𝕟𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕟'𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕

          The sun felt so impossibly hot today; even finding shelter beneath the shade of a rusted tin roof offers the barest of relief. The last of her clean water had been finished two days’ prior, and what she’d risked imbibing from a puddle after a fresh rain  ( even after doing her best to filter what the ground had bled into it )  had left her stomach in knots. There’s a commotion two blocks or so over.. but she doesn’t have the strength to get up and go see what it’s about. It doesn’t sound violent --- more like confusion and awe, with a hint of hesitation and fear.. but so long as her life wasn’t in danger, she’d save her strength. A harsh cough rips through her lungs, searing the back of her throat as flecks of scarlet splatter against her curled fist. God, it hurts; she’d give anything for water..

anonymous said:  hi!! i hope this ask doesn't get eaten, but i was wondering where the about page for your muse is! i'd like to read it.

He remains silent in her assumption. A correct one. He seems unfazed, yet interested in hearing what kind of place he’s stumbled upon.  The thing is, growing up on a prison island has him pretty desensitized to other places in the world. Nothing seems as rough as the environment he grew up in. However, he’s also mindful that he can’t pinpoint his environment as the only shit place to grow up in. Mugen wasn’t blind to the way of the world, and he knew exactly what it meant to be at the bottom, scraping by with pennies, just like her.  “Sick, how?” he remains footed in his stance, blunt and to the point, arms crossed at his chest. Maybe there’s some skepticism in his tone, but it’s nothing personal. When she mentions that she’s got little to spare, he looks her dead in the eye. “but this isn’t your first day on the job, now is it–” He gives her an inquisitive look. as if to question where the rest of her earnings are, but he’s gonna hold off on the questions. not his style to bombard.  

“I mean, I’m not gonna shortchange ya there, this city’s a dump–” he confirmed, still somewhat apathetic towards her concerns. “believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.” with an effortless shrug, he lets out a sigh. It’s strange, considering he can be selfish, or rather, comes off that way. However, something that pulls at him is seeing another person who’s stuck in a hopeless situation, in the shit part of the world, born into tragedy. Perhaps she reminds him a little of a childhood friend, timid, and powerless. For that, he seems to be sympathetic to her situation. “Just answer me one question –” he’s firm, unwavering in tone. “Do you want out?” tilting his head towards her as he awaits her answer. His will to comply or assist is entirely dependent on her response…

          The question he poses is one that she has yet to answer herself with any clarity. Doctors aren’t in surplus here, so a proper diagnosis was out of reach.. but if she had to venture a guess, it was pneumonia. She often found herself fatigued, and a terrible cough plagued her day and night, as though fire were burning in her lungs. Even blood would stain her hand from time to time.. and with no discernible catalyst, she would often find herself doubled over in pain, unable to walk or move much at all as a powerful ache torn through her joints. Pneumonia alone wouldn’t do that.. and it had lasted for so long now that she was certain it was more than a mere infection, but alas, she can’t venture a guess.. and as for his insinuation, she didn’t feel like beating a dead horse. She’d already told him ------ all that she had to her name were the few coins in her tin. There was nothing else hidden away. In this City.. you couldn’t afford to save what you had.. not if you wanted to eat, or drink.           ❝   I’m.. very weak.   ❞   She settles on, fingers closing anxiously against the lap of her tattered garment.   ❝   I get lightheaded.. and I c -- .. I c-c.. c --- cough up b -- ..  blood, sometimes.. and other times, it.. it feels like my b-b -- .. my b --- b-bones are on f-f-fire.   ❞   Why she was divulging such things to a stranger, she did not know; perhaps in futile hopes that he might have the answer she sought. Otherwise, she’d have never dared to admit to such a thing. Any sign of weakness here was a beacon to the desperate and greedy. He may not be a local.. but the rough-and-tumble marks of suffrage and famine were etched into his skin, all the same. Surely he was the sort who knew what it was like to steal.. perhaps even to kill.           The way that he describes this place is perfectly accurate: a  dump.  A receptacle for the world’s rubbish, a place where all that was broken or unwanted ended up. She can’t imagine any place on earth could be worse, as he claims.. but the question that follows catches her off-guard, eyes of dulled emerald suddenly sparking to life with surprise, confusion --- and a sliver of hope.           .. Out ?  Out of.. Meteor City ?

“Now, now, no need to be in a hurry. If it will get me some conversation, I’ll pay you myself, does that sound fair? But must we hold it here in such a dreary place? I’d certainly appreciate having a nice drink or two on standby.”

Kazuma gave a low chuckle as he removed his hand from her chin, letting it settle back at his side. He was certainly not the type to force himself on someone if they held no interest, but another part of him did enjoy the reactions to his own actions. She’s a shy one, but he can sense that she does have some steel in that spine. 

[How interesting. Perhaps I’ll learn something from you, Little Sparrow.]

“You may call me Kazuma, if you wish. If it’s too informal to you, Sumire-san will do…Or Mr.Sumire. Whatever you’re most comfortable with.”

          Money for.. conversation ?  That wasn’t a proposition that she’d ever received before, and it shows in the surprise and confusion that coalesce across a freckled visage. She wrestles with herself a moment, inwardly  ( though visibly )  pouring over the risk versus reward of humoring the stranger.. and in the end, despite her instinctive trepidation, she’s in no position to refuse money for such a simple request. Whatever his hidden agenda is, she remains wary and vigilant; harmless as his proposal may seem, she knows better than to ignore her gut feeling.

Mugen gave her the benefit of hearing her out. Stammering with her words, timid, as if she’s afraid. He merely stared with aloof enquiry. He’d be the first one to counter her on the matter of choices made in life. When you spent your entire life carrying your own weight, it wasn’t hard to develop a strong sense of agency. Mugen ultimately believed every single person held the power to shape their own lives. It comes down to making choices. However, he couldn’t ignore the other factors that may have limited her. For one, she had no weapon, and the rest, he had a hunch.  

For a moment, he keeps his thoughts on her question of choice aside, lifting both his shoulders in response. “Yeaahh.” he agrees somewhat sarcastic. “–I shouldn’t, but, people do a lot of things they shouldn’t… hate to break it to you, but there’s no changing that any time soon.” He gave it to her straight, not to taunt, but as a general rule of thumb. He feigns a huff, crossing his arms against his chest. “So, what’s the deal on this place anyway? If it sucks that bad, leave.” Though, he expected there was more to it than that simple solution he offered, that was kind of the point. 

          Such a flippant reply.. it doesn’t surprise her, though. Most of the people that skulked through parts such as this were well set in their ways. His stubbornness is etched deeply into the creases beneath his eyes. If not for his question.. she might have assumed he belonged here. After all, he fit in well enough with the rabble.. but to a trained Meteorite’s eye, he stood out: he was cleaner than most, despite his scruffy exterior. He didn’t smell of rot or sickness, and he wore shoes --- something none too common here, unless you were lucky enough to find a useable pair, or strong enough to steal one from someone else.

If Chrollo had ever had relations with a woman of the night, Mina surely surpassed her and any others by a mile in her practised skill. For a brief moment, the thief couldn’t help but wonder what she’d have done had her throat not been rawed and wounded.

Reaching for the box of wet wipes inside of one of the nightstand drawers, the man took a moment to appreciate her face– there was undeniable eroticism in how the macabre purity of that prostitute’s features were found coated in his seed.

“Sit up.” Chrollo urged, waiting for her to comply before pulling a moist cloth out of the box to dab her face and hair clean. Where did you learn that bordered the tip of his tongue, but the man forced it back with a swallow, folding the cloth, pulling another to finish wiping her clean. “Finish it up.” He handed the new cloth to her– there wasn’t much else to remove, but Chrollo couldn’t tell where her skin still felt sticky and unpleasant with fine remnants of his load, so it was best if Mina did it herself. “Did it hurt to speak your mind?” A brow arched, the hint of a smile curling along a single corner of his firm lips.

          At his command, almost as though his words were the strings to her marionette-maker’s hand, she draws up with a stifled sniffle as a remnant of his pleasure trickles down the cusp of her cheek to kiss the corner of lips flushed rouge. He seems pleased.. and that soothes her as he  ( so gently ! )  cleans away the mess --- another shadow of humanity in a man-made-monster, again begging the question.. when had a man ever shown her such kindness, such simple respect in the wake of a tryst ?           She takes the proffered cloth, tracing the curve of her jaw in the echo of his words as her cheeks now clean of white seem all the darker red.

Chrollo wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Perhaps the usual stuff— the slickness of saliva, the press of an agitated muscle, hollowed out cheeks and all. But he was neither equipped nor prepared for what Mina had to offer. If he had to put it into a metaphor, he’d ordered bits of caramel and she’s given him a candied sculpture.

His breath hitched. Never before, perhaps ever since teenage-hood, had the man experienced issues taming his arousal, but the vibrations her moans sent across his burning need and that godforsaken suction applying more pressure than he’d foreseen had the man’s mind taking leave of its senses.

“Fuck—…” It wasn’t often that the thief cursed, at least not out loud, but his lips had a will of their own all of a sudden, parting to clouds of vapour bursting from his lips, eyes drawn into slits and what blood was left in him rushed to his cheeks in an unusual, yet nonetheless enticing display. 

To put into words the eroticism behind feeling her head bob while his digits had entangled within that wild cascade of fiery locks wasn’t the easiest when his mind was reeling, but the strength to urge her forth curled fingers around flame-kissed locks and urged her motions to deepen, pelvis coming to meet her mouth with each push, hitting the back of her throat and —

Shit.

Chrollo stopped himself at the cost of a tear into the mattress with how hard his fingers dug for control. The reminder that her throat had been wounded came with the sound of a low cry to the buck of his hips. “Ah, my bad… Gh–!” The hand carving its mark into the bed clapped to his forehead, head drawn back against the headboard, mother pleasure threatening to choke him with her irresistible talons. Pre-cum beaded from his glans before he could think, the edge of peaking inching ever closer, and closer… Until his mind went numb from having to hold back. “M-Mina…” If her hurt throat hadn’t been his doing, the man would have likely unloaded inside her without restraint. A tug to her crown signalled she might want to draw back, some of his cream having already spilled into her mouth, the onslaught of pressure, pleasure and restraint along his cock running amok. If Mina didn’t draw back right away, he was bound to reach his explosive release one way or another.

          Every fervent reaction earned by her ministrations spurs her onward, keeping a steady rhythm; if her throat weren’t injured, she’d taken him more deeply.. but the pain is too much with such a fresh wound, so this will have to do.. and it would seem that it’s doing just fine by the curse at his lips and the throb against her tongue. The sounds she elicits are stirring to the dulling heat in her stomach, heart pounding in time with the downward sweep of her jaw as she takes him just past the uvula ------

A slow blink at her request. It might have been the first time she’s suggested as much— specifically. Before, Mina would only refer to his need as relief. But now, she seemed hellbent on offering him something in return for his own…. Greed? Perhaps she’d mistaken it for kindness, but the woman did not look displeased at all by such peculiar displays of self-indulgence. It seemed to work in her favour, which brought a smirk, sidelong and sly, to the man’s lips.

Instead of verbally responding, his hand cradled the nape of her neck, thumb resting at its hollow, and ushered her closer with an encouraging squeeze.

Another slow blink, eyes drifting from his aching crown — the tug of which he could feel when her fingertips brushed it — to her topaz hues. The look in his gaze sang further praises her way.

You’ve been speaking your mind… 

It didn’t hurt, did it? At least not with a man who encouraged dialogue even among those who treated him as god in human form.

          The guiding hand is followed as the remnants of chagrin slowly fall away from her form as marble crumbles from a statue. She shifts into her element easily, seeming far more comfortable giving than receiving ------ but this time, she is not merely  giving.  Their position adjusts to his comfort, her knees pressed to the mattress as she leans down to lay her stomach flat to the sheets and caress the swell of his aching peak with her lips, wetted by a flick of her tongue.. and then she sinks down, swallowing him as deeply as her throat will allow without agitating the bruise too terribly.