Work Text:
As the alarm clock blares on, Gwen internally contemplates whether having a job is that important. With a sigh, the blanket covers are pulled off hesitantly, afraid of the chilly winter morning. A glance at the pile of laundry confirms last night’s laziness, leaving her with nothing but a too small pencil skirt and a clashing turquoise button up.
Holding the button up reveals a distasteful stain, the dreadful wine you shared with friends weeks ago. Certainly cannot wear that to work. All that’s left—clean anyway—is the provocative low v-neck sweater your sister bought, smiling suggestively as she handed it over. It was a nice sweater, soft blue stitching followed the curves of the body, accentuating your waist. It would look better if your waist actually fit the damn thing. You’d wear a button up under it under normal circumstances, to keep it appropriate in the workplace. However, there isn’t a single button up, or even shirt, to grace your presence this wonderful morning.
The sweater proves an even tighter fit than expected, and with a pained grimace you turn to the mirror on your closet door. With some pulling up over the cleavage, it could pass for a relatively appropriate outfit, if not a little skimpy. Some stockings, a scarf, and some heels would make it acceptable.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Despite working at the prosecutor’s office for nearly three weeks now, locating the parking lot was still a challenge. Circling the sprawling building a second time now, you consider just parking on the street and pay the hefty price. A quick reminder to your balance quickly convinces you otherwise.
Slowly cruising around, a lone pedestrian catches your eye. Since only bleary-eyed prosecutor assistants would even consider showing up this early, this poor soul may provide some assistance. As the car slowly nears the walker, his bright blue suit becomes harder to ignore. He must have had a similar morning then, maybe even worse, you think as you eye his almost pink tie. Fuschia?
“Excuse me! I can't find the parking lot.” He startles and pretends not to hear you, “Hello? Can you help me?”. His steps grow faster, nearing a slight jog as he tries to escape. What is up with this guy? Pulling up next to him, he finally acknowledges the only other person within a 100 meter radius.
“What.” Is whispered—for no reason—in an impatient tone. Slightly confused by this reaction, curiosity wins over going to work at five in the morning.
“Are you…not supposed to be here?” you whisper back. A guess, but seems to be correct as his eyes widen and his head whips around, looking if someone heard this shocking revelation. Of course, no one did. The blue clad man seems to panic and runs around the car, entering the passenger seat.
“Go down there.” He orders, pointing. You, mistakenly, assume he’s taking you to the parking lot. “Turn left.” Following his direction, you end up parked in a dark alcove next to the storage warehouse where trash—and apparently prosecutor’s assistants— go to die. So not the parking lot. Damn. ‘Am I going to die right now?’ you wonder, slowly reaching for the pepper spray on your car keys.
Noticing this, the man abruptly sits up, “Wait! I’m a defense attorney!” he points at the small golden badge on his lapel, glinting in the early sunlight filtering through the dead branches of the surrounding forest. Well, more like a grove. Either way, that badge means nothing to you. Squinting doesn’t make the badge reveal its purpose, so you decide to judge this man on his appearance. That always works.
He looks tired, and considering the time, this was not out of the ordinary. Spiky black hair points away from his face, which dons a distraught grin. He definitely doesn’t inspire fear, that’s for sure. So, probably not a murderer.
“Why the fuck did you bring me here?? I thought we were going to the parking lot!” you shout, only your voice lowers as you realize the bigger issue at hand you hadn’t fully appreciated. “Are you going to kill me because I work for a prosecutor.” An asshole one too, but that was besides the point.
“I’m Phoenix Wright, I’m working on the Lastname murder case!” the man, Wright, exclaims. “I need to get inside and investigate the crime scene! Please help me get in! Please!”
“No. Get out of my car.” It’s too early for this.
“Please, my client is innocent, she’s being framed!”
‘Does he realize I work for prosecutors?’ you wonder, ‘That’s kind of my job.’
“I just need to see the scene once. I’ll leave once I have what I need.”
You squint at him, raising your eyebrows. A brilliant idea strikes you. Lawyers are rich right…? To send the message, you rub your pointer and middle finger with your thumb.
“Ok, how much?” He sighs, pulling out his wallet. It’s disappointingly empty, only a couple bills peek out from the top. Only his ID lines the inside of the wallet. How he expected to pay you off with that, you have no idea. Suddenly feeling guilty for virtually robbing a poor man, you think of other ways he can help you in exchange.
“I do hate seeing those clearly innocent people get sentenced, so I’ll help you out. I won’t take your money,” because he clearly needs it, “but you have to do something for me.” A plan starts formulating, “I have this boss, dreadful man. If you can remove that stick stuck far up his ass,” how he will do that, you have no clue, “I will help you with your case. I’ll be like an inside man!”.
“Edgeworth…?” Wright guesses with a wry smile.
“So you know him then.” The car door clicks open, “Let’s go, no one should be here yet.”
“Thank you…?”
“Gwen.”
“Thank you Gwen.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Wright follows anxiously as you walk towards the side door, the key already in your hand. As you open the door, a peek inside confirms that the building is deserted.
The Lastname case seems pretty cut and dry in your opinion. First Lastname was a witness in a small crime being prepped for court by a prosecutor. When the prosecutor, Big Guy, left the room, the prosecutor’s assistant, Little Baby, was left alone with the witness. Baby who was having an affair with Guy—an open secret—and somehow found a knife wound in his chest. It’s pretty clear who killed him. Motive, method, you don’t know any of the details, but you heard there was even a clip from the security camera showing Lastname holding the knife as Baby bled out.
The crime scene is grisly, the smell of death a slap in the face as the door opens. Police tape lines the room and an outline of the body lays sprawled out over the dark red blood stain, but the room looks deserted. Perfect.
“Hey!” A voice booms, running over. Or not. “You can’t be here, this is- Hey, pal! What are you doing here? This is the prosecutor's office buddy, not the defender's office!”
“I don’t think that’s a thing…” Wright mutters, “Ahem- Well, we were just here to… see Edgeworth!”
“Oh good, I thought you wanted to see the crime scene! I can’t let you do that this time pal, Mr. Edgeworth was really mad at me last time…” His voice deepens in guilt, “Who’s this young lady?” He snaps out of it, brightening up with a huge grin taking over his face. “My name is Detective Dick Gumshoe! Nice to meet you, pal!” As his attention is directed over to you, his cheeks dust with pink.
You’ve met before. Twice. “I’m Gwen Osborne, Detective Gumshoe, remember? We’ve met before, I’m Mr. Edgeworth’s assistant.” Gumshoe stiffens up, eyes widening. The last time this happened, he’d had the same reaction. This time, however, Gumshoe’s wide eyes shift down a fraction at your sweater forgetfully ridden down. His dilating pupils shoot back up to yours as you, in turn, look down. Embarrassed, you pull the pesky sweater back up. ‘Maybe I should’ve just worn that nasty button-up…’ you think forlornly, peeking back up at Gumshoe. His eyes, now fully dilated, meet yours. Gumshoe’s skin turns even brighter pink than before.
“W-What? You’re joking! I’d remember Mr. Edgeworth’s assistant! R-Right pal?” he says, flustered, looking to Wright for confirmation.
“I’m not so sure about that Detective Gumshoe…” Wright slips out, though Gumshoe doesn’t seem to hear, or care for that matter.
“A-Anyways, you should get going pal– you and Gwen! Should get going! I mean!” Gumshoe stumbles, nearly sprinting back to the crime scene.
Wright glances at you, perplexed, “Does he owe you money or something?”
~~~~~~~~~
Keeping true to Wright’s lame excuse, you actually have to go to work now, up to the 12th floor to Edgeworth’s office. He’s the only prosecutor to have the—disturbing—dedication to his job, showing up hours before any of the others. Consequently, so must you.
Wright looks doubtful, “What do you even want me to do, Gwen?"
"I don't know! I thought you were friends or something," you groan, exasperated, "Tire him out, embarrass him!"
"What, like bend him over his desk and fuck him silly?” Wright jokes, a huff of amusement escaping him.
A choked sound from behind freezes both of you in your tracks. Slowly craning your head, you know exactly who it’s going to be. The color leaves Wright’s face as he sees the dumbfounded Edgeworth holding his hand to his mouth in shock. His other hand moves to inconspicuously cover his crotch with his briefcase, the movement looking natural to no one but Wright, as he doesn’t seem to notice.
“M-Mr. Edgeworth! Good morning! I’ll get you some tea! C-Chamomile, you say? Of course, sir! I’ll be right back sir!” Before he can even utter a word, you run off—cowardly sure, but it’s too late now. Phoenix Wright will have to figure this out on his own.
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Wright’s POV
“H-Hey Edgeworth! Are you going to work?” Of course he’s going to work you idiot! “I-I mean, how’s the case going? Any new evidence? Maybe an updated autopsy?”
“I- Goodbye Wright.” Edgeworth speedwalks the same way Gwen went, seeming unbothered, leaving Wright alone in the hallway, sweating bullets.
He contemplated going home, giving up. But thinking about Lastname crying, pleading for help, pushed him to follow after Edgeworth. Wright needed to talk to him, ask him about the case, no matter how upset Edgeworth may be.
This contemplation gave Edgeworth the time to escape, and without a clue as to where he might be, Wright ended up waiting in Edgeworth’s empty, dark room. He’d come back to his office eventually, right?
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Edgeworth’s POV
Wright is rambling on about something, probably about the case. After the scandalous image Wright mentioned—in public!—Edgeworth felt every coherent thought leave his body and join his blood in rushing southward. Right now, Edgeworth really needed to be somewhere—anywhere—else, and preferably alone. The discomfort in his pants was becoming difficult to ignore, much less resist, and he would much rather appreciate Wright not being in attendance when he handled it.
Considering this was Wright’s fault, Edgeworth did not feel he owed him any explanation. With a succinct farewell, he walked away, calculating the best place to hide and handle this quickly. His private bathroom would do. No sane man would enter his office when he wasn’t there.
His office…The idea of a man using him in his office, his professional workplace, a defense attorney nonetheless, lit a fire low in his belly. Edgeworth couldn’t help but palm himself softly as he stepped in his dark office, the stimulation making him stumble slightly as he entered his bathroom and neglected to turn his light on.
Frantically pulling at his belt, Edgeworth stifled a moan at the movement so close to where he wanted to touch. He was more than hard at this point, throbbing, as images of a man—Phoenix—pushing him down over his desk, slamming deep into him, flashed across Edgeworth’s mind. Pants tight around his thighs, Edgeworth plunged his hand into his boxers to touch himself, softly at first.
“Miles…” Phoenix would groan into his ear, “They’re going to hear you if you moan like that.” Edgeworth’s grip tightened, his breath coming out harshly as he pulled himself out of his boxers, moving his hand faster. Although there was hand lotion on the counter to his right, desperation clouded Edgeworth’s mind. Quickly, he spit in his palm and returned his hand to his cock. His other hand ripped his jacket open, pulling his shirt up to relieve himself of the stifling heat. Would Wright touch him like this? Would he love him gently or leave him to rut against his table, chasing his own pleasure? Would he pin Edgeworth’s hands behind his back so he couldn’t touch himself?
“Just like that, Miles. You’re so naughty.” Phoenix would smirk, tap his ass, “Ah-ah, keep your ass up” as he pressed deeper. The preservation to hold his moans back lost over Edgeworth’s fantasy. Would Phoenix like his moans? Or would he shove his fingers in his mouth to shut him up?
Slowly reaching up, Edgeworth placed his fingers in his mouth, licking them, imagining they were Phoenix’s. He sucked and moaned, filthy sounds intensifying.
“Mhf, ahn, ah, ah” Edgeworth’s voice quietly rang out, barely audible to anyone outside of his office. Inside his office was another matter.
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Privacy was an important thing that should be respected, and Wright would stick by that. But he really couldn’t help his curiosity when he heard sounds from the room adjacent to Edgeworth’s office. Was it a bathroom? Another office? Storage area? Why were there sounds coming from it? Did Edgeworth kidnap someone...? It was concern that led Wright to crawl from his post next to his desk to the mysterious door.
On his knees, he placed his ear to the crack in the door, and immediately shot back, ears burning, staring as if it was the door that had been moaning. Wright could not believe his bright red ears. Edgeworth was masturbating. At work. Who else would moan in the Head Prosecutor’s office? Despite great mental effort, Wright’s blood pooled in his crotch, heat growing as he leaned back into the door, more gently this time.
Now, the moans were coming through sucking sounds. Wright closed his eyes, shuddering at the image. Edgeworth’s wet lips, red and swollen from kissing, stretched around his cock, moaning helplessly. A grunt escaped Wright’s throat as he adjusted himself in his pants, swearing that he wouldn’t touch himself. His heart pounded as he listened, Edgeworth’s sounds voicing Wright’s lewd imagination of Miles.
God, he really wanted to touch himself.
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Miles was about to come. Fantasy Phoenix had flipped him over on the desk onto his back with a bruising grip on his waist. His cravat stuffed in his mouth, Miles was drooling and moaning into the fabric like an animal. Holding his legs up by his knees, his dick was flopping wildly as Phoenix pounded into him, no longer coherent, “Fuck— Miles, you’re so good, so warm, ah, I want to come inside, Miles please, let me come inside, please.”
Finally using the lotion, Miles gently circled his hole. He started hesitant; he had just started masturbating using his ass. Maybe he shouldn't continue his private exploration at work. The reminder of scandalous activities at work brought the fantasy storming back, stamping out his hesitation. One finger became two, which became three, which was not enough.
Miles wanted something bigger, rounder, harder, wetter. Something attached to someone—attached to Phoenix. This thought wrangled a desperate moan, still beating his cock as he pushed deeper within himself.
“It’s not enough–uhnn– Phoenix! Pleasee, more–ahn–please, I need more…!” Miles whimpered, eyes shut, begging to no one. Then, the door slammed open.
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Phoenix was about to come. Miles was so hot, so cute, moaning like some kind of amateur porn actor. The Miles of his fantasy was so wanton, sucking and begging and arching his back. That Miles took his earlier proposal and leaned over his desk, spread his cheeks, and begged Phoenix to use him. That Miles fingered himself and rutted against the desk and cried until Phoenix entered him and filled him up with his cum. With visions like that, he’d given up within seconds following his promise unzipped his slacks, locking the office door. A public indecency charge would be hard to defend if he got caught with his dick out beating it to a locked bathroom. Or… was it locked? If he could watch Miles masturbating, making those sounds, Phoenix wouldn’t even have to touch himself to come.
Delirious with arousal, Phoenix was sure that checking the door made sense, he needed to see. One hand now slowly stroking his cock, he softly opened a crack in the door, making a small sound. The sound was drowned out by the now louder and clearer moans of Miles Edgeworth, fingering his ass on his private toilet while he stroked his cock, babbling a defense attorney’s name, thrusting wildly, tears brimming his eyes from desperation.
Eyes wide, Phoenix’s hand on the handle dropped, fisting his cock with both hands at the delicious sight before him. Miles didn’t seem to notice, crying out for Phoenix and begging him for more. At this point, Phoenix would do anything this man told him to; hearing Miles begging for him snapped the string of reason.
He slammed the door open, startling Miles. After a second of charged eye contact, Miles’ eyes widen in realization and embarrassment. Scrambling to cover himself, Miles pulls his shirt down and tries to pull his pants up while covering his bobbing dick with his other hand.
“W-Wright! Get out!” He cries, his voice high in alarm.
Phoenix’s voice, low with arousal, purrs, “I heard you Miles, you wanted more, you wanted me, right? ‘Ah, ah, ah’ you were moaning, Miles,” he mocked, crawling closer, “‘Phoenix, it’s not enough’ you said. Miles…” Phoenix was moaning his name by the end, looking up at Miles between his legs.
Blushing furiously, Miles contemplated for a moment. This was what he wanted after all... Slowly, he spread his legs open, eyes closed, shaking from shame and arousal. After a few seconds of waiting, Miles peeked one eye open to see Phoenix staring fervently at his hole with lidded eyes, stroking his dick slowly. Embarrassed again, Miles made to close his legs again.
“Ah-ah, keep them open, Miles,” Phoenix warned, pushing his legs open. Reminded of his fantasy, his dick twitches.
“Can we… move to the desk?” Miles quietly mewls, slowly forgetting his shame at the sight of Phoenix so enraptured by him.
“Mmh, yes, please that’s so hot” Phoenix shudders and sighs, grabbing Miles by his elbow and marching to his office.
(this is where I stopped for Wrightworth, just Gumshoe/OC after this. If you want me to continue this pls lmk bc i lowkey wanna)
~~~~~~~~~~
His mom always did say that the perfect woman would fall into his lap one day, but Gumshoe didn’t think she was being serious. He’d have to buy her a gift later, because the woman that just fell onto him was the most beautiful living thing he’d seen in his life. The woman was ditzy and cute, her eyes big and her bottom round, just his type.
As the woman—Gwen, he remembered—landed on him she straddled his lap perfectly, her little skirt riding up to reveal her round thighs encompassed by thin stockings surrounding Dick’s… well, dick, perfectly. He couldn’t help staring, and certainly couldn’t help the growing arousal at seeing the woman of his dreams straddling him.
Shaking his head, he remembered that he was in public and this was, unfortunately, not a fantasy.
“I’m so sorry Gwen! Are you ok?” Gumshoe asked, moving to try help her up. Although landing on the cute, bumbling idiot wasn’t Gwen’s plan, she liked where this was heading. Gwen saw—and felt— Gumshoe’s reaction to this little predicament. No one else would be coming to the storage room, and she was kind of bored—and aroused—anyways...
Instead of accepting his help like Gumshoe thought she would, Gwen ground down onto Gumshoe’s half hard dick.
“What’s this?” Gwen asked, placing her hands on his chest and leaning over his chest, trying to be seductive. She felt on her thigh that she was successful.
Grinding down again, “Hm, Detective?”. The second time, Gumshoe grabbed her hips and thrust against her, their combined arousal slowly wetting the fabric between them.
On the ground, they frotted desperately against each other. Gumshoe's teeth set in arousal, he gripped her ass—moving so good—and ground harder. He couldn't get enough of the warmth, even through several layers of fabric. Gumshoe could do this until he came, but Gwen wasn’t satisfied. She gripped his shirt, dropping her chin onto her chest, meeting his eyes.
“Please, can I?” Gwen whimpered, pleading, rubbing Dick’s bulge with her hands, massaging the area.
“Hmph… go—hah—ahead,” Dick slurred, hips adapting to the rhythm of Gwen’s hands. Ripping his belt off, Gwen tied Dick’s hands above his head. Under her ass, she felt Dick continue to grow. “That ok?” She asked. Dick’s sharp thrust and low groan as he nodded was all the confirmation she needed.
Bringing her attention back, she slowly unzipped his pants and palmed at his boxers, then caught Dick by surprise with a grunt when she licked up the length over the thin fabric. The musk and salt only urged her on, along with the rough hands, still tied up, that found its way to her hair, gently pushing her head down.
A soft breath resembling a moan escaped her, sending a twitch to Dick’s length. Not unnoticed, Gwen suckled on the tip, her hands softly massaging his thighs through his pants. She looked up to see if Dick was okay; Dick’s face was red, pupils fully dilated and his eyes lidded, biting his lip to quiet his moans. Her hands wandered over Dick’s clothes, she touched his sides, his ass, his belly, leaving a trail of goosebumps and a shivering Gumshoe, eyes closed and begging, “Please, touch me, please, please, take it off, please Gwen”.
Amused, Gwen raised her lips, a string of precome and spit following. Gumshoe’s eyes opened, silently begging her to keep going, despite his request. Still smiling with pre-come dribbling down her chin, surprising Dick how much it turned him on, Gwen pulled his boxers down. His cock sprung up, bobbing and dripping. Although she had already felt its was substantial size in his boxers, Gwen salivated at the sight of the hot and heavy dick in her hands. It was slightly longer than average, but its girth is what had her excited.
“I wanna, please, let me touch you, I wanna touch you Gwen, please.” Blushing, Gwen had a sheepish look on her face as she turned around and straddled Dick’s big chest, now facing his filled cock. “I… don’t have anything on underneath,” she showed Dick, arching her back, and under her tiny skirt, her wet pussy was nearly visible through the pantyhose, “I didn’t have any left.”
Gumshoe nearly came. Gwen gripped his base mischievously; his dick twitched and a spurt of pre-come poured from his slit. Gwen licked it up, sucking the tip as she rubbed the slit with her tongue. Her hands rubbed the rest of his cock, lubed by Gwen’s licking.
Panting, unable to resist the sight of Gwen’s hot and dripping cunt, Gumshoe ripped through the belt and grabbed Gwen’s ass, shoving his face into her wet heat covered by the pantyhose, pushing the skirt around her waist. In surprise, Gwen moaned and took Gumshoe deeper into her mouth, hitting her throat. Raising her ass to push into Dick’s tongue, his cock fell out of her mouth, bobbing back and slapping her in the face. Gwen took the length with both hands and rubbed it on her face, licking it up and down.
Through this, Gumshoe ravaged her cunt, ripping the pantyhose with his teeth, Gwen shaking and moaning with excitement. He sucked and licked her bare pussy, spit dripping down his face. Dick tongues her vagina, sucking on it while his thumb slowly massages around her clit.
Pulling her up, Gwen yelps as Gumshoe places her on his face so she is sitting on him and turns her around so she can rub her clit on his nose as he eats her out. Gwen’s trembling pantyhose clad thighs frame Gumshoe’s face; one hand holding her left thigh, the other excitedly pulling on his hefty cock.
Gwen rides Dick’s face, rubbing her cunt up and down Gumshoe’s face, shivering every time his stubble rubs against her. Shuddering, her hands fly to his hair and pulls his face into her vagina as she comes on his face, leaving him dripping wet.
Panting, Gwen moans out, “I want you so bad right now,” she gets on the ground and raises her ass to Dick, silently begging for him to pound into her.
Dick, happy to oblige,
(yeah this is it. again lmk if i should continue)