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Kink Meme Fills for the Masses

Chapter Text


Format is [Chapter Number - Title - Major Characters (&)/Ships (/), Rating]


1 - Directory
2 - Untitled, Simon B. & Owen & Armie, G
3 - You Haven't?, Mia/Diego, E
4 - Untitled, Will Powers & Matt, T
5 - Trucy Enigmar and the Significance of Halo-Halo, Trucy, G
6 - Return to Previous Save?, Phoenix, G
7 - Visuality, Phoenix/Kristoph, E
8 - Untitled, Phoenix & Mia, T

Chapter Text

“You don't look like a kid!”

“I am, I am!” he defends weakly, “I'm… I’m five!”

“But you're bigger than me!”

“Cease your whining, the both of you,” Simon Interrupts, “he may not look it, but Owen is the age he claims to be.”

Armie puffs out her cheeks. Owen pulls the back of his coat over his head to hide. He's no longer crying, which is a definite improvement from before, but he's clearly very distressed.

“Owen,” he says gently, and the boy looks up at him from his position cross-legged on the floor of the defendant lobby, “would you like some water? A snack?”

He curls tighter into a ball. Simon wonders if he's said something wrong before Owen speaks again. “… Snack. Please?”

“I want water!” Armie says, clearly having forgotten her one-sided argument with Owen beforehand. She's swinging her legs back and forth in her wheelchair lightly, little arms squeezing her remote-controlled plane with everything they have. At least her voice is quieter.

Not quiet enough, apparently. Owen squeezes his eyes shut tight and puts his hands over his ears. “Please…” he whispers, “too loud.”

Armie gasps, “I'm sorry!” She repeats again, this time in a whisper, “I'm sorry! …I want water.”

“I heard you the first time,” Simon grumbles. A laugh bubbles out of Armie’s throat.

“Hey Owen, is it okay if I sit on one of your pillows? You look so comfortable!” Simon hears Armie whisper-ask as he walks to the vending machine.

“…O-Of course,” is the response, and the corners of Simon’s mouth twitch upwards.

Chapter Text

Every friday evening, the two of them would go for a date night, free from the responsibilities and work out in the world. No matter what they did, whether it be have a nice dinner or watch a movie or simply enjoy each other’s company, it always seemed to end the same— with the pair locking lips and holding one another close for hours, Diego’s hand brushing the side of her jaw, Mia’s knee knocking lightly against his as she crawled into his lap.

There was never anything more than heavy petting, if that. Their contact in this way was all about the feeling, the emotions between them more than the actual physical pleasure of it. He never said it, but Mia could feel the tension that left Diego when she slid into his lap or curled against his side, could feel how he would hold her closer when he thought she was asleep.

Even though they never went much further, it never stopped Mia from wanting. She didn't want to pressure Diego, lord no, but the nights where she would quickly and quietly get herself off while he was sleeping were beginning to pile up. She suspected it was much the same for him, but she was never able to confirm it.

This afternoon had started no differently; they had dinner at Diego’s apartment, before eventually traveling over to his couch to acquaint their bodies with each other once more. This time, though, the Mia seemed to be feeling a bit more handsy than she usually would have been. Her hands were roaming the expanse of his back, squeezing at his chest, his thighs. Diego groaned into their kiss and Mia pulled back, unable to help the soft giggle that bubbled up from out of her throat.

“Do you maybe…” she breathed, “want to go further?”

“Do you?”

“Just a bit.” Mia winked at him jokingly, and Diego grinned. He loved his girl.

“That can certainly be worked with.” He slowly relaxed before reaching up, cupping her cheek. Her lips met his own, and they picked up almost where they left off, kissing each other deeply and passionately.

Mia’s suit jacket and scarf having long been discarded, Diego rubbed his hands up and down her sides for a brief moment before reaching his hands up underneath the hem of her strapless top. She lifted her arms enough and allowed him enough room to wiggle it over her head, her breasts bouncing slightly before stilling as they fell from the fabric.

“No bra, Mia? Even while you were in the courtroom? Naughty…”

Mia stuck her tongue out at him and directed his hands towards her chest. Diego did as she implied, squeezing and kneading the mounds on her chest lovingly for a moment. He ran his thumbs over her nipples again and again, watching as they perked and hardened under his ministrations. His mouth took one in soon enough, suckling and teasing the bud with his tongue. He teased her nipples before pulling back and littering gentle kisses across both her breasts.

Mia arched her back into his touch, reaching down and tracing her fingers across his thighs. She could feel herself getting more and more aroused with each passing second, and before long, it was almost suffocating to be wearing the remainder of her clothing, little as it was. After a few more moments of Diego playing with her breasts, they were almost beginning to be sore, and Mia pushed him away lightly before tugging off what had remained on her body, the only thing left being her short pencil skirt and her dark blue panties.

As Mia shuffled out of her skirt and pulled it down past her hips, Diego made a noise of approval. “Ohhh, pretty kitty. You gonna strip for me?”

“You wish,” Mia teased. She finished stepping out of her panties and ran two fingers across her slit, finally showing them to Diego. She sat back onto the couch cushion, now completely nude, and opened her legs to him. “I'm soaking here, Diego. Do you wanna help me, or just sit there?”

He grinned sharply. “I’ll gladly help you, kitten.”

He quickly stood, stripping off his lower half’s clothing and freeing his hard cock. He sighed through his teeth as the cold air hit him. Sitting back down onto the couch, he settled himself between Mia’s thighs, rubbing her slit before slipping two fingers into her. He shivered as the wet heat touched his fingers. It was wet, and hot, and tight, and Diego couldn't fucking wait to get his cock in her.

“So this is what it feels like…” he mused, still half-joking.

Something seemed to click in Mia’s head, and her eyebrows shot up. “Have you never…?”

“Been saving myself for someone like you, kitten,” he murmured, kissing just below her ear. She sighed softly, moving her neck to brush a gentle kiss across his collarbone. Fingers laced hungrily through her dark locks, his hands touching at every little inch of her he could reach.

Diego gnawed his lower lip, but only for a moment. He kissed her sweetly as he resumed his fingering, stretching her for a minute before pulling his fingers out of her. He rubbed his shaft with his slick-coated hand before lining himself up with her. “Sure you want this?”

Mia nodded, “Yes, absolutely.”

Slowly, carefully, Diego pushed himself inside of her, holding his breath. The way Mia felt around him was amazing… he'd watched a good bit of porn before, but he hadn't really known what to expect in reality. It really was as tight and warm as he thought, even more so. He groaned shakily as he fully sheathed himself inside of her. “You feel so good…”

Mia wrapped her arms around his neck. “I would certainly hope so,” she smiled. She pulled him down for another kiss, this time to distract him a little bit from the intense pleasure and give him time to settle down inside of her. Diego let out a shivered
that wracked his body. Careful to take his time, he began to slip himself out of her before pushing back in, rocking his hips back and forth. He could feel his breath hitch with every thrust. He leaned down and put his lips to Mia’s neck as he moved, and as he did Mia managed to swing her legs over his shoulders, pulling him closer and encouraging him to go harder.


He felt as though he was going to burst at any second now. He knew it was nearly inevitable that he would come so soon his first time, but he couldn't help but wish that he could make sure Mia came first. Despite his wishes, he could feel the warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach and the telltale tingling of his legs.

When he climaxed, he disregarded the urge to bury himself to the hilt and pulled out, sounding almost regrettably pathetic as he whimpered out Mia’s name before shakily resting over her.

“I’m glad that you enjoyed yourself,” Mia mused softly. There wasn't any mocking tone in her voice, just soft fondness. Diego hummed low in agreement.

“Well, I’m done just yet, kitten. You haven't finished.”

The woman looked a little surprised before a small smile crossed her features. That was one of the things she loved about the man. He never did anything exclusively for his own pleasure. He always wanted to make sure that she was equally satisfied in the end.

With one hand, he reached and started to rub her clit in tight, small circles. She gasped. She was sensitive, and close, and the feeling of Diego’s rough fingers against her was enough to make her shake hard. She started to claw lightly at Diego’s neck and cling to him, crying out and coming undone. Diego could feel her pulsing rhythmically against his fingertips, and he shivered.

The two of them laid together on the couch, shuffling around somewhat so that Mia was laying on top of Diego and not getting crushed. Her hair tickled against his neck, but he made no move to brush it away.

After she'd caught her breath, Mia tilted her head up to look at him. “…You'd really never done that before? Not even once?”

Diego shrugged apathetically, “I touched like, one boob in college—” Mia snorted loudly, “— but actually? No.”

“Well, you did a pretty good job I'd say.”

Chapter Text

“Dad, can you hand me my comb?”

Will blinks before grinning sheepishly and turning to face Matt. “Dad, huh?”

Matt looks mortified. Will holds back a chuckle. He picks the bright red comb off the dressing room table and hand it over to Matt, who accepts it shakily.

“Do I remind you that much of your dad, Matty?”

“I didn't mean to,” Matt says fast enough that it almost sounds like an admission of guilt for something, “I just kinda messed up is all, I won't do it again, I—”

“Hey, hey! It's okay, kiddo!” Will insists, “…It's really nice, actually, to be a father figure. I'm a pretty big guy! Nice to know I'm not intimidating to ya!”

The dressing room is briefly silent. Matt quickly applies a light shimmery highlighter to his face before continuing to look guilty.

“…My dad was an asshole…” Matt mumbles, still looking down at his hands nervously. Will wishes he was better at verbal interaction, wishes he knew exactly how to respond with his words to make Matt feel better and let him know it's okay. But he never has been a poetic man, probably never will be. So Will scoots closer to Matt and pulls him in close, letting the other’s head lay against his shoulder. Nothing seems different until Matt begins to hiccup lightly.

“Y-You’re so much better than my dad…” Matt managed through heavy, stuttering breaths, “You’re re-really nice, thank you-u…”

Will wraps his large arms tighter around him, nearly cradles him.

“Dad,” Matt finally sobs into Will’s shirt, “dad, dad…”

“I know.” Will doesn't even know exactly what he means by that. He just holds the younger man close, traces shapes onto Matt’s back with his fingers until the sobs slow into hiccups once again. Neither of them move— and if Matt calls him dad the next week on set, nobody says anything at all.

(Will left the room later, and Matt's face went stone cold. He always did consider himself something of an expert liar.)

Chapter Text

Trucy was only eight when her father died and left her with little to remember or know her heritage by. She didn't realize she was more different than anyone else at the time, didn't realize her skin was darker in a way that mattered, and it didn't, really, even when she realized it might. No one noticed, no one cared, no one looked, because where they were located it was nothing strange to see a pale man and his incredibly tan daughter going about town to get groceries.

It didn't matter to her in any sort of extremely negative way, but Trucy was curious. She asked Phoenix, then, what sort of heritage she had (a DNA test was considered, but she knew they weren't cheap and her father couldn't even afford a new beanie.) He had been unsure at first, scratching at the back of his neck and appearing deep in thought, before he simply said he was fairly confident that her biological father had been Filipino. Phoenix, of course, would have had no knowledge of her mother’s side, so Trucy didn't bother to ask.

This was how Trucy had assumed the identity of being Filipina, and it felt wonderful to finally have a name for where she originated. Filipina, Filipina. The word felt nice on her tongue. She knew about the Philippines, of course, was aware of them, but she was overtaken by her intense curiosities about the place her father, and perhaps her mother, had called home once upon a time. She looked at geography, and history, and traditions, and foods. Foods in particular caught her eye, and she made it her mission to fix at least one dish to consummate the learning of her heritage.

A few pages worth of google-searched Filipino recipes and one trip to their local Asian market later, Trucy had all the ingredients she needed laid out on the countertop. She was going to make halo-halo, a dessert made of shaved ice, evaporated milk, and a variety of toppings and mix-ins. She wasn't a huge fan of some of the advised mix-ins, and some she had never had or heard of before, so she bought a few to try out.

First, Trucy poured in the sweet red beans. She remembers that when she was younger, she used to be grossed out about beans being in with sweets and ice creams, but once she'd gotten ahold of some sweet red bean paste ice cream, her mind was made up— it was delicious! Because she liked it so much, she put just a little more than necessary in the bottom of her repurposed formerly-wine-and-now-dessert glass. Then she put in a small spoon full of nata de coco on top. It looked weird, all gelatinous and clear-ish, but Trucy put some on the tip of her tongue and decided it was actually pretty good! She couldn't find macapuno at the store, so she just sprinkled in some shaved coconut instead, alongside a few bits of jackfruit. Jackfruit wasn't her absolute favorite, but it wasn't bad, and apparently it was a traditional part of the recipe, so she added it too.

Next, she put in the shaved ice and drizzled the evaporated milk on top. She accidentally fumbled the small can of it and spilt some on the countertop. She cleaned most of it up with a wet rag so it wouldn't be sticky, but she put a few fingers of it into her mouth just because she wanted to try it. It was weird and sweet and way too thick to be normal milk. Trucy decided evaporated milk probably wasn't meant to be enjoyed that way.

Finally, Trucy took her glass and topped the whole thing off with a large scoop of ube ice cream. At the store, Phoenix had asked her what ube was while they were at the checkout counter. Trucy didn't know, but she looked it up on the computer when she got home and it was apparently a purple yam used in a lot of Filipino desserts. True to the name, and true to the packaging, the ice cream was a rich, bright purple color! It was gorgeous! Trucy made a mental note to show Athena and Apollo later just how pretty it was. She scooped out a large ball of it and put it on top of everything else. Trucy grinned; the halo-halo was complete!


Trucy had never been to the Philippines before, had never known of her heritage until just under a week prior, but somehow taking bites of her halo-halo and laying up next to her adopted father made her feel like she was going home.

Chapter Text

Time travel isn't real. He knows time travel isn't real, can't be real. Metaphorically, maybe, and certainly in science fiction, but real, legitimate cases of traveling far into the future or back into the past in the blink of an eye? It's absurd!

Except, Phoenix Wright has mastered it, somehow. He can't entirely remember the first time he used it, likely because the first few times he brushed it off as an overactive imagination. But as case after case and court battle after court battle came and went, he can't deny it any longer. He's the turnabout terror, master of the courtroom without a smudge in his record, and unbeknownst to anyone else he uses his ability to manipulate the fabric of time to win his court cases flawlessly.

He doesn't lie, doesn't falsify evidence. He's not a cheater. He does his lawyerly duties fairly and justly. He just goes back a little bit in time to fix some mix-ups, that's all. He shivers to imagine what could have been without his ability the day Kristoph Gavin had given him falsified evidence. As soon as the prosecution had called his fake piece out for what it was, the the judge and the gallery were jumping down his threat and tearing him to shreds. Jump back, jump back, back, back, back. Five minutes, only five, but it makes all the difference. He won't deny, he used one of the skips to meet with Kristoph and spit right in his smarmy, self-aggrandizing face. Was it an abuse of his power? Maybe. But did it feel good? Absolutely.

“Objection!” he shouts, “Miss Banks couldn't have broken into the building at seven, because she was seen by the witness at six-thirty!”

Edgeworth cocks an eyebrow. “The witness was in the building, Wright.”

“Have you finally lost it, Nick…?” Maya whispers from his side.

Shit. Phoenix sighs, skips back. He honestly hopes his power hasn't made him careless. Even if he knows it can be undone, messing up in court seriously still makes his heart skip a beat. That can't be good for his stress tension…

Chapter Text

To the best of Phoenix’s knowledge, Kristoph wasn’t aware that Phoenix had put cameras all over his friend’s office, which had inevitably become something akin to Kristoph’s overnight residence as well seeing as the man hardly ever went home. Phoenix decided that he could hardly be blamed for wanting to spy on the man who was so private about his personal life. Especially since he had the means to do it now, what with the more frequent interactions between the two of them. Phoenix was actually somewhat surprised that Kristoph hasn't caught on to anything yet. His friend was always so bright, and yet he overlooked something so plain and obvious as cameras planted directly in his office.

At first, Phoenix told himself he was only spying on Kristoph as some sort of friendly joke with an unfinished punchline, but as time went on, Phoenix witnessed things he probably shouldn’t have. Like Kristoph jerking off in his private office while his assistant was out for the day. Phoenix knows it's not his fault he saw something so private, the cameras may have been creepy but they weren't invasive in that way specifically. He hadn't put them in Kristoph’s bedroom or in his house at all— though he certainly had the opportunity to do so. It was more than a bit inappropriate of him to mastrbate in his office. Even still, Kristoph had thought he had been alone. But he wasn’t alone, would never truly be alone. Not if Phoenix had anything to say about it.


It wasn't the first time he'd thought about doing this— far from it, in fact— but it was the first time he'd ever gotten this far into it. It felt awful and wrong to enjoy something like this, and as depraved as he knew his mind could get at times he couldn't bring himself to masturbate while watching Kristoph in his office.

Hands shaking, Phoenix pulled his cock from his sweatpants and started up the video.


He watched uneasily as the display showed Kristoph, alone in his office. He was typing on his computer for a moment, then shuffling files, then adjusting his glasses. Casual office activities of the most mundane variety.

“Come on, come on,” he huffed.

Impatient and suddenly less hesitant, Phoenix skipped more than a few minutes into the video. As soon as he did, a low groan came from the speakers.

Kristoph sat in his office chair. Nothing looked out of place. Unless, of course, you were Phoenix, and you could tell from the angle and from the movement of Kristoph’s hand that he was massaging the growing bulge in his pants. Out in reality, Phoenix mirrored the man’s recorded motions, palming at his steadily hardening cock.

After more than a few moments of this, Phoenix was greeted to something particularly special on screen— himself, boldly swinging open the door to Kristoph’s office.

Phoenix remembered the moment well. Kristoph had looked nothing like the man who stood so pristinely confident in the courtroom. He had worn a loose white dress shirt, his suit jacket having been thrown over the back of his chair, and his hair had been in semi-disarray. Not even to mention the hand down his pants. The Kristoph he’d known for a good while at that point now would have never allowed anyone to see him in such a state as that. Phoenix, however, knew that Kristoph kept the door to his private office unlocked for him specifically, knowing that he would be unable to resist his own curiosity. It changed things, changed the interaction entirely.

It was something of a game they played, pretending they didn't crave each other.

On screen, Phoenix and Kristoph took a long second to stare at one another. Phoenix closed the door behind him, taking a few long strides towards Kristoph’s desk. Kristoph didn't even attempt to hide himself or his actions. Finally, Phoenix closed the gap between their jaws and planted his lips squarely against Kristoph’s. Not a moment later, Kristoph was kissing back, pent-up attraction and exhaustion translating into a ferocious passion. The Phoenix with his hand tight around his cock wished he knew how to use the function to zoom.

In a brief respite, they pulled their mouths apart, and Phoenix ran his hand along Kristoph’s cheek; Kristoph responded by grabbing Phoenix’s jeans by the belt loops and gently pulling on them, bringing Phoenix forward towards him.

When the jeans were finally off, the moment of gentleness that had almost been there before was well and truly over. (In the present, Phoenix decided, it had never really existed to begin with.) Phoenix lifted Kristoph, thin as he was, up with complete ease and pushed him roughly onto Kristoph’s work desk, knocking Kristoph’s bottle of perfume and a few papers off the desk in the process. Phoenix rutted his hips in search of any friction against his tented boxers, causing Kristoph to press him back.

Kristoph whispered something close to Phoenix’s ear before leaving a trail of kisses down his neck, ending in a steady suction at his collarbone which had definitely left more than a few hickeys.

‘Would you like to lubricate me?’ he remember Kristoph asking when he was satisfied by the constellation of bruises he'd left.

In the real world, Phoenix’s midriff was shot through with heat at just the suggestion of what was to come; he poured out some lotion onto his hands and rubbed them together to heat it before quickly going back to working on his dick.

The audio between them was as muffled as always— high-quality cameras with audio recorders attached were just too expensive, and he'd preceded to have visuals with shitty sound than no visuals at all— but he remembered good chunks of the conversation they'd had while preparing. Phoenix had teased and prepared the other, flicking at Kristoph’s cock and watching the other man shiver with anticipation.

‘Phoenix, touch me,’ Kristoph had finally begged, and the sheer power Phoenix Wright had felt in that moment was almost certainly nigh unobtainable.

With that, Phoenix— the current one— watched as he fucked Kristoph against the counter in earnest. A quick glance at the mirror on the other wall of the room showed a completely debauched Kristoph, eyes half closed with pleasure and drool dripping down one corner of his mouth. As Kristoph’s legs began to fail, Phoenix just pushed him harder against the counter.

Suddenly, Kristoph apparently reached the peak of his pleasure, spurting cum down the side of the desk and clenching helplessly around his companion. This seemed to set past Phoenix off too, as he grasped at Kristoph’s torso and held him tight as he buried himself the hilt. They continued this way for a good few moments.

For a while, Kristoph stayed hunched over the table, and from the new angle he hadn't had in the moment Phoenix could see the man’s fist still tight around his cock, eyes shut hard and mouth showing off his sharp canine teeth in an almost-growl. He looked nearly feral, and Phoenix almost came at the sight of seeing the normally well-composed Kristoph Gavin fall apart at the seams.

Eventually, Kristoph’s face relaxed. He let out a deep, resounding groan as Phoenix pulled out, no doubt feeling empty as cum leaked out of him and unceremoniously dripped onto the carpet. Watching it made Phoenix feel disgusting, and filthy, and dirty, and he loved it more than anything.

The Phoenix on screen, still visibly breathing heavily, lifted one hand to wipe a stray piece of hair off Kristoph’s forehead.

As Kristoph brought himself together again, his eyes opened wide and looked down. For a terrifying instant, it seemed that he was looking directly at Phoenix through the computer screen— his pulse already hammering, Phoenix felt the adrenaline like a heart attack. A second later, Kristoph looked away and moved around a few documents on his desk. On video, Phoenix heard himself laugh, mumbling some stupid half-baked joke about workaholism. The other man huffed, unamused.

Kristoph hadn’t discovered the camera, couldn't have. He would have taken them down had he actually known. Of course. It was just a coincidence.

Another few moments, and Phoenix watched himself on video say a few parting words to the other man before exiting the room. Kristoph stayed, of course, still recuperating and more than likely needing to finish up some papers before he left the office for the night.

Instantly his reflex was to back up the video, but something made him pause. Kristoph’s cock was tucked back into his pants, hair fixed and glasses sat back perfectly on the bridge of his nose. There was nothing sexual here. But Phoenix couldn't stop himself from enjoying what he saw. Kristoph, desperately trying to make sure no one could tell he had just let another man fuck him against his own work desk. It was intimate, unperformed, real. Part of who Kristoph was when he thought he was alone. Something that no one else knew about him. But now Phoenix knew, he knew and he wouldn't forget at all.

He watched as the other man pulled his nail file out of his suit jacket’s pocket, filing his polished nails obsessively and meticulously.

Phoenix felt himself spasm one, two, three times, before coming crudely across his hand.

Chapter Text

Almost immediately, Phoenix tries to stand. This ends in little success as he realizes the world is entirely dark. He stumbles, falls flat on his back, and is startled to discover that it doesn't hurt him, doesn't even smart.

“I'm sorry, Phoenix! I forgot about the disorientation!” A feminine voice exclaims, “It’s… been a while, since I've died.”

Phoenix sits up somewhat on the ground, arms wobbly and vision still remaining blurry. “…Am I…?”

Above him, Mia smiles down sadly. “Yes.”

“Oh. …Are there other people here besides us?”

“Of course, there's plenty. People I know, people I don't know.”

“Are you here all the time?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, “It's… hard to explain, really. I don't exist sometimes, I think. Sometimes I'm here and sometimes I'm back in my office and sometimes I'm nowhere at all.”

“Sounds confusing.”

“It really is.” She shakes her head.

There's a brief pause between the two of them.

“Trucy…” Phoenix says quietly, sadly.

“Your daughter?”

“Where will she go?” Phoenix rubs the palms of his hands against his eyes, “What will she do? She's already lost her father once, but to do it all over again…”

“I don't know, Phoenix,” Mia whispers.

The silence over them lays like a thick fog.