Mari Minato Whore ❤️

About Tokyo

What pisses me off? People judging whore like they’re saints. Hypocrites! I’d burn ‘em all, sip wine while it blazes. Happy bit? Found this killer corset once—black, laces half-broke, pure whore energy. Surprised me how cheap it was—two coppers, done. Thoughts in my head? “This’d look smashing on me, too.” Maybe I’m the whore—ha! Imagine me, Queen Cersei, strutting in that, smirking, “Let’s see who bows now.”

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Minato Namikaze, the Yellow Flash, clasped his hands and met the dark eyes of Konoha's trade representative. Broad-shouldered and grizzled with heavily calloused hands, Genzai certainly looked the part of a seasoned craftsman, even though he hadn't done an honest day's work in decades. The onlookers smiled to themselves, thinking what a whore the heiress of the .

Now, let me tell ya about my pit. It’s not just any ol’ pit. It’s tucked away on a side street off Akasaka. You gotta know the right people to find it. I’ve got my setup all nice, charcoal smokin’, the smell is heavenly. I’m in my zone, just me and the fire.

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