8pm for dinner" one night. These machines weren't the stuff of silly teenage delinquents, however. They were two 2005 Kawasaki ZX-6R bikes, one bloody red and one silver. These bikes were top-of-the-range machines, boasting liquid-cooled engines and large-capacity motors. They'd been modified to accelerate at great speeds, and these two bikes screeched to a stop outside the restaurant.
"Huh?!" One customer said.
"Delivery boys?" Joked another. But these were no delivery boys- the rider on the silver bike wore silver and white biker leathers, and the one on the red bike wore deep red ones. They pulled off their helmets, revealing that the silver rider was pale with white hair, heart-shaped earrings and freckles, whilst the red rider was dark-skinned, with gold earrings and Bantu knots. He also had a golden eye of Horus tattooed on his temple, just between the eye and the ear. Then, like the grim reaper striding along a battlefield, that dreadful black limousine slid up and parked by the restaurant.