I do what I'm told, the Trigun remix.

[momebie]

There has been a murmuring for a Trigun kink meme! I AM NOT KIDDING! :p So I bring you the Anonymous Trigun Kink Meme for Great Justice LOVE AND PEACE!

1. Request a pairing. (ANY PAIRING. Or threesome, or foursome. More than four might be unweildy, but you can try. No pairing wank guys.)
2. Include a kink! (This is the point, if there is no kink, you get no fic! I will probably delete anything without a kink.)
3. Remember that this is ANONYMOUS. (It's the secrecy that makes it fun!)
4. Leave a kink, come back and fill a kink. (Or five. Whatever makes you happy. The more fic, the more people, the more fun!)
5. PIMP THIS! (The more the merrier. Let's get em coming out of the wood work!)

6. Make me stop abusing exclamation points.

I'll come through when I can and update a list of requests that haven't been fulfilled. Have fun! Wank will be deleted. That is all.

( A list of kinks for your edification. )

ETA- OK guys. Just because I forgot to say earlier. I don't mind if something that's already filled strikes your fancy, but if you write for one that's already been answered, please do an unanswered one as well. Also, these are your fics, of course. If you want to post them later, by all means do. But give us a week for the anon fun first, yeah?


The list of things that need love:
PAGE 1
☆ Knives/Legato: submission and mutilation
☆ Knives/All Those Plant Ladies, tentacle sex
☆ LegatoxKnives, topping from the bottom
☆ Vash and Legato. Food fetish.
☆ Midvalley and Hoppered, No Strings Attached.
☆ KnivesxVash, brainwashing
☆ Midvalley/Wolfwood/Milly "Falling (falling from grace; going bad; turning to the Dark Side; Faustian deals; succumbing to temptation or addiction; degradation and descent in general)"
☆ Midvalley x anyone, prostitution


PAGE 2
☆ Heroes/Trigun crossover. Hiro jumps time and lands in a different desert
☆ Milly, genderfuck
☆ Brad/Livio, golden shower
☆ Wolfwood x His Sex Doll
☆ Milly x Meryl, protectiveness


ETA 2- OK GUYS! We've had an influx of posts since I stumbled in last night. Just please remember that the NUMBER OF PROMPTS YOU LEAVE is the NUMBER OF PROMPTS YOU WRITE. There are some interesting ones left over from when it first opened. Sadly though, I do not have time to write for all of them, so don't forget the most important piece of the puzzle here. And remember, keep having fun. I like what I'm seeing so far, and so do the others. Keep up the good work!

Announcement- We have now been added to the list of all kink memes. Have fun here, have fun there, enjoy the porn. :)

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Knives x Legato, claiming or establishing ownership.

[(Anonymous)]

When he was younger and Elendira was still around all of the time, Knives-sama would take them with him to discuss “business” with “clients.” Sometimes they didn’t kill the “client” but most of the time they did. He remembers a lot of death resulting from exchanges like:

“Your price is less than I usually accept, but if you included the boy, now the boy not the girl—she looks like a handful—then we might have a deal…”

Knives would cut the “client” off and let him, “the boy”, show the “client” his or her own rotted human heart.

When he got older and Elendira was still around all of the time, he went to discuss “business” on his own. Sometimes he’d know the entire time that he would kill the client, but he had special permission to kill any “clients” he felt were out of line with Knives-sama’s cause. He understood what that implied, but he had to balance it with the demand that he not take human life simply as he pleased.

Knives-sama had said “When I kill off humanity, I want there to be some vermin left to exterminate.” Therefore Elendira did assassinations and Legato found himself learning economics and social graces and the art of politely declining sexual soliciation.

And sometimes he found himself on his hands and knees, thinking about the death of all humans. He would slink home with a deal in hand and a stomach that couldn’t hold down solid food.

It happened a lot more after Elendira left, when he was both diplomat and assassin. The consolation of being the stronger one, the truer believer, the more faithful one, all joy of winning was stripped by those times.

---

While Knives found his servant’s lack of spine or self-respect at times entertaining, the tendency to come home sick and smelling like human sexual fluids, a most revolting scent, was getting annoying.

“Tell me,” he demanded when Legato returned to Dhimitri. “Whose orders do you obey.”

“Yours,” Legato supplied without pause or the tone of memorization.

“And who do you fight for,” Knives demanded.

“You,” Legato said, this time the smallest imperceptible waver in his voice. His pulse was rising in confusion. Knives listened to it for a few rushed beats.

“Bluesummers, who do you belong to.”

“You!” he shouted. His heart raced with panic. Knives let it, for the moment.

“You’re correct,” he said and listened to the way his words could tug his servant like a puppet, his heart slowing down, his breathing going calm and deep.

“You belong to me,” Knives explained. “You are my tool and you work to create my world.”

He reached out and tucked his gloved fingers under Bluesummers’ chin. He pulled his face up until the man was forced to meet his eyes. His clothes would smell like human sweat and sex forever after this. The thought made his skin crawl.

“You are mine,” Knives told him. His servant looked like he was staring into the face of impending death and found it beautiful. It was a look Knives appreciated, and a way he wanted to be looked at.

Vash should look at him with such reverence and care, fear and respect.

“I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t want to—” Of course Bluesummers ruined it all by talking. With thoughts of Vash and the stench of other human beings on his belongings, he leaned in and shut Bluesummers’ mouth with his own. Forced the taste of someone else out with his own teeth and tongue till his servant tasted like blood and spit.

From there he found he couldn’t stop, tearing and cutting away clothes that smelled of other places and people, putting his own bites and bruises over those left by others, covering foreign human scents with his own familiar one. He pushed Legato’s legs further back until they met the floor on either side of his shoulders and left hand marks above the back of his servant’s knees.

“Who do you belong to?!” Knives demanded, but it sounded more like a question than it had before.

“I’m yours! Yours! I belong to Millions Knives!” Legato screamed till he was hoarse. His gold eyes were rapturous.

[(Anonymous)]

Wolfwood/Legato/Vash - Weapon fetishization and/or accidental arousal.

Sorry, this is rather raw...

[(Anonymous)]

Big Guns

Sweat was pouring down his face from the heat and his intense focus. It dripped into his eyes and then out again like tears, stinging and blurring. The sunlight glinted off of his enemy’s colt and the traitor’s pistols. It was nearly blinding. A thought occurred to him and he turned the traitor’s pistols at his enemy’s face, shiny metal pressing against Vash’s temple. The panic on their faces even for a moment was delicious.

A single bead of sweat slid from Vash’s darkening hairline down the grooves of Wolfwood’s gun barrel. Bluesummer’s grinned to himself. When he licked his dessert chapped lips it turned into a leer. Vash broke an arm through Legato’s psychic hold and the moment had passed. Legato dodged to the left and the right, sidewinding from two assailants. Railraod spikes sunk into the sand at violent angles and bullets flew everywhere. Some had to pushed out of their intended trajectories so they didn’t wind up in his skull or vital organs. Vash reloaded and Wolfwood just dropped his guns as they unloaded, snatching another from his personal arsenal and pulling the hammer back.

“Cocked and lock,” Legato’s brain supplied. He dodged again and forced three bullets to graze the traitor’s skull. Hair and tiny chicklets of blood went flying.

Someone was down and Elendira was out of ammo. Legato knew it was time to get out if he could. Just another pointless gun battle: no ground taken, no ground lost. He felt dizzy, as if he should be breathing hard and feeling a burn in his muscles, but he didn’t. He felt nothing, only dizzy and sweat-drenched. His heart was pounding hard, but he couldn’t feel it. His cheeks were prickly with a flush.

Through his power he could see Vash and Wolfwood, collapsing from the sudden beginning and end of the fighting. They looked as exhausted as he felt, collapsed into the sand. Vash lay back in the sand with his legs spread, his knees up. His chest heaved, to the same beat as the erection under his body suit throbbed. Legato noticed this because he watched through Wolfwood’s eyes and Wolfwood noticed this. Through Vash’s eyes he could see him notice.

Legato bit his lip and attracted Elendira’s attention.

“What’s your problem?” she asked. The blush that hadn’t evaporated with his sweat lead her to her own conclusion. “Oh great, now random gun violence turns you one. Just what we need.”

Knives’ orders kept Legato’s surveillance constant even as the traitor swallowed around Vash’s cock. His utter enemy, his Master’s brother, the person he hated most in the world, and Legato couldn’t not know the sensitive spot right on the underside of his cock where Wolfwood could press is tongue and Vash’s fingers would tighten convulsively around the stock.

[(Anonymous)]

Chronica/Domina smut.

[(Anonymous)]

The sterility of space, the void, the clean unsparkling stars peering through layer upon layer of protective glass, the cooly blue biolumenecence of the eternal emergency lights--even this could not hide you, my Domina, could not eclipse your wilderness. I was a starborn Plant; until Gunsmoke's amber gravity drew us in I was the Ship, and the Ship was Me, but you, my Domina--you were Earthborn and had tasted freedom and even the decontamination of your flora, the nano-cull of all your exquisite protiens, could not wrest the residue of the living planet from your body.

You taught me, in your imp ways, that service need not be slavery, nor work machinelike, you who gave your electricity with a fierce bright grin, who wove our sleeping Sisters into new heights of dedicated beauty. You were the marriage of function and form. Your ivory shape, the brave animal smell of your sweat, flickers still in my memory, echoing sparks from synapse to synapse, the infinitely prolonged spasms of bone-deep orgasm, continuing to enthrall me long after, long after--

No one came before you. Who could there have been? We were not bred for love, or even built for sex; anything remaining was vestigial, meant to sleep as soundly as the ancient femurs hid inside the belly of a whale. But you, my Domina. Look at me, show us how we are alike though I am cramped and small and incurious still, yet all the vaccuum of lightless space could not contain you; we lay breast to breast, lip to lip, thigh against marble-white thigh. Your kisses crackled and sparked and raised the colorless hairs of my skin. Your tongue uncurled my mind and sank me in your sea. Your taste was, somehow, my only taste of Earth--all alive, all surging with potentialities. When you taught me to lick at your vulva, pink and organic against the characterless white synthetic sheets, I knew at once what the longing was that brazed in your blue eyes. I can taste you now my Domina, inside and out, long--

--Long after you have died.


...Also. Anonymous? I totally know who you are (I think).

[(Anonymous)]

Vash/Wolfwood, accidental stimulation

short and probably not too good

[(Anonymous)]

Shit, Wolfwood thought as he and Vash waited for the bus to the next town. Could this day get any worse?

Not only had the one-thomas town where his motorcycle's starter suddenly decided it wouldn't start anymore after he and Vash had stopped for a drink not had anything like motorcycle starters, it also didn't even have fucking cigarettes or even a place to stay except the alley behind the bar.

On top of that, the bus to the next town, where such necessities were actually available, was so crowded. He had been sitting in his seat, trying to focus on anything but the craving for nicotine that was driving him out of his fucking mind, thank you very much.

"Oh, you can have my seat," Vash said lightly. "I'd never deprive a lady of what she wants."

"Spikey," Wolfwood snarled. "You're not staying back in this hellhole. I got a bad feeling about it-"

"Then I'll stand," Vash said. "Look, Nick, she's pregnant and says she could be in labor-"

"You gave up your goddamn seat for her," Wolfwood hissed. "What're you gonna do, stand on your feet five hundred fucking iles?"

"No," Vash said, smiling as he settled onto Wolfwood's lap. "I've got a seat, don't I?"

Wolfwood answered with an exasperated sigh which Vash knew meant both "yes" and "the things I'll do for you, Spikey," shifting his position a bit both so Vash could have a little of the seat a few iles into the ride and so Vash wasn't bouncing on his lap. There's only so damn much a man can take.

Yet the new position only served to position Vash's ass right between his legs, and every time the bus ran over a rough patch of desert, he could swear Vash was intentionally grinding into him. "Why the fuck aren't you wearing underwear?"

"You know I don't," he said, turning to face him for a second, which only served to leave Vash's knees on the seat, his cock against Wolfwood's with only the fabric of Vash's jeans and Wolfwood's pants between them. "What, you have a problem with how I dress now? And you aren't either!"

Wolfwood bit back a moan. "You should try it more."

"A priest should have more self-control. It's not like you didn't get enough last night," Vash whispered, as the bus hit another dune, pushing them together once more.

"I've got more than you ever will, dammit," Wolfwood groaned as Vash turned away from him, sitting on his lap once more. "You just hide it better."

Four hundred and ninety iles away from the closest actual privacy, he was painfully hard, and his only consolation, as Vash bounced against him and now himself shuddered with every dune, was that they'd both be in equally embarrassing shape at the end of this ride.

Shit! Why did I have to think "ride"?

[(Anonymous)]

ElendiraxKnives, Sugar Daddy.

[(Anonymous)]

"Please?" There was a thrill in her voice, a sheen of authentic excitement that--honestly, if however feebly--piqued his interest. It was one of her charms, the layered shallowness, the artful feigning of realism, the guile to know when and how to lie to please him. He almost appreciated it. "All I need is--"

"What."

Bitten red lower lip, downcast eyes, steel-toed boot furrowing the dust. Perfect. "The appropriate funds, Master Knives." Beat. Coy glance through a curled lock of peroxide-pale hair.

He leaned back, trying to look appropriately distainful. "Which would be...?"

More lip-biting, more wrung hands, more poses. "Ahm--"

Whatever it was, it would be a drop in the bucket, a grain of sand in this desert.

"Please...?"

Jealousy was pouring off Bluesummers in waves, shedding like a stench, his pulse flickering under the skin of his throat. Amazing, how something so irritating and base could warm his blood.

What could he say? He'd always been partial to blondes.

[(Anonymous)]

Vash/Wolfwood, anime-verse, Hurt/Comfort, with lots of angsty foreshadowing.

[(Anonymous)]

Wolfwood took the bandage off Vash's thigh.

"You'll have another scar there," he muttered.

"I didn't know I had enough skin left for another one," said Vash, smiling.

"This isn't funny," Nick said. "You should have shot that bounty hunter before he had a chance to do this."

"I would have killed him at that range."

Nick grimaced. "And that would have been such a loss to the world?"

Vash took Nick's hand and dragged it up his leg to a more interesting area.

"At least I'm healthy enough for this now..." he murmured.

Nick began to stroke him, getnly at first, then harder, and leaned in for a kiss.

"Nothing too strenuous now," he muttered, though Vash was already aroused.

"Just keep touching me," said Vash, pushing his underwear to free his erection.

"I'm worried about you, Vash. Someday you're going to die if you keep this up."

"Wow, Nick, that's some gift you have for sexy conversation!"

Nick ran his hands over Vash's bare skin, but was unable to keep the concern off his face.

Vash sighed. "Look, someday you'll understand. You'll realize that no one can take another's life."

Nick began to pump his hand slightly, then reached for Vash's balls, stroking gently, listening to him sigh in response.

"I don't want to understand," he said nearly silently. "And you know what else I don't want to do?"

Vash, his head thrown back and eyes shut tight, was still able to ask "What?"

Nick kept stroking. "I don't want to outlive you."

The only response was a groan, and Nick just closed his eyes and shook his head.

[(Anonymous)]

Legato/Vash, somnophillia

Un.

[(Anonymous)]

Quick and dirty, and possibly redundant! XD


The room was dark. A single shaft of moonlight slipped in through a broken slat in the shutters and looked as though it was trying to burn a hole into Vash's chest. Legato watched Vash from across the room and contemplated whether or not he should just go ahead and kill him now and save himself the trouble of having to listen to the plant run his mouth in the coming days. The prospect of bringing the news to Knives however, was daunting. Instead he practiced his precision with mental touch, trying to land the small indents his thoughts created in Vash's skin entirely in the little circle of light.

Vash exhaled heavily, a sound caught between being a sigh and a snore, and rolled away from the mental touch. Legato tensed. When Vash didn't wake up he relaxed some, and began to study his hands in the darkness. He could almost make them out, and touched his face both physically and mentally, relishing in how much they felt the same. He ran his hands down his neck and moved the mental touch a little further south, letting it linger around his navel. He was used to being subjugated by Knives, used to never being the one in control. It was a thrill to him to feel like he was pulling something over on Vash while he was sleeping. And that thought caught in the back of his mind, sleeping. Helpless. Alone.

He pulled the mental touch away and moved his attention back to Vash's body. The light was now centered on Vash's lower back, and Legato watched the shiver that moved up his spine with the touch. He lowered his concentration, and after a few near misses, mentally probed Vash's anus. Vash's whole body clenched and he moaned in his sleep, still not feeling enough of anything to awaken. An electric thrill ran through Legato with the feeling of control and power. Vash was open, laid bare in front of him. His fingertips itched to actually touch him.

Legato was across the room before he realized he had actually stood up. He kneeled at the side of the bed and leaned over Vash so that his lips were centimeters from the rough, scarred skin. Moving sideways, he ghosted his breath from the middle of Vash's back up to the back of his neck. Vash moaned again and rolled over, his back now to the wall. Legato twitched his lips into a cold smile. Victory.

Reaching out slowly, Legato laid the fingertips of his left hand on Vash's waist and ran them lightly up to Vash's armpit. Then he drew them across Vash's chest, lingering over the nipples. Vash grimaced in his sleep. “Hmmm...” Legato hummed and ran his fingers back across in the other direction. Vash buried his head in his pillow and whimpered quietly. Legato wondered what he was dreaming, and what he could make him dream.

Quickly, he leaned forward and placed his lips over one of Vash's nipples. Legato teased with his tongue a few times before he bit down on it lightly, and then when he didn't get any new reaction from Vash, bit down harder. As he sucked his way across Vash's chest he let his hands float down the bed toward Vash's penis. Even in sleep the stimulation was making him fully erect. Legato wrapped his fingers around the base of Vash's cock and stroked up once. Hard.

“Nicnnngh...”Vash groaned, and rolled onto his back. Legato's eyes narrowed in the dark. That blasphemous name was the one he would call? The man who wasn't even a man, who wasn't worth the anger Knives spent on him? No more. Legato would purge that name from Vash's lips. It was time to stop being gentle, time to make himself known. Legato crawled onto the bed and straddled Vash. He probed at Vash's anus mentally until the man's hips began to buck up into him. Then licked his way from nipple to neck to lip. When he kissed Vash, he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

[(Anonymous)]

Livio/Vash, bondage and leather

[(Anonymous)]

Thanks to a certain someone for beta help ♥

Vash felt as if the suit and leather armor, unlike other clothes, was the armor of his mind as well as of his body. It was something concealing him, something protecting him, an almost-reassuring weight on his body hiding his physical imperfections, precluding sex involving anything but his dick. Yet, he couldn't express his feelings about it so eloquently. "Don't wanna," he mumbled. "I need the armor."

"Leave one piece on," Livio said, shrugging. "I am. This harness is a helluva lot of fun," he added as he slipped a finger between it and his skin, pulled back, and thumped it hard enough against his chest to leave a small mark that quickly regenerated.

Vash laughed, a short, nervous laugh. "I'm not. . . not into pain."

"You don't have to be. Wasn't planning to hurt you," he said.

"I kinda like how it feels on my skin," Vash whispered into Livio's ear, almost as if it was some sort of deep, dark, scary secret that he actually liked such things, expecting Livio to be repulsed from what still remained of his training in asceticism and his beliefs.

"Y'know I'm not like that anymore," he said. "Wouldn't be doing this with you if I was."

That seemed to be all that Vash needed to hear, not only to remove the rest of his armor, but to grab the assless chaps he usually wore over his bodysuit and slide into them, posing for a moment before he and Livio fell onto the bed laughing at each other, at the absurdity of . . . of everything.

"Are you sure you want it like that? You won't see me until it's over," Livio warned, while Vash turned his back toward him and held his arms so Livio could tie them to the bedposts with some of the straps that had been on the floor.

"I'll feel you, that's all that matters," he said as Livio tied his feet. "I've seen too much. I need to feel so badly."

He closed his eyes, wanting to let his other senses absorb the experience. He heard the click of the cap on the lubricant, the sound of Livio's leather harness as it touched his skin and what remained of his armor, the short pants of his breath. He felt the coldness and yet warmth from Livio's fingers, the sensation of fullness and stretching as Livio entered him, the feathery touch of soft long hair on his back, the snugness of the straps binding his wrists and feet. He saw nothing, allowed to lose himself in a world of sound and smell and feeling.

[(Anonymous)]

Knives/Legato: submission and mutilation

[(Anonymous)]

Vash proves how flexible he is. Autofellatio.

[(Anonymous)]

Knives/All Those Plant Ladies, tentacle sex

Eidolon (Part I)

[(Anonymous)]

A world of radiance that curves and dips, where there is neither up nor down, only weightlessness enveloped by gentle warmth. Adrift in a sea of sensation, his movements awkward, there is uncertainty. He does not like this—this sense of losing oneself in ambiguity—and it disturbs him that he cannot remember…and then the touch.

A subtle brush of effervescent light against his bare thigh startles him, and he whirls about, a wisp of presence there and gone in a moment. He hesitates, unsure how he got here (which disturbs him), but certain he wants to leave. Moving now, he gropes, seeking a way out of this stifling brilliance, and soon enough, defined smoothness meets his fingertips, melodious notes he only just now notices ringing in her ears…

He understands, then...but it is already too late.

Warm tendrils born of elastic softness encircle his arms, shoulders, legs, and torso, and begin to draw him back. He fights it, fights them, but the song—the harmonious chorus of siren inflection that resonates in his mind, not his ears—it fills him, encroaching upon increasingly panicked thoughts as velvet chains restrict and bind him. He struggles, twists in their grasps, but there is no escape.

None at all.

The voices continue, forever changing and forever the same, loving and enticing, weaving their wordless musings about him. Slowly, his eyes dim, lackluster blue gazing blankly into the nothingness of luminescence, and as muscles slacken, completely limp, lips press against his throat, his heartbeat pulsing erratically against their mouths. There are hands everywhere, stroking him lovingly, contrasting the organic cords wrapped securely about his wrists, ankles, and waist.

Restraints, however, are no longer necessary.

A low moan escapes his throat, begging, pleading for release from this torment—the inability to touch, to caress and feel as they have. He sags against his captors, the ethereal beings behind him, creatures born of methodologies no longer fully understood by their creators. Smiling faces possessed of light itself glide closer, corded threads of wing and feather drawing tighter as they reach for him again…

Lips and hands, hands and lips, both sliding over his neck, his shoulders, his back and chest, while tongues worship the pale perfection of him elsewhere, tracing the outline of his legs higher and higher, lapping the skin of his thighs closer and closer to the center of his torment, but always, always avoiding it. And still they sing, softer now, contrasting the madness they have stoked within him. Helpless but struggling still, he wants them—wants them even harder now due to the indignity of what they have done to him. He can do nothing against them, however.

Nothing at all.

Far from done, glittering eyes bright with success, one by one they come, warm mouths closing around his length, licking, sucking, teasing him, taking him almost to the brink before leaving him bereft once more. Groans harsh with panting breath rise in volume, marring the smooth vein of hymns resounding within him and without, and he cannot stop his own movement, the thrusts of his hips as he own body betrays him, crying out for more…

…until they oblige him.

[(Anonymous)]

KnivesxLegato, tattooing/piercing

i

[(Anonymous)]

"What's this?"

The little wretch had been ghosting him only a handful of days, wide-eyed and tripping after his Master with too-large boots on his soft-soled feet and only the rags off a corpse to hide the tender morsel from the hungry suns. Knives hadn't been paying too much attention; sometimes, in his determination to push on into the desert, the existence of the half-named youth had all but vanished entirely. Curious creature, novel if nothing else. For his part, Knives hoped it survived until he could at least crack its head and see what tumors were pressing where to inspire the boy's dull animal brain to perform the feats of the godlier beings. He certainly hadn't been staring as much as the boy had, which was why the tattoo initially escaped his notice. After all, it was rather well-hidden.

The boy, Bluesummers, cringed behind his touseled navy hair, as he usually did when addressed. "My mark... Master." A hand, self-conscious, grazed his own bony hip. A third of the way down the inside of the thigh, a bandit's logo, a half-hearted irregular pentagon, was inked into Bluesummer's dermis. "When I was... bought, they did this--to show to whom I belonged--"

His words caught in his throat, fair face flushing as Knives stooped and roughly spread his legs to inspect him more closely. Ugly piece of work, sloppily done, cheap ink already fading and blurring even in young skin; in ten more years, if the boy lasted that long, it'd be nothing but a hazy discoloration, a semipermanent bruise. Knives understood, in an elementary way, that humans often fancied to enslave and maluse each other just as they did his Sisters--the species had no respect for life of any kind, not even its own. But it was a peculiar behavior, and one that required testament to begin to unravel and exploit.

"And who did you belong to?"

"The Roderick's Gang, Master, until I was sold to--" he bared his teeth slightly, reflexively-- "Diamant."

Every muscle went taut when Knives's gloved fingertip probed the pigmented site, and Bluesummer's already saucerlike eyes widened even further. "But who do you belong to now, Bluesummers?" A soft touch, a softer voice, pale and whole in a world of mince and shards.

"Y-You, Master," he breathed.

[(Anonymous)]

LegatoxKnives, topping from the bottom

[(Anonymous)]

Vash and Legato. Food fetish.

[(Anonymous)]

Legato/Knives (yes, you read that right); hair fetish.

[(Anonymous)]

His fingertips itched. He had to breathe long and deep to center his self-control.

His Master’s hair was getting long. It drooped just slightly in the front, enough for him to keep brushing it back as if it bothered him. It would stand up wildly for a moment before wilting again.

Legato had run out of pertinent research materials roughly three and a quarter hours ago. He had been meditating on the relationship between his Master’s hand combings and his own pulse.

“Uhhh,” Knives groaned and set his head against his arms on the lab table. It was rather undignified, Legato recognized, but he would be in a far worse state if he’d tried to make sense of ancient documents for thirty six hours straight without food, drink, or sleep. In fact, he recognized, he’d probably be dead.

He could see the muscles in his Master’s neck quiver with tension from all the way over where he was. Knives groaned again, as if in pain. Legato couldn’t stand it. He moved as obviously as he could; sneaking up on Millions Knives even by accident was a risky endeavor.

His Master must have heard him, but he didn’t validate his presence, even when Legato was directly behind him. It was cause for concern.

Legato tentatively lay just his fingertips at the very top of his Master’s neck, parallel to the small tall of fine and close cropped hair that came down the man’s neck. The muscles along the spinal column in the neck were tight enough to be painful. Legato recognized it. He fluttered his fingertips along Knives’ spine and down along his shoulders.

Then he moved back, his fingertips pressing harder, slipping slightly into his Master’s hairline. The hair at the base of his neck was short and downy. Legato could feel heat rising in his cheeks.

He pressed firmly against the muscles, letting his fingers move quickly and keeping a certain pace and distance, like a flutter. He moved his hands further and further--feeling all the while as if he was getting away with something--into his Master’s hairline, rubbing small circles into the scalp behind the ears and jaw down the center of the skull and into the dip where the spine met the skull.

He surrendered to the meditative quality of the movement, to the sweet feeling of his Master’s flesh and bone go soft and receptive under his hands if only in this small way, and the softer than he could have ever imagined texture of Knives’ hair. He realized he was leaning close, bent over in a smooth arch so that his nose and mouth were scant inches from his Master’s scalp. There was a smell of skin and soap and dust and something warm and sweet, like the melted wax of votive candles. He breathed deep and shuddered; the taste and smell made his breath catch and hitch.

He pressed his lips to the base of his Master’s neck, mouth landing between skin and hair. His lips were wet and the skin and small hairs clung to them when he pulled away slowly. The hair he’d kissed was just the slightest bit darker than the rest, golden more than blond.

His Master sighed sweetly. He dug his fingers in with a bit more pressure, a bit more force, and pressed his lips against the curve of Knives’ skull, where the hair swirled and pointed with the force of natural waves cut back too short.

“Mmmm,” Knives murmured. “Just like that.” As if, at this point he controlled the natural flow of Legato’s hands. Legato kissed hard behind his Master’s ear, thin strand of hair trying to pull away with his wet mouth. Legato dared to lick his lips with them pressed against the back of his Master’s ear. Knives’ breath came in shivers.

“Stop,” Knives said. It hurt to pull away: his lips felt like they might break open and bleed, his finger bones felt shattered.





... Continued under "Legato x Knives, massage leads to sex, Legato tops"

[(Anonymous)]

Legato/Dominique, psychic sex

Part I

[(Anonymous)]

They were having what Dominique could only think of as a corporate dinner. The Gung Ho Guns weren’t a corporation, but the elegant wooden dining table had a silk table cloth and she wasn’t wearing an evening gown. She looked down at her white blouse and grey vest.

“Business then,” she thought. Various other assassins and gun slingers were sitting around, women of ill repute milling around with thieves and personal lackeys and servants. Legato was rather lax with them when they weren’t confined to Dhimitri. If he wasn’t so slavishly devoted to Millions Knives, Dominique knew, even Midvalley would like him.

Wolfwood had recited a biblical parable that had stuck in her mind. Something about a slave with two masters, if you loved one then you hated the other, and if you loved the other, then you hated the one. The Guns either loved Legato on his own merits or loved him because they hated Millions Knives.

“Eye of Michael, though,” she had to keep herself from spitting on the nice stone floor when she thought of those fanatics. “They love Knives and hate Legato. They hate us.”

Except Wolfwood, but he’d always been sort of a weirdo.

She looked to her left, where Legato took up the head of the table with a large collection of neatly stacked dirty china. He wouldn’t let the servants carry it away, or if they insisted he asked if ‘really, couldn’t someone else take care of that.’ Even though Legato Bluesummers had brutally murdered their head of household with the snap of his fingers, they found him pleasant and respectful, bending over backwards to please him. He made all the maids swoon and some of the male servants too. One of them was the head cook, enamored with Legato’s looks and his high compliments.

Dominique understood that completely. He chewed with his mouth shut, carefully keeping his elbows off of the table and drinking dessert fruit juice instead of alcohol. Utterly charming. He said she was beautiful because of her eye, not in spite of it. But he was truly beautiful.

She wanted to jump onto the table and into his lap. She’d feed him with her own hands, feel his long tongue lick sauce from the grooves of her fingerprints and the trim cuticles of her dark manicure. She could kiss him and taste the spice and oil of food, kiss him until her saliva washed away those unwanted tastes and she could taste only him, his flesh and spit and blood.

He would wrap his large hands, with those long bare fingers, around her hips and the warmth of his skin would seep through his gloves and her slacks and through her whole body. She would grind down into his lap, feeling him get hard right through the seam of her pants.

She’d grind a little harder until she was wet straight through her panties and in danger of staining her light grey slacks. Then she’d stand, and still straddling him, let him undo her pants and pull them down to her knees. She’d bend over just slightly to unzip his fly. She could feel the way his pulse made it twitch in her hand.

[(Anonymous)]

Coffin!Legato cripple porn!

[(Anonymous)]

I dunno if this will make sense or suck.



“So if I touch your lips,” Elendira paused to run her cherry-red fingernail along the curve of Bluesummers’ lower lip. “You get hard.”

She pulled her finger down the middle of his lower lip, pulling his mouth into a pout and then letting him go. He was already glaring at her.

“But if I grab your dick,” she demonstrated as she spoke. “You go all soft.”

She made a falsely disappointed face.

“That’s pretty different even for a freak like you, Bluesummers,” she told him. She pursed her lips.

“Pretty interesting,” she said. He still glared at her. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the respirator tube that made him breathe blocked his voice box. His face, though, said “fuck you.” He’d said it often enough that she could recognize the exact alignment of his eyebrows when he cursed her.

She pushed his hair out of his eyes and put kisses on his eyelids. Her lipstick didn’t transfer onto the bruises there. She watched the heart monitor as his pulse quickened. That was even more gratifying than hearing it herself.

She dragged her fingernails over the shell of his ear. The respirator started to run a little faster. She blew cool air along his jawbone and muscles his brain and mind could not communicate with twitched. She laughed.

“That’s disgusting,” she pointed out the little bubbles of semen that leaked up his catheter tube.

“You may be broken,” she told him. “But you’re still easy.”

Can we still make requests? Well, I'm making one:

[(Anonymous)]

Midvalley and Hoppered, No Strings Attached.

[(Anonymous)]

KnivesxVash, brainwashing

[(Anonymous)]

Vash/Wolfwood, "marriage" (e.g. anything from getting officially married somehow to, more favorably, performing some kind of private commitment ritual) and intimacy.

[(Anonymous)]

Wolfwood woke with Vash at his feet, snoring. Under the rock overhang they’d taken shelter in it sounded like twenty Vashes were snoring away. With strong grain alcohol drying out his eyes and his throat and what felt like his brain the snoring was almost intolerable.

He pulled a partially squashed cigarette that sprinkled tobacco all over his pants and beaten matchbook with only three matches left in it from his pocket. It took two strikes and a false start to light a match, but all of it was worth it, because the nicotine breathed sweet relief from the last remains of his hangover. He breathed deep.

Vash’s snoring, with his hangover-slash-nic-fit headache gone, became less annoying and more endearing. It worried him, this familiarity and comfort in something as obviously obnoxious as snoring. But, his brain strayed without his permission, snoring was a sure sign of breathing, which meant the man at his feet was still alive and that meant there was hope and goodness and love and peace.

In the early morning chill Wolfwood’s laughter was made physical in smoke and condensation. He watched it diffuse into the air. Vash was still snoring, but moving now, curling up around himself and turning his head so it was nestled on Nick’s shoes. He looked tired and hunted even when he was asleep, and that shook Wolfwood’s foundations slightly. He had to be honest with himself, he idealized Vash and when it looked like he might lose (and, therefore, that guy might win) it chipped at the hope and faith and love he’d somehow found again in his life. If Vash lost, if Vash died, well damn, there’d be no point in living anymore. There’d just be no point.

Vash snuggled closer to his shoes, wrapping and arm around his shin, it reminded him of something funny that he couldn’t quite remember. He pulled a leg back from Vash’s grip and poked him with his shoe. The shoulder didn’t work so he resorted, finally, to kind of sort of kicking Vash in the nose. The snoring stopped in an abrupt snort that sounded like the Humanoid Typhoon had just swallowed a sinus.

The funny thing came to him then.

“Hey,” he said. “I think this means we’re married.”

Vash, who’d looked like he was going to complain about being kicked in the face, looked confused instead.

“What?”

“It’s from the Bible,” Wolfwood explained, nodding sagely. “Some chick named Ruth got married to this guy by sleeping at his feet.”

For every fifteen times Wolfwood looked at Vash like he was crazy, there was one time that Vash looked at Wolfwood like he was crazy. This was one of those times.

“That’s not how it works,” he argued, his voice thick with sleep in a way that shouldn’t, shouldn’t, be attractive. Or heart-warming.

“It’s in the Bible,” Wolfwood countered.

“But we didn’t even jump over a broom handle or a fire or anything,” Vash replied.

“Wait, what?” Wolfwood boggled. “That’s not how you get married.”

“Yes it is.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s a sacrament with a priest and legal papers and shit.”

“Well, the wedding I went to, they jumped over a fire holding hands and then a broom handle,” Vash explained. “And at one they tied the bride and the groom together with a scarf and put a shawl and all these beads over the couple. It was beautiful. It was meaningful. We’re not married.” He sort of tossed it there at the end.

“Sure we are,” Wolfwood said, blithely ignoring all but the last bit.

“You’re not my wife,” he said.

“Who said I was the wife?” he smirked and Vash punched him in the ankle, because it was convenient. It hurt too.

“Seriously though, we eat together, we sleep together, we fight together, we fight with each other, and we sleep with each other. We’re married.” He realized he probably shouldn’t be arguing so hard for that point. It seemed wrong, not really from a theological perspective, though probably it was wrong from that, or the fact that he knew Vash wasn’t human and his own humanity was in question, but it seemed… clingy, desperate, needy. Trying to attach himself; trying to put reinforcements on the fragile hope he’d already built on Vash.

“We’re not married. There was no wedding, therefore we are not married.” Vash said with a note of finality that just stung. Though it shouldn’t, because this argument was stupid.

[(Anonymous)]

Livio loses his virginity to Vash.

[(Anonymous)]

“I,” Livio forces out. “I’ve never done this before.”

Vash backs away and smiles at him, ever the conscientious lover Livio supposes.

“That’s okay,” Vash reassures him. “It’s really not that different from sex between men and women.”

Livio flushes and keeps his mouth shut. He’s so hard and just the brush of someone else is enough to make him desperate. He’d rush it if he was ‘in charge’ so it’s a good thing that Vash is slow and careful.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He kisses Vash’s mouth and his neck, every once in a while his cheek or his ear. That seems simple enough, but his hands keep sliding up and down Vash’s back trying to carefully avoid scars. Sometimes he wants to dig his fingernails in and just hold on, but he’s afraid of hurting Vash—he laughs at himself, at least he thinks it’s himself, afraid of hurting Vash—so he just pulls his hands away and lets them shudder out the spasms just above Vash’s skin.

He’s worried about not lasting very long, but then he thinks about all the things that are off about his body and he thinks maybe he’ll last too long. Well, Vash is used to Nick and maybe, Livio hopes, I’ll be like Wolfwood.

He internally chastises himself for being so morbid and ends up thinking strange things about organized religion and killing people all while Vash slides his pants off past his ankles. Then he has a fleeting moment where he thinks Vash might be psychic and then he’s just impressed that his mind wandered and his dick stayed hard.

‘Good job, little guy,’ he thinks. ‘Keep up the good work!’

Even with lubricant his automatic response when Vash tries to finger him is to seize up. Vash rubs his arm with his prosthetic hand.

“You’ve got to relax,” he says and then he kisses him. Soon he doesn’t even realize it, so entranced still by the mechanics and wonders of kissing another person. Sensations still ghost across his lips and through his mouth for long, long moments after Vash pulls away. Vash’s fingering him, his hand up… well, thinking about it is kind of unromantic. It’s not unpleasant really, so long as he breathes and keeps breathing. It’s not painful and even if it was Livio has a very high tolerance for pain, it’s not even very physically taxing. It’s just weird and not the fireworks and lightening bolts he thought it was supposed to be. He kind of hopes it doesn’t go on too long.

It doesn’t, and watching Vash, the way his cheeks flush and his breath hitches and he compulsively licks his lips, is wonderful. It isn’t fireworks and lightening bolts and he still doesn’t know what to do with his hands, which just rest as lightly as he can make them on Vash’s shoulders, but it’s intimate. He’s never felt so physically close to another person, even when he was knee and elbow deep in their entrails!

He’s glad that person is Vash. He looks into those dilated green eyes, the slack little curve of his mouth, and he feels deep love. Not just hero-worship, not just lust, not just gratitude, but a deeply rooted affection. One thing he’d hoped would be there and everyone said wouldn’t. He feels a tiny bit vindictive and victorious, but he also realizes that his interest is waning… physically.

When Vash orgasms he gasps and squints his eyes very tightly. Livio watches it, it’s sort of cute and innocent. He thought there’d be more warning or that he’d feel it, y’know, inside himself, but he didn’t, he doesn’t. Vash only takes a moment to catch his breath.

[(Anonymous)]

Midvalley/Wolfwood/Milly "Falling (falling from grace; going bad; turning to the Dark Side; Faustian deals; succumbing to temptation or addiction; degradation and descent in general)"

[(Anonymous)]

Milly x Vash, dirty talk and seduction

I'm sorry, I couldn't take this prompt seriously

[(Anonymous)]

“What’s that for, Milly?”

“Oh, that? Topping. Don’t you worry about that though.”

“What’s it topping?”

“I said don’t worry about that, silly.”

“Wow, that’s uhm, that looks really hard.”

“Oh, it isn’t, Vash. It’s so easy and so worth it in the end.”

“Oh god, is that--?”

“Mmmm, yes, it’s one hundred percent pure too.”

“Oh wow, Milly.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Oooh!”

“Oh dear, it’s so thick! I wasn’t expecting it to be this thick!”

“But thick is good, isn’t it?”

“I suppose. Now, Vash, can you get that—yes—that.”

“But I thought—“

“Oh no, now is the time for the topping. But where did I put that blow torch?”

“What the hell are you guys doing in here?”

“Oh hello Sempai! We’re making chocolate crème brulee!”

“Oh, Meryl, it’s sooo good. Try some!”

[(Anonymous)]

Midvalley x anyone, prostitution

102 made me do it!

[(Anonymous)]

Apple blossom x Apple Blossom, pollen!sex

This makes me a very strange person

[(Anonymous)]

So is this twincest or just masturbation?




The breeze fluttered his brother-sister’s stamens just so, the tiny insects coming to nestle amongst downy petals and collecting glorious pollen. This blossom looked forward to those insects traveling far and bearing this tree’s fruit across the land. Any one flower’s joy or sorrow was all fruiting tree flower’s joy and sorry.

This flower was mostly ignored, it’s filaments with their heavy anthers swaying just as tantalizingly in the wind. But the insects stayed away, making it feel inadequate. It fluttered as gracefully as it could and finally an insect came to land, caress its thin petals and the flower gracefully offered food and deposited pollen on the tiny bug.

Then it felt something on it’s stigma. It tried, but this was not something it could ignore. It’s whole chemistry sought out this sensation, the pollen--pollen--clinging to its female parts. But it was pollen from another flower on this tree, barely different from its own. Dangerous, it told itself, forbidden, incestuous.

But, somehow, it felt a pollen tube generating from the sticky point where this familiar pollen met its stigma, the pollen inched down the flower’s style over a matter of long guilt-wracked hours. Everything about this screamed “wrong!” at it, but the flower could not stop what had begun. The pollen finally reached the cavern of the ovary, meeting and fusing with an ovule there.

It felt as if two halves of a whole had met, this pollen was but one face of a coin, that ovule another. There was a flower out there, on this very tree, with whom it felt such a powerful connection that it could not resist reproducing even if it risked deformity in its young. The fertilized ovules started to become seeds and over the course of days the flower turned within itself and became the apple to house that seed.