id: a digital drawing of a red soldier and a blue pyro from team fortress 2. they're both facing the viewer. pyro is sitting on soldier's shoulders, resting their hands on the top of his helmet. they look quite happy. soldier is standing upright with a grin, holding onto pyro's legs. the background is transparent except for a white outline around the characters. end id
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yes, yes i know edgeworth’s big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated us all, but listen. listen.
phoenix wright
phoenix “genuinely unable to reconcile the girl on the stand with the girl he dated for eight months, a cognitive dissonance so profound it’s ultimately explained by them being literally two different people, but which he first sits with for five years and does not talk about at any point to anyone” wright
phoenix “don’t mention that name to me. i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t want to think about it. i am just going to keep myself in this state of perpetual crisis mode focus on other people’s problems until eventually i die and get to hang out with mia on the astral plane and never have to deal with any of these emotions ever again” wright
phoenix “overnight loses his career and reputation and sense of identity while gaining an adopted, probably pretty traumatized eight-year-old daughter, and rather than leaning on his friends for help, or getting therapy, or taking any time to process any of this, he *checks notes* spends seven years dedicating all his free time and energy to investigating the weird fucking circumstances around it and maintains a friendship with the guy he suspects was behind it all” wright
phoenix "runs across a burning bridge and falls through it, half a day after the game establishes that he is terrified of heights, because his friend is on the other side of that bridge" wright
phoenix “i sure felt surprised. maybe i had my poker face on” wright
phoenix “looking back on it that was actually a pretty dark period in my life” wright
phoenix “don’t ask me how i got started. i don’t remember” wright
phoenix “only you stood still, your eyes calmly watching” wright
phoenix “sometimes, life just sucks” wright
just
phoenix wright
crunchiest man in the world
and all i wanna do is chew and chew and chew on him
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mdni. reader has a vagina. i love big noses.
it’s the sort of thing you don’t notice until someone points it out—then it becomes all you can see. higuruma hiromi remembers the exact comment (the first of countless) from when he was a little boy, running around on the playground.
“how come your nose looks like that?” one of his playmates asked, scrunching up a cute, button nose in what hiromi later recognized as disgust.
“like what?” hiromi asked, touching his nose. it didn’t hurt; nothing was broken; it wasn’t bleeding. so what was wrong?
“it looks like a bird’s beak!” the child squealed, making a squawking noise to emphasize their point.
that was the day hiromi became self-conscious of his nose. the remark spread around the playground, and made its way onto the school bus, and into the classroom. he couldn’t escape it, not even in high school. “hawk” was his nickname; he loathed it, but nothing he said helped.
hiromi never cried—boys don’t cry—but he may have shed a tear or two in frustration in the bathroom when he stared at his reflection, picking himself apart. he vowed that one day, when he became a lawyer and earned enough money, he would get a rhinoplasty and be done with his beak.
when you meet hiromi, he’s a powerful lawyer. you discover his secret in the form of a stack of plastic surgery brochures when you visit his unkempt apartment after you’ve been dating for a few months. he’s shocked when you grab him by the face, running your soft fingertips down his aquiline nose, from the strong slope between his brows to the sharp tip that shades his lips.
“your nose is sexy, hiro,” you breathe, smoothing your palms to rest on his shoulders. “it suits you.”
hiromi doesn’t fully grasp what you mean until later, when you settle your knees on either side of his head, lowering yourself so that your pussy kisses his face. he starts slowly: he’s tentative in his licks to your folds, occasionally sucking, mouthing up to your clit, getting a feel for what you respond to.
when he tongues at your entrance, moving his face so that his nose smears through your juices and rubs against your clit, hiromi gets exactly the reaction he’s looking for. he uses his nose more: he nuzzles through your wetness and grinds right where you want him—where you need him, if your moans are anything to go by. your soul-shattering orgasm makes him realize something.
maybe his nose is sexy. regardless, hiromi throws the rhinoplasty pamphlets away the next day.
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