tayterbean

[tayterbean]

You Have My Word

Loki, in all his arrogant, sarcastic glory, was your best friend. He wasn't always the best at showing it, but when it came down to it, he knew how close the two of you truly were. He knew that, no matter how hard he tried to disprove it sometimes, you would always be there for him and never had any bad intentions.

Even after the Attack on New York, you knew there was more to the story than initially met the eyes. It took a lot of convincing, but he eventually admitted that he'd been nearly forced to do it. He didn't think anyone would believe him, nor did he want to ruin his pride, so he kept quiet about it. You nearly took his head off for letting himself be condemned to life in the dungeons for something that wasn't entirely his fault. Apparently, he'd accepted his fate on that front, even though it still pissed him off tremendously.

Loki had been imprisoned for some time when the tragedy struck. When the invasion happened and the queen, his mother, one of the only people to ever treat him exceptionally and love him unconditionally, was killed. After you heard the news and got over your own momentary bubble of shock and grief, the first thing you thought about was him. How his mother was dead, and he was locked in a cell, completely alone.

You didn't ask for permission. You didn't care about permission.

You made your way to the dungeons, and you could hear the crashing and dull thudding all the way from the stairs. When you reach the set of sentries that guard the dungeon's entrance, they both silently step in your path, blocking you.

"No, let me through-"

"No visitors to the dungeon."

"I am his friend, let me through-"

"There are no visitors-"

You leaned in closer, gritting your teeth; your words are almost a growl. The sentries actually looked the slightest bit intimidated. "His mother is dead. I am his greatest friend. Give me five minutes."

The two men exchanged a wary look. One of them sighed before stepping to the side, and the other followed suit. "Five minutes. Not a moment longer."

You were already moving past them before he could finish his sentence. You rushed to Loki's cell, trying to absorb the sight in front of you as you made your way.

Loki is enraged - as you knew he would be. The anger always came first for him; the sadness would follow later. His cell was destroyed, the furniture within smashed to pieces, a few of the books shredded, glass shards from a bowl littering the floor. As you approached, though, he seemed to be on the tail end of his rage. He sent an enormous blast of magic towards a chair, practically shattering it against the cell wall, before doubling over, bending down so far he has to place a hand on the ground to steady himself.

You reached the cell and placed your hand against the barrier, as close as you could get to him. He was so absorbed into his own emotions and pain, he hadn't even noticed your arrival yet. "Loki..."

He looked up sharply, turning his head back to look at you. For the briefest of moments, he looked like a caged animal: alert, frightened, and immensely angry. Once he took in the sight of you, though, his expression quickly changed to shock, and then to sorrow.

In true Loki fashion, though, he was instantly masking the latter emotion.

He was breathless as he spoke, his breaths coming in heavy pants that engaged his entire upper body. "What? Have you come to gawk at the display? To laugh at how low I've sunken?" His voice was wavering the more he attempted to sound intimidating, and you could tell he knew that.

"You know I haven't," you said softly, shaking your head. "You know I would never."

He sensed the care in your voice, the empathy. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to submit to it, but he quickly covered it with a scowl.

"I don't need, nor want, your pity," he said slowly, having to force strength behind his words.

"It's not pity... I just wanted you to know that I care. I don't want you to feel so alone..." You almost regretted saying the words, thinking they would only amount to more perceived pity in Loki's eyes.

You were surprised when the words seemed to affect him so much that he could no longer feign malice, and he looked away. After a few stuttering breaths, he hauled himself to his feet and walked towards you. With a bit of hesitation, he first placed his hand against the glass, directly across from yours, then went a step further and leaned his forehead against it, closing his eyes. He bit his lip in an effort to keep his composure as you, also, leaned your forehead against the glass.

"I'm not leaving you alone," you muttered to him softly.

His hand on the glass clenched into a fist, but it was out of more pain than anger. His voice was barely more than a rasping whisper. "You should."

You shook your head. "No... never." Your hand curled, mimicking the gesture of wrapping around his fist, if only the barrier would allow you. "You have my word."

He tucked his lips even tighter, frowning, before his resolve cracked and he released an exhale that was very nearly a sob. He turned away from the glass, trying desperately, so desperately, not to let himself give in to the tears. He took a few collecting breaths before forcing his words out.

"Please leave..." It was a broken plea, not an angry command. "I-I cannot bear the thought of you seeing me like this..."

"Loki, you don't have to-"

"I know, I know." He spoke those words almost frantically, as if the thought of you seeing him so upset caused him panic. "Please, just... please go."

You'd never heard him say "please" so many times in his life, nor had you ever seen him so desperate.

He needed to grieve in private. You could understand that.

You swallowed before slowly beginning to walk away from the cell, heading back towards the entrance of the dungeons. Before you left the area, you paused and gave him a few parting words, hoping he would know they were true.

"You truly aren't alone - I mean that... Please do not forget it."

----------

When the night of Frigga's funeral came, you knew Odin would not be releasing Loki from the dungeons to attend.

You had a plan to fix that.

The sleeping brew wasn't particularly difficult to make, nor to get the guards to drink it. You presented yourself as a sorrowful lady who was desperate to give back to the kingdom after the death of the queen, and they simply could not deny your offer of seemingly innocent tea.

They were asleep within five minutes. You stole the master key from one of them, and made your way to Loki's cell.

When you looked around the corner, Loki was sitting on a chair, a book open between his hands. Once you continued your approach and he noticed you, his expression was initially shock, then almost as quickly faded into surrender.

He vanished the illusion without you having to speak a word.

Loki was sitting against the back wall of the cell, looking nothing short of deranged with grief: his hair was a tangled, long mess; his face was blotched from his emotions; and his eyes were red from his tears. He looked exhausted and aggrieved and was the cracked shell of a being, and in all your years, you couldn't recall anyone ever looking more pained. It goes without question that someone must have told him tonight was the night of the service.

You exhaled softly before reaching out your hand and displaying the key to him.

He looked equal parts shocked and frightened when he realized what it was.

"The guards are asleep," you spoke softly, "and they will remain that way for hours to come." You swallowed. "I'm going to do this for you, but you have to promise me... no tricks. We have to come straight back."

He sat up a bit straighter, seeming intrigued by your offer. When he realized you really were being truthful, you could see his eyes well over with tears. He inhaled a shaking breath before giving a quick nod.

"You have my word."

It was all you needed to hear. You placed the master key in the lock and turned it; the orange barriers faded away to nothing, and Loki slowly made his way to his feet.

You met him halfway and handed him a hooded cloak. "I know your magic may falter, with everything... but this should hide your appearance well enough."

It wasn't a common fact, but he'd mentioned to you a few times that his magic was harder to practice when he was saddened or anxious. You were surprised he'd even managed the illusion of himself, but knew that once he got at the ceremony, he may not be able to be so focused.

He took the cloak with a solemn nod of acknowledgment, already slipping it through his arms and over his head. You looked at him for a moment, pondering, before slowly reaching up and removing the hood. You looked at him up close, regarding him, and he sheepishly met your eyes, looking not too far from breaking down already.

"Don't leave my side," you told him in a whisper. Both to ensure he didn't try and escape on you (you didn't think he was really in the shape to do so, anyway) and for both your own comforts.

He averted his gaze from you for a moment; when he looked back, his eyes were overwhelmingly tearful and grieved. He said, in a voice even softer than yours: "Don't leave mine."

Tears became apparent in your own eyes as you nodded once. "Never."

The two of you made your way to the seafront courtyard in the midst of the chilly evening, navigating through the mourners. The only good thing about the crowd was that all of them were too absorbed in their grief to really pay attention to anyone else; it allowed the two of you to easily make your way to the seafront, where the ceremony would be held.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd attended a funeral of this scale; so grand, so regal, and so beautifully sad. The ceremony was one of anyone's dreams, and the grief of the entire realm was palpable in the nighttime air.

As you and Loki listened to the speeches, he remained by your side, still and silent, his face tilted downward so it could be concealed by the dark cloak. The two of you were never far apart enough not to be touching each other, which, most of the time, you were. He took your hand in his own more than once, angling his head even more to hide what you were sure were tears. At certain points, you leaned your head against his shoulder, nestling closer against him - in response, he would subtly place a trembling hand on your back and curl you just a bit closer to him.

Neither of you spoke a single word. Neither of you had to.

When it came time to send the lanterns, the two of you waited your turn until you were at the seafront. Once there, you each grabbed one of the lanterns, lit them, and made your way to an unpopulated, quiet area at the edge of the courtyard.

You bent down and placed your lantern onto the water, holding it steady. You murmured an Asgardian prayer, closing your eyes, before releasing the lantern and allowing it to be carried to sea, over the edge, guiding the queen safely to her final resting place of Valhalla.

Loki, who was kneeling to your left, was still holding his lantern in the water, his head angled so much that even you could not see his face.

You hesitated a moment before rising, coming to stand behind him. You squatted down slightly before reaching past his frame and placing your hand over his.

You made sure your voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Did you say your departing words?"

The cloak bobbed in a slow affirmative. You nodded in return, your grip on his hand tightening slightly.

"All right... Then together - on three."

There was a longer hesitation, but eventually Loki lowered his head even further; you took that as acceptance enough.

"All right. One... two... three."

You began to lift your hand, and after the briefest of hesitations, he did the same. You clasped your hand tightly around his as the lantern began to float away, drifting out to sea along with the thousands of others, along with the boat that held his mother's body.

He brought your attached hands in closer to him at his chest, then up further to his lips. You released his hand and moved yours to his shoulder when you realized he was using it to keep himself from sobbing aloud.

With a few murmured words of consolation, you got him to his feet before wrapping your arms around his mid-section and nestled yourself against him. His hands quickly came to encircle your waist, holding you as close as possible against him. As if you were the last, most precious thing in the world to him, and he couldn't bear to let you go.

He bowed his head nearly to his chest, and his whispered sobs broke your heart into shattered fragments. His chest heaved with each one, yet he kept them quiet, so soft only you could hear.

Only for you. Only for you would he ever be so transparent in his vulnerability.

Once he had gathered himself somewhat, you two wordlessly began the walk back to the dungeons, you keeping a subtle hand on his side the entire way. He wasn't angry or resistant - he knew it had to happen, and he knew that wasn't your fault.

The guards were still deeply asleep, so you passed back into the dungeons with ease. When you two reached Loki's cell, the two of you were still for a moment before you, once again, reached up and removed the hood from his head. His arms instantly came to wrap around himself as he refused to meet your gaze, his skin splotchy, his eyes red-rimmed and irritated.

You gazed at him before putting your hands out, palms up. He looked down at your offer, then almost instantly shut his eyes, as if the sight pained him. It seemed to take effort for him to place his hands atop yours, and something about the contact nearly broke him down to sobs once again.

"I'm going to speak with Odin," you told him adamantly. "To try and work out something different... something that isn't this." You fought back the tears in your eyes, dropping your voice to a whisper. "You have my word."

He managed to step closer to you and take you in a loose embrace before you could see too much of the emotional affect your words had. The way his breathing became shallow and stuttering told you enough.

He placed his chin on top of your head, taking a few moments to gather himself before he spoke in a quiet, nearly hoarse voice. "I will not forget this." His voice faltered slightly. "Thank you..."

You wrapped your arms around him, allowing yourself to be as close to him as you possibly could be. You didn't know when the next time you would get to hold him like that would be.

If there would be a next time.

----------

It was only a few days later when you saw him again - roaming the halls of the Asgardian palace with his brother, of all places.

You stopped dead in your tracks when you rounded the corner and were met with them both. They also both stopped, looking like caught animals until they realized it was only you. One look at Thor told you that Loki's unexpected freedom was his own doing.

One look at Loki told you that he was caught between feigning indifference and taking you in an unabashed embrace.

You made the decision easier for him by quirking an eyebrow, keeping your tone light.

"Look what the cat decided to drag out."

Loki's expression flooded with relief and something like admiration for a brief moment - it was then covered with his usual arrogant, sarcastic aura. "Much to your pleasure, I'm certain."

You couldn't help but to smile. "Yes... much to my pleasure."

Thor nearly rolled his eyes at the antics of you both. He gave Loki a sideways glance. "Come along, Brother... We have matters to tend to."

He began walking forward, but Loki hesitated a moment. Once Thor was ahead of you, the God of Mischief gave you a rare, sincere smile. He then stepped forward, bent down, and placed a quick, sheepish kiss to the top of your head.

"Aw, Loki-" you began, teasing him dotingly, but he interrupted in a low tone.

"Tell anyone and I shall deny everything."

You gave him a look before confidently placing a hand on the side of his face and planting a kiss on the opposite cheek. He was surprised enough by it that it flustered him, and his cheeks became tinged with pink.

"Tell anyone and I'll deny nothing," you said, smiling cheekily.

He looked at you bashfully, smirking a bit in that charming way of his. His eyes then glanced ahead, to where Thor was still making his way, before he looked back at you. "Wait for my return?"

You smiled at him warmly, knowingly.

"You have my word. Always."

#mculoki lokiangst lokiimagine lokioneshot

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP DAY SIX

miles edgeworth

secrets revealed

It wasn’t your place - you knew that. But as much as you knew that, you just couldn’t allow yourself to stand by and watch it happen. You’d done it for too long already. After tonight, no matter the outcome, there would be no more.

You entered Miles Edgeworth’s office and closed his door behind you in the matter of a second. You looked up at him after, and he was glaring at you suspiciously, staring through his eyebrows.

You shook your head. “I can’t do it anymore,” you admitted, emotion overtaking you, “I can’t, and I won’t. I’m not going to just stand by and watch you destroy yourself - I can’t.”

He stayed silent, his glare growing angrier with each word you spoke. You were treading on very thin ice. One misstep…

“You won’t listen to me. You won’t try to help yourself, you won’t go to rehab, you won’t tell anyone else, you…” You scoffed. “Do you even want to stop?”

He held his gaze for a moment longer before abruptly standing. “I refuse to discuss this with you, Miss L/N.”

You came to stand in front of the door, preventing him from leaving. “Well, I refuse to leave until I say my piece. I’ve kept silent for you long enough, Edgeworth.”

“Y/N, I am not afraid to call security on you! I swear it, I-!”

“Stop it, Miles! Just… just stop. Just stop and look at yourself for a second. Can’t you see what it’s doing to you?”

He’d have to be blind not to see it, you thought bitterly.

Over the past couple of months, the prosecutor’s skin had taken on a paleness, a gray undertone that looked unhealthy in more ways than one. He’d become thin, losing his muscle mass and becoming a skeleton of the man he once was. His hair had become brittle, there were constant bags under his eyes, he was almost always shaking… all things the drugs had reduced him to.

Truthfully, it broke your heart to see him like this.

“My personal affairs and recreation are no concern of yours,” Edgeworth said lowly, bringing you back to the present.

“It is when what you’re doing is hurting you… Miles, I care about you, I care about you a lot. What you’re doing to yourself… it breaks my heart.”

“No, no. Don’t you dare… dare, pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you. It breaks my heart to see you this way because I care about you, but that isn’t enough to stop you.” You felt your eyes welling over with tears, but did your best to fight them back. “I can’t… I can’t let you keep doing this, Miles… I just can’t, so… So if you don’t tell him, then I will.”

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, confused, but then raised them when the realization came. A second later, his eyes narrowed in angry suspicion. “You wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would, and I’m going to. I refuse to sit by and watch this any longer than I already have.” A tear fell, and you let out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry… but my mind’s made up… Now, are you going to tell him or not?”

He stayed silent, giving you the angriest, most upset, most betrayed expression you’ve ever seen. It twisted your heart, practically mangled it, but you, somehow, we’re able to remain strong.

When you realized you weren’t going to receive an answer, you gave a simple nod. “Okay,” you said curtly.

And with that, you walked out of the office.

—————

You didn’t even have to wait a full day to make good on your promise, for the next morning, Phoenix Wright was in Edgeworth’s office, demanding answers.

You’d heard the yelling from your own office, and decided with a heavy heart that you had to do it then, or you never would.

“Edgeworth, look at yourself! Whatever you’re doing, it isn’t healthy and you need help!”

“Wright, this is completely out of line! My personal life is none of your business, not to mention that-“

Edgeworth abruptly stopped as you opened his office door, turning to look at you with a shocked expression. It only took him a second to realize, and once he did you could no longer bear to look at him. That look of his made you feel like you were among the lowest scum on the planet which, to him, you probably were.

Phoenix, on the other hand, was simply confused. With a sigh, you softly closed the door shut behind you. You gave no warning to what you were about to say; you simply looked at Phoenix and spit it out.

“He’s using drugs, Phoenix.”

After a moment, the attorney’s face turned horrified. “… What?”

You nodded grimly. “About four months now. I don’t know specifics - I think maybe heroin - but… but he won’t listen to me.”

You spared a glance at the prosecutor and instantly regretted it. That look… you’d never forget it, not as long as you lived. It was the most menacing, hate-filled, angry look you had ever seen anyone give another human being.

“No, no, that’s not true… Edgeworth, that’s not true, right?” Phoenix asked, looking at the prosecutor helplessly.

The latter remained silent, shifting only his eyes and giving his glare to the attorney. As soon as Phoenix saw that look, you could tell by his eyes that he knew. He knew, and he was pissed.

“Miles, how could you do this to yourself?! Why would you do this to yourself? Do… Do you have any idea how dangerous this stuff is? How bad for you, how-?”

“Stop talking, Phoenix Wright, before I make you.”

The attorney clammed up, shocked.

You shook your head. “Like you even could, Miles. Heroin doesn’t exactly make you strong, does it?”

You ignored the venomous look he was giving you and turned to Phoenix. You gave a shrug, fighting back tears once again. “He won’t listen to me,” you admitted, “but he’ll listen to you.” You lowered your voice, stepping closer and placing a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder. “Just get him into rehab… please.”

You didn’t wait for a response before taking your leave, wanting to be away from Edgeworth’s hateful eyes as quickly as possible. Once outside of the office, the tears began flowing, and there was no stopping them this time.

By the end of the day, Miles Edgeworth had been taken to a rehabilitation facility for his drug addiction. You had no clue what Phoenix said or did that you couldn’t, and that fact stung slightly. Well, more like burned an extreme amount, but this situation wasn’t about you. What mattered was that Miles was getting the help he needed… your feelings didn’t need to interrupt that process.

—————

Miles Edgeworth spent thirty days in a rehab facility, but it was ninety-three before you saw him again. Not because he didn’t want to see you, even though he probably didn’t. The truth was, you didn’t even give him the chance to avoid you - you were way ahead of him in that regard.

You’d started working remotely, only entering your office when absolutely necessary. You’d begun purposefully avoiding places where the prosecutor frequented. You eliminated nearly every possibility for him to see you, and as much as you tried to convince yourself that it was solely because you thought he wouldn’t want to see you, you could never fully discredit the truth. Which was, of course, that you felt too hurt and ashamed to even be in his presence.

You were sitting at your kitchen table, finishing up a report for the day, when someone knocked at your door. You didn’t think much of it - your neighbors were always asking to borrow things, and Phoenix also visited once or twice a week for no set reason.

You went to the door and opened it without a second thought. Your entire being, and even the world around you, froze when you realized who had come knocking.

“I’m… sorry for dropping in unannounced,” Miles Edgeworth said, avoiding eye contact with you, “but I fear it was the only way I could get to speak with you.” He looked up, giving a regretful, sad smile.

You stood there in complete shock for another moment before gathering yourself, forcing a nod. “Yeah, um… no, it’s fine. Come on in.”

You stepped inside and he followed you timidly, looking anywhere but at you. You seated yourself awkwardly atop your kitchen counter - for some reason, sitting higher up made you feel slightly more comfortable. Like you had some sort of control over what was about to happen, even though you absolutely did not.

After a prolonged, slightly uncomfortable silence, the prosecutor spoke softly. “I’m… I’m three months clean. Today.”

You couldn’t allow yourself not to smile. “That’s wonderful, Miles,” you said sincerely. “I’m really, really glad to hear that…”

He gave an attempt at an appreciative smile, but it seemed pained. Burdened, almost. “Yes, well… I’m afraid that does little to help soothe my conscience.”

You simply sat quietly, hoping he would continue on his own. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, he did.

“It’s no secret why I haven’t seen you around, certainly… And I’d like to apologize for that. For everything. For all the trouble I caused with my… recklessness.” He spat out the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m… on a better path now. I’m… coping.”

You felt that was the end of what he was going to say for the time being, but waited a few seconds just to be sure. Once the silence passed, you nodded. “As I said, I’m… I’m really glad to hear that, Miles. And thank you. Hearing what you have to say, it, um… it means a lot.”

Once you finished, he paused before looking up at you curiously. His eyebrows were slightly furrowed in confusion, as if he were trying to decipher you. “You… there’s something you’d like to ask me,” he said hesitantly, as if he still weren’t entirely sure. “Isn’t there?”

His abruptness caught you off guard, so for a few moments you could do nothing but stare. Once you collected yourself, you looked away, crossing your arms over your chest. “Uh, y-yeah, I guess,” you mumbled. You thought for a few moments about how to phrase what you had to say. After a brief silence, you sighed, and the words came pouring out.

“You only got help after Phoenix told you to,” you said softly, looking down in shame. “And I mean right after… So, I guess I’ve just been wondering why… why I wasn’t enough. Why me caring about you, wanting you to get help, wasn’t enough… And I know that’s so selfish to think, b-“

“It isn’t selfish,” the prosecutor interrupted softly, “not at all… It’s a valid question, and I’d like to try to provide you with an answer.”

You only nodded, using your sleeve to sheepishly wipe away at the threatening tears in your eyes. Edgeworth sighed, sauntering closer to the countertop as he spoke.

“I know my words don’t mean very much, but I can assure you the situation had nothing to do with you not being enough. In fact, it was very nearly the opposite.”

You looked up curiously, meeting his eyes for the first time in a while. You kept your gaze there as he continued.

“Wright, he… he has a way with words, unlike anyone I’ve ever met. He was able to get through to me even when I couldn’t get through to myself… and he did that through you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, but he looked away before he started speaking again. “He got through to me how much I was hurting not only myself, but you, as well. How you had only been wanting to help me, and in turn I had practically abandoned you. How all you ever did was care for me, and I…” He trailed off, shaking his head with a pained grimace. “It pains me, to think of how I treated you, how careless I was… and for that I’m truly sorry. But I need you to know that you did nothing wrong, and you were always more than enough… I have no idea how long it would have taken me to get better if not for you.”

By that point, slow tears had started falling down your face - there was no more holding them back. You had no words to say, as you surely would have gotten choked up if you even tried to speak. The only thing you could think of to do was hop down from the counter and take the prosecutor in an embrace, which is exactly what you did.

Edgeworth was taken by slight surprise, but relaxed quickly and fell into an instinctual protective mode, one that was built into all humans, no matter their personality. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders gently, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. He was warm and smelled nice - clean, like how he used to before the drugs. It was a very reassuring smell.

“Thank you,” you said tearfully after a time. You let out a sigh of relief. “I’m just so glad you’re better…”

He tightened his hold on you slightly, pulling you closer. “Thank you… I don’t know if I would be, if not for you.”

And then, in a gesture that was so un-Edgeworthlike that you nearly gasped, the man bent down and placed a quick peck of a kiss to the side of your head.

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP DAY FIVE

miles edgeworth

“that’s gonna scar”

* WARNINGS: implied SA *

It was a very dark and gloomy evening, a perfect atmosphere that reflected the day you’d had.

Most of your Friday had been spent worrying and fretting over the absence of Miles Edgeworth from the courtroom. He’d had a case to prosecute at 10am sharp, but never showed, nor did he contact anyone he knew. Given, nearly all of what you knew about the incident had come from the local news, so you knew it wasn’t the most up-to-date, but you still found yourself worried. From what limited things you knew about the prosecutor, you could still tell he wouldn’t miss court unannounced unless something was quite wrong.

You’d gone on a single date with Miles Edgeworth a few weeks ago, after meeting him through your required presence as an expert witness on a case. The date was nice, cordial - relaxed, even. You had enjoyed yourself. However, at the end of the night, the prosecutor had sheepishly admitted he didn’t think he was ready for a partner, and since you weren’t willing to fling around, that was pretty much the end of that. You still had your questions, but you felt as if they went better unanswered.

With a sigh, you set down the book you had been attempting to read. It was no use - you were too worried, your thoughts too loud. You considered taking some sleeping pills, knocking yourself out just so you could peacefully reach tomorrow and see if anything developed.

Just as you started to get up, a series of thunder-like sounds erupted around you, and you jolted slightly. For a split second, you had thought it actually was thunder, but after a second of thought, you realized someone was knocking at your door.

Your heart found its way into your stomach as you made your way to the door. Any visitor at this time of night, in this weather, could not be good.

It was only with curiosity, not bravery, that you threw open your front door, your anxiety telling you to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You regretted it as soon as you took in the sight before you.

Miles Edgeworth... soaked to the bone, wearing tattered clothes, and covered in bloody gashes.

Your mouth fell open as you took in the sight. You tried to force yourself to speak, but the shock suffocated you at first. After you swallowed, your vocal chords began to work again, although you couldn’t yet form full sentences. “O-oh, my God... Miles... I-I-...”

“I assume... that you’re still a nurse?”

His voice... his voice. It was so fragile, so tired, a voice you’d never expect to come out of Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. It made your heart physically tighten, constricting with sympathy. “I... Y-yeah, of course, but Miles, you... you need to go-”

“I’m not going to a hospital... I can’t. Can I come in?”

You hesitated for a split second before moving aside, allowing him inside. He took a couple of steps, then stumbled a bit, prompting you to reach out and help him. It seemed as though either his knee or his side was inhibiting him from walking well - from the looks of it, it could have even been both.

You managed to get him to the kitchen table, where he nearly collapsed onto one of your dining chairs, clutching his right side. You took a step back and, bluntly, stared at him - taking him in, examining his injuries.

His arms were slashed with scratches and scrapes. His right knee, swollen and tender, appeared to be displaced. There was an extremely large, nasty gash slicing his left cheek in two. He was covered in bruises nearly everywhere. 

If this is what he looked like mostly covered in clothes, you can’t imagine what kind of damages were hidden.

“Please stop staring at me,” the man mumbled after a silence, looking off to the side.

You forced yourself to stop, trying to look only into the prosecutor’s eyes. His exhausted, pain-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, I... Miles, you’re badly hurt. You really, really need to go to the hospital. I may be a nurse, but there’s not much I can do for you inside my house.”

“I already told you - I can’t go to the hospital. Please don’t ask me why.” He sighed, closing his eyes momentarily. Whether he was feeling defeat or pain, you weren’t sure. “Do you have any medical supplies here?”

You looked away, trying to decide what to do. You had a feeling that whatever the reason was for Edgeworth showing up looking like this, it could not have been a good one. More specifically, you were quite certain that it was a dangerous one. Perhaps, for now, simply playing along was your best option. 

You shook your head, coming back into the present moment. “Not many. A first-aid kit, some antiseptic, and maybe a little bit of suturing supplies... Certainly not enough for-”

“It’s plenty... I know I’m asking a lot of you, and for that I apologize, but... I’m afraid I have no other choices at the moment.”

He met your eyes briefly, and in them you could see his sincerity. He really was sorry, and he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. You automatically frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “Okay,” you spoke, voice almost a whisper. “I’ll go get my supplies...”

You gathered up all the medical items in your possession. Thankfully, you had more than you’d thought. Several antiseptics, many kinds of bandages and wraps, antibiotic creams, and some sutures. Certainly not as many as Edgeworth needed, but hopefully enough to take care of the gash on his cheek and some other, smaller cuts.

“You’re going to have to get undressed,” you told him as you set out your supplies. “I have to make sure I don’t miss anything major.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the prosecutor grimace. “... My shirt, fine... but not my bottoms.”

You paused. Became silent for a moment. Tensed your jaw. Then nodded.

“Okay... not your bottoms.”

You carefully helped him get his tattered shirt off, and once it was over his shoulders, you couldn’t hide your horror at what you saw. “Oh, my God, Miles...”

His back was covered in thick gashes, bruises, cuts, and, horrifically, whipping lashes. All the injuries ran together, blurring the skin into a mess of blood and irritation. It nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“It... It isn’t as bad as-”

“Miles, please, I’m begging you, you have to go to the hospital!” you pleaded, coming around to face him. “I-I don’t have enough supplies to help you, not nearly enough. You... You have to get to the hospital soon!”

He shook his head, unable to meet your eyes. “I can’t go to the hospital,” he repeated. “I just-”

“What do you mean you can’t? Did... did someone do this to you and tell you that you couldn’t? Are you not supposed to? Is-”

“Y/N, please, I... I can’t speak of it now,” he admitted, wincing as he said the words. “I just need you to clean everything up a bit and stitch what you can... The rest I can manage.”

He looked up to you then, and the look in his eyes all but made you crumple to the floor. After only a second of him looking at you like that, you felt yourself nodding. “Okay... okay.”

You started with cleaning all the cuts and gashes that covered him. Since his back held the most, you decided to begin there.

“I’ll warn you, this is going to sting... probably a lot.”

The prosecutor’s muscles tensed slightly. “... I’m aware.”

The first time the antiseptic hit one of the gashes, the prosecutor tensed and groaned in pain. You bit your lip as you continued to clean the cuts, trying to remain objective and failing miserably.

His groaning eventually became stifled whimpers, then only soft gasps. His back remained tense with the pain, even as you moved to clean some other gashes on his torso and arms.

The one on his face was certainly the worst, besides the whip marks. It was wide and deep, and you took careful time to make sure it was thoroughly clean. You inspected it carefully for a moment, frowning at your conclusion.

You sighed. “That’s gonna scar,” you told him softly, pointing to the gash on his face. “No matter what I do, I think… I think it’ll leave a pretty bad scar.”

After a beat of silence, the prosecutor let out a deep breath. “I assume most of them will.”

Once you finished cleaning all the cuts and gashes, you prepared to suture up some of them, including the one of Edgeworth’s face. That one was your first concern, as a matter of a fact. That wound certainly couldn’t go without stitches - there were others that needed them, but they would still heal without them. This one, you weren’t sure.

“This shouldn’t hurt terribly, but it won’t be pleasant,” you prefaced. “I’ll be tugging on you a bit, but I need you to stay as relaxed as you can. Let me do all the work.”

Edgeworth nodded as you pulled up a chair next to him, sitting close. The table light above you certainly wasn’t the best lighting for medical work, but it was all you had at the moment, so it would have to do.

You began stitching up the gash, your heart tightening each time the prosecutor even slightly winced. As you stitched, you once again started to become overwhelmed by the situation you were currently in - more specifically, how little you knew about it.

“… Am I ever gonna get to know what happened?” you asked softly as you continued suturing.

Edgeworth tried not to tense as you worked. “Truthfully, I really don’t think you want to know.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure the police would like to.”

The man almost shook his head before he remembered what you were doing. “No - the police can’t know. That’s an absolute.”

“So, what? I clean you up, fix your injuries, then you walk out the door and act like nothing happened?”

Edgeworth closed his eyes, letting out a load-bearing sigh. When he spoke next, his voice was considerably softer - more vulnerable. “Believe me, Y/N, I hate it as much as you do, but at this moment, that is my only option…”

And as much as you didn’t want to, you kept silent after that. Truthfully, you just felt like you should. Something you couldn’t explain told you not to push the subject further, at least not right then.

You managed to get the gash on his face sutured up nicely, but at the cost of having hardly any sutures left for the rest of his cuts. In all honesty, you didn’t think you had enough for even one more cut.

You shook your head. “That’s the only cut I can stitch, I… I don’t have enough supplies. I’ll just have to bandage the rest.”

The prosecutor nodded. “That’ll do just fine.”

You began to long process of bandaging the bigger cuts, taking care and precaution not to cause Edgeworth any unnecessary pain. You felt awful when he winced and squirmed beneath your touch.

“Just so I can be certain… is there anything below your waist that I should look at? Clean, bandage, anything?”

Edgeworth stiffened, face twisting in an uncomfortable wince. Whether it was from you touching him or something else, you weren’t sure.

“No, there’s… there’s nothing.”

You paused and examined his back and, once assured you’d bandaged everything that needed it, came back around to face Edgeworth. “I… think you should let me check,” you said carefully, delicately. “What seems minor to you might have done more damage than you realize.”

“There’s nothing,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “Nothing.”

“Miles, I really think I should-”

“No...! No, I... I said no... I said no.”

You thought morbidly about what he’d said for a few moments before shutting out the thoughts. “... Okay. I’ll trust you... I’m sorry for pushing you.”

The prosecutor shook his head, it hanging nearly to his chest. “Don’t apologize... I know you’re only trying to do what I asked of you. I just...” He inhaled, shuddering slightly, “can’t... right now.”

You nodded. “It’s okay, Miles... you don’t owe me an explanation. Not right now.”

Before waiting for a response, you walked into your living room and grabbed one of your smaller blankets. You brought it back over and carefully draped it over Edgeworth’s shoulders. He grabbed it appreciatively, holding it tight around himself and bowing his head to his chest.

His head remained hung low as he sat there for several silent minutes, contemplating. It was in that moment that, possibly for the first time, you saw the true extent of the state he was in. Not only was he exhausted and in pain, but he was worn down from the inside out. He would never willingly let you, or anybody else, see that, but it was true. Someone had taken Miles Edgeworth and broken him down not only physically, but mentally, too.

Before you could stop yourself, you heard yourself speaking. “I... want to give you a hug,” you said simply.

The prosecutor raised his head quickly, eyebrows furrowed.

You shrugged. “I just... I want to... I want to touch you in a way that doesn’t cause you pain... If that would be okay.”

After a moment of keeping his gaze with you, he looked away, his eyes focused on the floor in front of him. He let out a sigh, allowing his eyes to close. “I… would very much appreciate that.”

You weren’t expecting that adamant of an answer - it both warmed and broke your heart. With a sigh, you slowly sat down in the chair next to Edgeworth. You waited a moment before reaching over and, as gently as possible, lacing your arms around his neck. You pulled him towards you, his forehead coming to rest in the crook of your neck. And you held him. Just... held him.

He nestled his head under your chin and seemed to lean into you the longer you held him, all his tension melting away bit by bit. He never would have admitted it to you, but he nearly broke down in that embrace of yours. After the day he’d had, he really had forgotten that human contact was supposed to feel nice - it wasn’t supposed to be painful.

He had no idea how long it would have taken him to re-learn that if it hadn’t been for you.

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP DAY FOUR

miles edgeworth

knife to the throat

Much like most other people on the planet, you did not like Manfred von Karma. Not as a prosecutor, and certainly not as a person. In no uncertain terms, you thought he was a nasty, evil man who cares more about his reputation than creating a fair justice system.

You had sat in on one of his cases once, simply out of pure curiosity. You walked out of the courtroom baffled, wondering how much of what von Karma did was allowed in the courtroom. He hardly let the defense attorney speak at all, let alone peacefully cross examine his witnesses. His idea of what happened was conjecture at best, and even though he had evidence, it wasn’t solid enough to rule out all other possibilities. If anyone else had been prosecuting, the case could have easily had the opposite verdict.

Naturally, due to your opinion of von Karma, your predilections about his prodigee were not positive. You thought Miles Edgeworth would be a carbon copy of a younger von Karma, with the same unorthodox, unconventional courtroom methods.

That is why you were quite surprised when you started working as an officer on some of his cases.

The prosecutor was cold and standoffish, no doubt, but he wasn’t like his mentor. He could be... personable, on occasion. He treated people fairly well, as long as jobs were done correctly. He said his “pleases” and “thank you’s” on his good days. Overall, he was a decent human being, and a prosecutor you, surprisingly, enjoyed working with.

When you watched him in court for the first time, his methods somewhat captivated you. He had an unspoken way of commanding the courtroom without so much as a word. His presence radiated confidence and professionalism, an opposition to von Karma’s malice-filled persona. Again, the prosecutor was far from friendly and nice, but he wasn’t mean, either. He was just good at his job, and little else seemed to make up his personality.

In Miles Edgeworth’s trial that day, he was up against a pretty renowned defense attorney. The attorney was able to wiggle himself into the smallest of holes in the prosecution’s testimony, which often lead to bigger, gaping holes of contradictions. A few times, you saw the prosecutor’s face blanch, his forehead and palms beginning to sweat with nerves. He had almost lost his train of thought a number of times, but was able to save it just before it derailed.

In the end, the guilty verdict was achieved, which you thought to be the correct verdict in the case. With von Karma, you never knew if the defendant was given a guilty verdict because he was actually guilty or if it was simply because von Karma was prosecuting.

You were one of the last ones to leave the courthouse, taking the time to sign some documents in a meeting room before leaving for the day. By the time you left the room, some of the hallway lights were cut off for the day and there seemed to be no one else around.

At least, that was what you thought until you heard the voice.

“You call that embarrassing display a trial?! Have I taught you nothing?!”

“For the record, I did obtain a guilty verdict, sir. Surely you-”

“Don’t you dare talk back to me, boy! You fumbled your way through your conjectures, botched your rebuttals, and the only reason that defendant isn’t walking the streets is because his attorney couldn’t connect the dots!”

Recognition of one of the voices instantly piqued your interest. You stepped lightly, peering minimally around the corner that separates you from the perpendicular hallway.

In the hall, you saw Prosecutor Edgeworth standing against the opposite wall, looking uncomfortable at best. Positioned near inches away is another cravat-wearing prosecutor, looking at Edgeworth like he would scum on the bottom of his shoe.

Your eyes narrowed as you watched the scene, instantly suspicious.

“The defense withheld evidence from me, sir. That isn’t something I can control.”

“No, but you can control the stupid expressions you make when something catches you off guard! Never show emotion in court, boy - never! This trial brings shame and embarrassment to the von Karma name, and-”

“I got the guilty verdict, what more could you possibly want?!”

You blinked as von Karma moved quickly, pulling something out of his back pocket. Your mouth fell slightly open when, in the next second, there was a large knife pressed against Prosecutor Edgeworth’s throat. The man’s eyes instantly widened, a sorrowful, almost familiar fear creeping into them.

“Don’t interrupt me, boy!... I housed you, fed you, clothed you for years and this is how you repay me? By tarnishing my name with your unpreparedness, your mediocrity?! I won’t have that, Miles Edgeworth, I absolutely won’t...”

The expression in von Karma’s eyes was growing more crazed by the second, and Edgeworth’s more frightened. You’d seen that look in a man’s eyes only a few times before - a look of crazed determination that people only wore when they were about to do something irreversible.

In a quick second, you’ve stepped out from behind the corner, weapon drawn. “Police! Drop your weapon and put your hands in the air, now!”

You startled both men, both of them jumping and glueing their wide eyes onto you. For at least two seconds, no one moved, and you made a show of stepping closer and cocking your weapon. “Drop the knife, von Karma! You have five seconds before I fire my weapon.”

You began counting in your head as the two men remained frozen. Then, the older prosecutor shot a sharp glance at the younger one, who let out a defeated sigh.

Von Karma did remove the knife from Edgeworth’s throat, but only so he could make his way over to you. He placed his hand on your arm and forced your gun down, giving you a pointed look that only confused you. Your gaze drifted back to von Karma, who gave you an evil smirk before beginning to walk away.

“Hey, wait, you’re under-!”

You’re stopped from going after him by Edgeworth, who physically restrained you by an arm around your middle, holding you in place. “Hey, let go! Get your hands off me, he just-!”

“No, he didn’t... It’s best to just let him go.”

You managed to writhe out of the prosecutor’s grasp, and when you do, you give him an incredulous expression. “Edgeworth, he just threatened you! He held a knife to your throat, he was going to-!”

“No, Officer L/N, he wasn’t... He... does that, occasionally.”

You raised a shocked eyebrow at the man. “He ‘does that’?! You’re saying him threatening you at knifepoint is a regular occurrence?!”

“Not regular, but… often enough for it not to raise alarm.”

Your shock continued to be evident on your face. “Edgeworth, that is not normal - he can be arrested for that, he needs to be-“

“Just because something isn’t normal for you, Officer, doesn’t mean that it isn’t normal for everyone!” he snapped, voice deep and commanding. “Now, I’ve got to be going, and I’d appreciate it if you kept yourself out of my personal affairs from now on… I’m afraid there will be great consequences if you don’t.”

And with that, the man walked off, leaving you standing in the hallway alone, shell shocked at the exchange you’d just had.

As you stood there dumbly, contemplating, you realized that Edgeworth’s final words had left a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. After a few more moments of thinking, you realized why.

The prosecutor hadn’t been threatening you. He had been stating a fact.

—————

You kept your mouth shut about the incident for months, continuing your work with the prosecutor in a semi-normal manner. He interacted with you vaguely now, more cold than before, and it was no mystery as to why.

After Edgeworth lost his first trial ever to Phoenix Wright, you instantly became worried for his safety. If Manfred von Karma threatened his prodigee with a knife after he showed emotion in court, what would he do to him for losing?

After the trial concluded, you hung around the courthouse, walking the halls slowly and quietly. You were listening out for any hints of hushed, angry words, seriously concerned for Edgeworth’s safety.

Eventually, you came to a closed meeting room door, and after a few moments of listening, you were able to make out voices coming from inside. You leaned your ear against the door, straining to hear.

“Miles Edgeworth, you have made a fool out of me for the last time! I never should have taken you into my house, into my family! You are going to have to learn that when you disgrace the von Karma name, there will be consequences... I never thought would have to teach you the hard way, but I should’ve known... I should’ve just disposed of you the same way I did your father all those years ago...”

... His father??

“... What?”

“Yes, Miles Edgeworth - hate me. Hate me in the last moments of your short, pitiful li-”

“Freeze, police! Drop the weapon and put your hands where I can see them, now!”

You acted on pure instincts, not thinking, not feeling, just doing. You saw the scene before you, certainly - Edgeworth backed against a wall by von Karma, a knife at his throat and blood trickling down from a superficial cut - but didn’t register it in your mind. Right then, you were a police officer, not a friend or colleague.

“I said drop the weapon!” you repeated, your gun fixated on von Karma’s chest.

Once again, the older prosecutor looked at the younger with a knowing, commanding expression. You began to notice Edgeworth’s expression for the first time, and it wasn’t as you had expected it. It wasn’t stoic or emotionless or embarrassed - it was angry, shocked, and determined.

“Take care of this little issue, would you, boy?” von Karma asked, smiling grimly.

After a moment’s hesitation, Edgeworth grimaced before kneeing the older man in the thigh.

He yelped and stumbled back, and Edgeworth seized the opportunity in an instant. He wrenched the knife out of the man’s hands and tossed it aside before he started landing punches. Hard, angry, hate-filled punches.

You allowed him to get a few good ones in before stepping in. 

“Alright, alright, knock it off! Edgeworth, stop-!”

“No! He killed my father, he deserves-!”

You didn’t catch the rest of the prosecutor’s statement, as you were too concentrated on pulling him away from von Karma. You had to wrap both your arms around him from behind in order to pull him away, and he was fighting you all the while.

“Edgeworth, Edgeworth, stop, stop, stop now-”

“Let go of me, let go now! We can’t let him - NO!”

You looked up and instantly found the source of the man’s panicked cry - von Karma was making a run for it.

For a moment, you forgot all about Edgeworth. You instantly let go of him and drew your weapon, bolting out of the room with it raised and ready to fire.

“Freeze, Manfred von Karma, or I will shoot!!” you yelled as loudly as you could, knowing well the man wouldn’t stop.

He didn’t, and when you rounded the corner to the next hall and saw him still running from you, you kept your promise.

The shot rang out, and in the next moment the prosecutor buckled and collapsed to the floor, reaching for his obliterated kneecap. He screamed in pain, writhing on the ground. You hated to admit it, but a small part of you actually enjoyed the sight.

It was only when you heard the pounding footsteps behind you that you remembered Edgeworth was there.

You spun around just in time to grab him and prevent him from getting to von Karma. You held him around the midsection again, fighting against him. 

“Hey, stop, stop! Stop fighting me, Miles, or I will take you down, do you understand? You have to calm down and you-”

“No, no! My father, he killed my father! All these years, he-... All these years, after all these years, he killed... my father...”

He started sinking to the ground then, and you, naturally, went with him. He practically crumpled to the floor, anger fading into disbelief and sorrow. Once on the ground, the prosecutor clutched your uniform tightly, which was possibly the only thing keeping him upright. His angry mumblings were soon replaced by soft, nearly silent cries, and you went from “take down the vengeful bystander” mode to “comfort the traumatized victim” mode instantly.

You ran your hand up and down the prosecutor’s back, allowing him to rest his head underneath your chin. He cried the cries of a broken man while von Karma writhed in pain just a few feet away.

“I-I’m sorry... I-I’m so, so sorry,” Edgeworth managed softly, breathes hitching on almost every word. You didn’t think he was apologizing to you, so you stayed silent, continuing to rub his back while keeping your eyes on von Karma.

Once your backup arrived and securely had von Karma in custody, you sighed, reaching over and giving Edgeworth a proper embrace. “He’s going where he needs to be now,” you told him confidently, “and he’ll pay for what he did - I’ll see to it myself.”

As a response, the prosecutor only tightened his grip on your uniform, holding onto you like a lifeline. Looking back on it, you realized that it had been, in the moment, his nonverbal way of saying thank you.

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP DAY THREE

miles edgeworth

soft words (alt#3)

At first, you aren’t sure why you’ve woken up in the middle of the night.

You fade into consciousness slowly, the senses coming to you one by one. The soft bed beneath you, the dry taste on your tongue, the darkness enveloping the bedroom, the sounds of discomfort coming from your…

Ah. So that’s the culprit.

You furrow your eyebrows as you prop yourself up on your elbow and look to your left. Even in the darkness of the bedroom, you can make out the shape of your partner squirming uncomfortably in his sleep. Once your eyes adjust, you notice his face is twisted in anguish and fright. A nightmare, certainly. The first one since he’s allowed you to sleep in his bed, as a matter of a fact.

Since you’ve never dealt with this before, you simply place a hand on the prosecutor’s shoulder, rubbing it gently, almost as if you were massaging him. You dig a little harder when he doesn’t wake up right away, but after you continue for a few more moments, his eyes flick open as he gasps.

You take your hand off of him, leaving it frozen in the air. You watch his momentarily confused eyes as he gathers his surroundings - the bedroom, his bed, you…

When his eyes land on you, he freezes. A moment later, he lets out a load-bearing sigh and looks away.

“This is why I didn’t want you to sleep with me… I’ll only keep you awake.”

He is unable to look at you now, and even though you can’t see it you can practically feel the embarrassment on his face. You bite your lip and, after a second of thought, reach over and turn on your bedside lamp. The prosecutor squints at the light and looks as far away from you as he can.

“I don’t care about being kept awake,” you say gently. “… Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbles quickly - too quickly, really. “Just tired.”

“Are you actually fine?”

He looks at you sharply, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean ‘am I actually fine?’ I just said I was, did I not?”

You nod slowly, understandingly. “You did… but I’m not really convinced you’re being honest.”

His gaze turns hard, nearly angry. “Well, I am. Now, if you don’t mind, some people have to wake up early.”

He turns back into his opposite side, completely shutting down the conversation. You stay still for a few moments, looking at him, before sighing. It seems as if you don’t have much of a choice about what to do next.

You lean over and turn off the lamp, carefully settling yourself under the covers. You lay on your back, gazing blankly up at the ceiling as your thoughts run wild. The fact that you’re simply allowing your partner to be hurting without comfort gnaws at you, eating away at your psyche for several minutes. Eventually, you can’t take it anymore.

You thrust the covers off you and get out of bed with a sigh. Edgeworth stiffens, but otherwise doesn’t move.

You walk around to his side of the bed, where you situate yourself on your knees, kneeling beside the bed. The prosecutor is looking at you pointedly, almost suspicious. “Y/N, I don’t want to talk about this. I need to-“

“You don’t have to talk about it,” you say softly, gazing at him with kind eyes. “I just want you to listen for a minute… Please?”

His expression slowly softens, and you know he won’t fully grant you permission, but he won’t stop you, either. That magic word always seems to do him in.

You continue to gaze at him lovingly as you speak. “I know how difficult it is,” you begin. “We all have things that we don’t like talking about, or thinking about, even… but if we don’t want to talk about something, that’s usually a sign that it’s still hurting us. And the first step to helping ease that hurt is to stop holding everything in.”

You give him a sad smile, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair out of his face. “I know that isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s true. I think one of the main reasons you keep having these bad dreams is because you refuse to let go of the idea that you can handle everything by yourself… You can’t, Miles, and you don’t have to…

“It isn’t a burden to share your troubles with someone, neither does it mean you aren’t strong enough to handle them by yourself. All it means is that you trust someone enough to let them help you, in whatever way that might be… Everyone needs somebody to be that for them, including you.”

You place your hand on the side of his face, rubbing his cheek with your thumb. “I think you’ve fought alone for long enough, and now that I’m here, I just want you to know that you don’t have to anymore.”

You allow the words to linger in the air for a moment before you remove your hand and slowly stand up. You make your way back to your side of the bed, getting under the covers wordlessly. Settling yourself, you turn so your back is facing the prosecutor and let out a soft sigh.

“Goodnight, Miles…”

With your mind at least slightly more at ease, you allow yourself to begin to doze off again. You’ve made your peace, and until Edgeworth decides whether he wants to take your words to heart, there isn’t anything more you can really do.

You’re probably around thirty seconds away from falling asleep when you feel the bed shift delicately beneath you. You stay still at first, trying to decipher what Edgeworth is doing - you can only hope he isn’t leaving.

You’re pleasantly surprised when you feel his forehead carefully lean against your back. You can’t hold back the small smile that makes its way across your face.

You turn your head, slightly looking back at him. “Can I hold you?” you ask gently.

After a second’s hesitation, he gives a small, single nod.

You turn around slowly, delicately. You drape one of your arms over Edgeworth’s side while your other one cushions his head, your hand holding the back of his head. His chin ends up resting on your shoulder, his hand resting softly against your lower back.

“… Thank you,” he mumbles after a few beats of silence. “I… don’t know when I’ll be ready to talk. But when I am… I know I’ll have you.”

You smile to yourself once again, allowing your eyes to gently drift closed. “And that’s all I ask of you.”

For the rest of that night, Miles Edgeworth sleeps the most peaceful, uninterrupted sleep he has slept in over fifteen years. It is no mystery as to why.

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP DAY TWO

miles edgeworth

natural disaster (alt.#9)

You hadn’t expected to go to Japan with Miles Edgeworth to study Japanese law for three months. In all honesty, it just sort of happened.

It had been two weeks before he was set to leave when he asked. You had been in his office, helping him set some affairs in order before he left the office for awhile. It had been silent for several minutes before he suddenly blurted, “Would you like to come with me to Japan?”

At first, you’d just looked at him in shock. “I-I know it’s last minute,” he’d stammered, “but I’ve been thinking about it for awhile. I understand if you can’t dedicate the time, but I’d really-”

“I’d love to.”

And so here you are, studying a Japanese law book in a gigantic library in Sendai.

The two of you have been in Japan for nearly a month now, watching courtroom proceedings and studying both the Japanese language and law traditions. You’d been in bigger cities most of the time, but Sendai was in the process of a huge court case, naturally luring the both of you there. It’s certainly been a busy time, but also an extremely fun one. The differences in law across countries has always interested you, so being able to study it from an emic perspective is a great experience for you, especially when you get to do it alongside one of your closest friends.

Currently, both you and Edgeworth have your noses buried in law books, Japanese translation dictionaries at each of your sides. As you look over to confirm the translation of a word, you take a sip from your water glass. You set it back down as you find the word and turn your attention back to the book.

Although, a second later, your gaze goes back to the water glass. More specifically, the way the water is trembling and sloshing against the sides of the glass.

You look across the table to the prosecutor, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. His eyes are still locked on his book, although he doesn’t appear to be reading anything.

The shaking immediately intensifies into something frightening, the entire building beginning to tremble.

You look around in shock for a moment, the fear consuming you, before following the prosecutor’s league and taking cover under the table.

The risk of earthquakes is going to be higher in Japan - both Edgeworth and yourself know that - but it still doesn’t help how scary they are at first. They take your breath away and instantly fill you with fear, and if it does that to you, you can’t imagine how it makes Edgeworth feel.

You both take cover under the table, your knees to your chest and interlaced hands covering the top of your neck. Similarly, the prosecutor is curled in on himself, head buried into his knees. Even though the world around you is shaking, you can still see the trembling the man’s body is putting him through.

As the shaking continues, other people in the library beginning screaming in fright. Things start crashing to the ground, some thudding and others shattering. You screw your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing and keeping yourself calm.

You have no sense of time at the moment, as each second feels like a terrifying eternity, but even in spite of that you can realize how long this earthquake is lasting. It must be going on more than a minute now, possibly even more - certainly the longest one you’ve ever experienced. The crashing noises around you continue, each causing you to jump and your breathing to hitch.

After possibly the two-minute mark, you notice that Edgeworth is making noises. Quiet, panicked sounds that seem to be a mix between hyperventilation and hysteria. You unlatch your hands from your head and peek over at him. He’s holding his face in his hands, trembling nearly as much as the world around him.

Without a second thought, you sit up on your knees, taking your arms around his shoulders from the side. You pull him into you, protecting him and laying your head onto his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, trying to keep the tears out of your voice. “I’m so, so sorry… It’ll be over soon, just breathe… just breathe.”

“Soon” didn’t come until four minutes later.

By then, the prosecutor had been sobbing into your collarbone for at least a full minute, completely unconsolable and latching onto you for dear life. All you could do was hold him and continue whispering to him, trying to ground him in any way you could. You’d never seen him this distraught, and never thought you would have to. You were surprised he hadn’t gone unconscious.

When the shaking finally subsides, you breathe one of the biggest breaths of your life. It carries so much weight and brings tears to your eyes, but you fight against them for Edgeworth’s sake. You lean down close to him, holding him tightly to you. “Okay, it’s over now… it’s okay now, it’s okay… it’s over.”

He sobs for a few seconds more before trying to collect himself, taking deep, shuddering breaths as he tries to calm down. You continue to hold him, rubbing his back as both a comforting gesture for him and a grounding mechanism for yourself.

The two of you stay like that for approximately thirty seconds before you hear the siren.

It comes from far away, slowly making its way into your ears and brain. The recognition hits immediately, though, and your heart sinks just as quickly.

“… Oh, shit,” you exhale, a tremble in your voice. You act on pure instinct as you tap the prosecutor furiously, beginning to maneuver out from underneath the table. “Edgeworth, we have to get out of here, now.”

He isn’t in a rational state of mind right now - you know that - but as urgent as the situation is, you can no longer take the time to be gentle. You tug at his arms with all your might, pulling him out from under the table. You’re prepared to do whatever you have to do to get him out of here, no matter how bad you’ll feel about the way you treated him later.

“Y-Y/N, I… I can’t, I-I can’t do, I don’t-“

“Edgeworth, we have to leave now,” you say, bending down to be on his eye level. “We have to get out of this building and get to high ground, otherwise we are going to die. That is not a possibility, it is a certainty. I need you to get up and get out of this building with me and I need you to do it now.”

Something in your tone must cut through his panic and reach his mind. He looks at you shamefully for a moment before forcing himself to stand, still trembling uncontrollably.

The two of you exit the library in a slow jog, bursting out the door to reveal a scene of pure pandemonium.

People are flooding the streets, running in search of higher ground. The street itself is littered with debris from the earthquake - the roads are cracked open, pieces of buildings lay in the street, and some have even crumpled entirely. Cars are trying to evacuate in the midst of it all, which, although it seems smart, is one of the worst things to do. The streets are too crowded to move anywhere, and besides, there won’t be enough time to get far enough.

You frantically look at the nearby buildings in search of the tallest one, trying to ignore the frantic cries of people around you.

“What about that one?” Edgeworth suggests, pointing to a building atop a nearby embankment. It’s certainly the tallest one around, but it isn’t as close as you would like.

You sigh. “We’ll have to run.”

Edgeworth sniffs and sheepishly wipes his eyes before nodding.

You two take off in a run for the building, having to weave through other people trying to do the same thing you two are. You try not to push anyone and feel awful when you slam into a fair few people, but you keep pushing forward.

By the time you reach the embankment, the waves have surpassed the sea walls. You can hear the water, rushing quickly into the streets and already causing cars and people to be swept away. As you and Edgeworth climb the embankment, you don’t dare look back, not even with the people screaming in terror behind you.

When the door to the building is locked, Edgeworth kicks it in with one swift motion. You don’t know what kind of building it is and you don’t care - all you care about is climbing the stairs and reaching the roof.

It isn’t a tall building, but it’ll have to do. The rooftop should be far enough above sea level to avoid the waves, but you have no idea whether the building’s foundation will hold if the water ascends the embankment.

Once the two of you reach the roof, you simply stand there in shock for a few moments, taking in the scene around you.

The black sea water consumes the streets, cars floating along like rubber ducks in a bath. As if they weighed nothing at all. People stand on the roofs of the cars, holding on for dear life and looking scared out of their minds. A few people are stuck in the current of the water, being dragged along like rag dolls, unable to get themselves out. Other people are on tops of small buildings that are being pulled along with the current. Some are in trees, attempting to climb power lines, doing anything to escape the tsunami.

Very few are successful.

You decide soon that you can’t bear to watch anymore of the chaos and tragedy unfold. You turn to the prosecutor and bury your face into his chest, arms wrapped securely around yourself.

“I’m so scared…” you whisper weakly as his hands wrap securely around your upper arms. His hands tremble as he has a tight grip on your arms, and you can hear the fear in each breath he takes. A part of you doubts his tears have stopped falling since the beginning of the earthquake.

You stay like that, buried in Edgeworth’s chest, trying to will yourself out of this situation, for a minute or so. Or, at least until you feel the building beneath you shift.

You yank out of his grip with a startled gasp, tearful eyes looking out at the scene once again. The water has risen drastically.

You take a few steps closer to the ledge of the building and are horrified to see that the foundation is crumpling, bits of it being swept away by the huge, swarming darkness of the waves. Standing beside you, Edgeworth’s expression is full of terrified dread.

And suddenly, before either of you can move back to the center of the roof, the back wall of the building crumples in half beneath you. There is no time to react, no time to save yourselves.

One moment you are standing on the rooftop, and the next you are plummeting into the waves below.

—————

You can feel people’s footsteps shaking the ground around you.

You can hear jumbled voices, yelling frantically in a foreign language.

You can see a dirty, white ceiling above you, mixing with the black spots that dance around your vision.

It takes several minutes for your thoughts to turn back on. You start to remember things in chunks, the memories slamming into you like epiphanies.

The library. The earthquake. The tsunami. The building.

… Edgeworth.

You gasp and your heart constricts. Edgeworth, he was with you when the building collapsed. And if you’re here, then that must mean he is, too. Right?

You wince as you look to your left and right. Laying on the floor next to you are other people, some still unconscious, some awake, some…. neither. None of the people are Edgeworth which, depending on how you look at it, can be either a good thing or a bad thing. For you right now, though, it’s an awful thing.

You push yourself onto your elbows, grimacing as you do so. Your body is sore and stiff, covered in visibly scrapes and bruises. You don’t think you have any injuries that are more serious than that, which seems pretty miraculous to you.

You manage to get to your feet, standing still and surveying the area for a few moments before starting to walk around. The building is certainly not a hospital, but it’s been turned into a temporary one to most likely aide with the onslaught of tsunami victims. People cover the floors, laying on blankets and receiving amateur medical treatment for injuries that would usually require surgery.

You walk through the bustling halls in a daze, maneuvering your way through and around medical personnel and frantic family members. You look for any sign of gray hair, a red suit - anything that even remotely resembles Edgeworth. Your heart sinks with each person you pass that isn’t him.

Eventually, you enter a room packed with recovering people and spot a glimpse of red in the corner. You step forward quickly, trying to get a better view, to confirm your suspicions.

When you see his full form, curled up in the corner with his head bent to his chest, relief instantly floods your entire body. It’s an indescribable emotion, one you have never felt until this moment - until you thought you’d lost him.

“Miles,” you breathe out, feeling as if you and he are the only two people in the room.

He looks up immediately, tear-stained face shocked.

For a long moment, you two simply stare at each other, absorbing the moment, both of you trying to decipher if this is actually real. Once that moment is over, he scrambles up and rushes to toy, and you meet him halfway.

The embrace isn’t as much of a hug as it is a hold. A reassurance that the both of you are actually here, alive, together. It’s a desperate thing, the two of you gripping onto each other’s clothing tightly, unwilling to let go until you’re certain the other won’t fade away with the release.

The prosecutor is nearly frantic with worry and disbelief at first, but after the reassurance hits him, he dissuades from frenzy and instead settles into soft cries. You hold him tighter, your own tears streaming down your face as you try not to collapse from exhaustion. and relief.

“I… I thought I lost you, too,” Edgeworth manages, his voice soft and broken in a way that you’ve never heard it before. The poor man… one natural disaster is enough to live through, not to mention losing a parent on top of it. You can’t imagine how terrified he felt, and still feels, especially when you two became separated.

“I know, I know… It’ll be okay now, though… I promise.”

Edgeworth takes a deep, collecting breath before leaning his cheek against the top of your head, holding you close against him.

You have no idea how you two had both managed to survive, but you cant find the energy to worry about it. Right now, you simply bask in the fact that you two are alive and together - a fate that hardly anyone else got to experience amidst the tragedy. If it hadn’t turned out this way, you really don’t know if Edgeworth would have been able to take it.

[tayterbean]

FEBRUWHUMP: DAY ONE

miles edgeworth

touchstarved

You were never 100% certain, but you think that the first time you ever gave Miles Edgeworth a comforting squeeze on the shoulder, he shivered.

The two of you had been in his office, discussing an upcoming trial in the late evening - both of you being district prosecutors, you did that quite often, although he despised anyone referring to the two of you as “partners.” You were seated at the end of his couch closest to his desk, while he sat in his chair pulled away from the desk so he could face you. That case had been a troubling one for the prosecutor, especially given recent events. After facing off, and losing to, Phoenix Wright, he was beginning to question his methods as a prosecutor. For you, it was the first time he had shown any kind of worry, or vulnerability of any kind, to you at all.

“I suppose I’ve just always operated under the impression that everyone is guilty, no matter the circumstances,” he said, “and now I’m beginning to question that method of thinking… I don’t like questioning myself.”

You shrugged. “Questioning yourself doesn’t mean you’re not good at your job. I think it means you care enough about others to reevaluate yourself when you think you could be wrong.”

He had gone silent for a few moments after that, looking at the ground in deep concentration. When he eventually looked back up to you, his eyes were narrowed curiously. “Do you think I could be wrong?”

You certainly hadn’t expected the question. If the prosecutor was looking to you to give input on his dilemma, he must really be at a loss. You blew out a breath, leaning back slightly before looking up to him. “If I’m being honest, I think it’s more complicated than a simple right or wrong,” you said. “Prosecutors are supposed to prosecute - it’s what we do. A lot of us don’t like to think about what if the defendant is actually innocent, even though we probably should. I think a lot of prosecutors just make the choice to do right by the job and wrong by their heart sometimes, and there may be a few that do the opposite, but…” You trailed off, momentarily losing your train of thought. You shrugged after a moment. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

You chuckled slightly as you stood, stretching. “I might be about to head home. I need food.”

Edgeworth had been listening to you intently as you spoke, watching with analytical eyes. He had almost been trancelike, and you standing had broken him out of it. He nodded at you, beginning to maneuver his chair back to his desk. “Right, yes… Thank you for your time, L/N.”

You smirked. “Nearly a year of working with you and I still get the last name treatment, huh?”

“Well, I don’t hear you calling me ‘Miles’.”

You cringed a bit. “Yeah, because that feels like a crime against humanity.”

He chuckled in the slightest, amused.

You gathered your bag and thought about just leaving, but before you did, you went up to Edgeworth’s desk once again. After a second, your hand found it’s way to his shoulder. He froze for a moment, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at you.

You said the first thing that popped into your mind. “Just… don’t be afraid to lead with your heart every once and awhile. That’s the one thing that will never make you feel uncertain.”

You gave him a smile and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. It was then that you’d felt it.

Just before you’d taken your hand away, a shiver, a tremble, seemed to manifest in the exact spot where your hand was. Again, you had never been 100% certain that’s what you felt, but your heart was telling you it was.

Weeks passed, and more late nights spent in Edgeworth’s office came and went. One particular night, the two of you were simply filling out paperwork in each other’s company. Soft, classical music played from a record player in the corner. It was nice - comfortable, really.

Over the course of the night, you’d noticed Edgeworth periodically rolling his neck, rubbing at it with his fingers, and attempting to crack it. After continuing to notice it, you decided to speak up about it.

“Is your neck bothering you?” your voice broke through the room.

Edgeworth seemed startled by the sudden sound, but relaxed almost instantly. He looked up sheepishly before averting his gaze back to his papers. “Somewhat. It’s just a bit tight, is all. Nothing unusual for someone who spends hours at a desk bent over paperwork.”

To his credit, he had a point, but you knew from experience that neck pain was not a fun experience. After thinking on it for a moment, you stood up, setting your clipboard of paperwork aside. Once Edgeworth realized you were stepping over to him, he glared at you suspiciously.

“What are you doing?” he asked as you moved to stand behind his chair.

“Don’t worry about it,” you responded, nonchalant. “Just… relax for a minute.”

He did no such thing.

You laughed, rolling your eyes slightly. You manually spun his chair around so he was no longer staring at you. “Trust me for once, why don’t you?”

A moment later, you carefully placed your hands on his shoulders and began to rub deep circles into them with your thumb. He tensed instantly, inhaling a sharp breath.

“Relax your shoulders,” you told him, tone soft. It was certainly a delicate moment, one you were afraid could be shattered by a wrong word or gesture.

To your surprise, the prosecutor did as you asked. You felt his shoulders relax slowly, almost hesitantly. You continued with the circles for a few moments before moving up, your thumb still working in his back while the rest of your fingers kneaded the lower sides of his neck. You weren’t touching his skin, only his suit and the edge of his cravat but you could feel the tenseness he held in his muscles, most likely several weeks’ worth.

After not even ten seconds of you working on his neck, he shivered. A quick thing, starting in his shoulders and going upwards - his head twitched slightly with the feeling. He gasped softly in surprise.

You paused for a moment, smiling to yourself. “Feel good?” you asked quietly.

There was a pause before he did anything. After the pause, he cleared his throat and began to turn his chair back around, forcing your hands off his shoulders. “Yes… thank you,” he mumbled, unable to make eye contact. He cleared his throat once again. “I, er, have a lot of paperwork to complete tonight, as do you. So…” He gestured awkwardly to the couch, and you instantly understood the implication.

You formed your lips into a tight line as you nodded and walked back over to the couch in silence, wondering if you had made a huge mistake.

After you got home that night, you did some research on the phenomenon known as touch starvation. Some deeper thinking and analysis of what had happened had lead you to that conclusion, and what you read only confirmed your suspicions. Whether he wanted to be or not, you were almost certain Edgeworth was touch starved. Human contact is a crucial part of happiness and fulfillment in life, and going without it can be as detrimental as going without proper nutrition or social interaction.

By the end of the night, you had decided to at least bridge the subject to the prosecutor and go from there.

The next day, you two enjoyed salads from a nearby food market in his office on lunch break. Trivial small talk was sandwiched between bites, but nothing more. You waited until the both of you were almost finished before bringing it up.

“Can I ask you about something?” you began innocently.

He nodded, chewing a bite and swallowing before speaking. “Of course, as always.”

You looked at him silently for a moment, trying to figure out how to word your question. “Do you... Do you think there’s such a thing as touch starvation?”

The question caught him off guard. He froze for a moment, looking down into what remained of his salad. After a brief time, he looked up to you suspiciously. “And why are you asking me this?”

You shrugged. “I dunno, I’m just curious. I think there’s a lot of-”

“Forgive me for interrupting, but let me rephrase my question...” He narrowed his eyes even further, which you didn’t think was possible. “Why are you asking me this?”

You went silent, not expecting him to catch on and become defensive so quickly. You gave it a moment of thought, and quickly came to the conclusion that lying wouldn’t do you any good. Bluntless was better.

You looked at him with a gentle expression, almost smiling. “Because I think if touch starvation is a thing, you’re having it, but you would never admit it.”

His expression remained the same: analytical, indifferent. It was a small victory when he broke his glare with you and looked down at his desk. You continued looking at him in silence, forcing him to be the one to speak next.

“… Now why would you think a ridiculous thing like that?”

The wariness and trepidation in his voice let you know you were treading on thin ice. You needed to choose your words carefully.

“I… I just think you don’t get a lot of physical touch,” you began to explain nonchalantly, “and a lot of people don’t, which they think is fine, but I think it affects people more than they know. Psychology suggests that, too… Humans need touch just like we need social interaction. Without social interaction, we get lonely, and it’s a similar thing with touch, I feel like.”

After a moment, the prosecutor fully turned his chair so he was facing you. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring harshly at you through his eyebrows. “And did it ever cross your mind that perhaps some people don’t require physical contact to have fulfillment in life?”

You nodded. “Of course. I know there are people who don’t like touch. I just don’t think you’re one of them.”

His eyebrows raise, slightly surprised at your answer. He’d expected to silence you with his question, to shut you down. Unbeknownst to him, you weren’t giving up that easily.

“I think you like touch, but you don’t have many means to get it and you’re worried it would make you seem vulnerable if you admitted it. That’s why you didn’t want me to massage your shoulders and-“

“I didn’t want you to massage my shoulders because it was unprofessional and inappropriate of you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to work, and you should, as well. In your own office, preferably.”

There it was - you’d gone too far. There would be no more pushing of that subject today.

Shrugging a bit, you stood, grabbing your salad container from the coffee table. “Alright, then. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t respond to you as you walked out, and you hadn’t expected him to.

You didn’t see him again until it was almost time for you to leave that day. One moment your doorframe had been empty, and the next there was a prosecutor standing in it.

He startled you slightly, and you chuckled at yourself. “Scared me,” you mumbled, then spoke louder, more clearly. “Do you need something?”

He gripped his right elbow with his left hand, rubbing the fabric in that habitual way. He looked away from you, his expression an embarrassed grimace as he spoke. “Yes… but I am unwilling to lower myself to the point of asking for it.”

Your face fell as you realized what he must have been implying. By your reasoning, there wasn’t any other explanation. At least, from what you understood there wasn’t.

After a moment, you walked forward and grabbed one of Edgeworth’s hands. You pulled him into your office, cracking the door halfway shut behind him. He stood in front of you, still avoiding eye contact. A second later, you wrapped your arms around him in a hug.

It wasn’t unlike hugging a statue at first. He was stiff and tense, unfamiliar with this type of contact. You just continued to hold him, resting your cheek against his cravat. It was soft and smelled like a freshly cleaned blanket.

It took him several moments, but his hands eventually found their way to your shoulder blades. He leaned down, resting his cheek on the top of your head. His thumbs began rubbing at the fabric of your shirt in smooth, comforting circles.

A shiver shot up his spine once, and you simply held him a little tighter. He relaxed into your hold soon enough, still keeping his hands on your shoulders in that gentlemanly way of his.

He never would outright admit that he was touch starved, and you knew that. But you also knew that whenever he needed any kind of contact, you would be happy to provide.

[tayterbean]

i love this sm

5: Been thinking about this idea for a while. What if van Zieks still felt guilty for being rude to Ryunosuke so he insists he gives him some punishment for his previous discourtesies, but Ryunosuke's too kind to do any actual harm, nor thinks it necessary at all, and he gives him a poke to prove his point. You could imagine what would happen next.

Hello anon! This was a cute idea! I hope you enjoy Day 5 of Tickletober: Punishment!

The Reaper's Lighthearted Punishment

Series: The Great Ace Attorney

Characters: Ryunosuke Naruhodo, Barok van Zieks

Words: 827

Summary: When Van Zieks persists that he needs to be punished by Ryunosuke for his past actions against him, the prosecutor regrets asking when Ryunosuke uses a secret he discovers about him as a playful form of punishment. Enjoy!

—

“Mr. Van Zieks, I’m not going to punish you…” Ryunosuke says, confused that the other man is even asking such a thing. The lawyer planned on seeing Van Zieks in the prosecutor’s office while he was visiting Britain, but this is definitely not the interaction he thought he would be having when he did.

“I feel it is the only necessary action to take for my previous discourtesies towards you,” Van Zieks responds. The thick jacket he usually wears is off and hanging near his desk, but he still has on his vest and white dress shirt underneath it. “Please, do as you see fit,” he continues.

“What? No, Mr. Van Zieks for the last time it isn’t necessary. Your apology and acknowledgement was enough. Really, it’s fine.”

The prosecutor shakes his head. “I’m sorry Mr. Naruhodo but I can’t take no for an answer,” he pauses and grabs the sword lying near the front of his desk, “Here.”

“What!? Mr. Van Zieks stop this!” Ryunosuke carefully shoves away the weapon that Van Zieks tries to hand him. “First off, there’s no way I’m going to hurt you. Secondly, you’re not acting like your usual self. And third, even if I did use that, which I won't, the worse I would probably do is a harmless poke.”

Van Zieks places the sword back on to his desk, then holds his head down. “My apologies. It’s just that I still feel guilty for my actions, even though you helped me. It was shameful the way I treated you…”

Ryunosuke sighs, feeling empathetic for the man. “It’s alright Van Zieks, really.” But the prosecutor’s head still hangs low with a sunken look on his face. 

“Hey, cheer up,” Ryunosuke tries to help, “You know what? I said the worst I would do is a poke right? So here.” The lawyer then gives a friendly poke to his side with an index finger, but the prosecutor suddenly jolts in his place with a slight giggle. Van Zieks quickly shoots his hand up to cover his mouth after that noise had slipped out. He stares down at Ryunosuke in horror while the lawyer can only blink at him. 

“Wait a minute…” Ryunosuke pauses, then reaches over to poke him a second time.

“No, don't! Mmph!” Van Zieks cups his hand over his mouth again and tries to stifle a giggle. Out of curiosity, Ryunosuke starts wiggling his fingers across the prosecutor’s side, observing how the gray-haired man’s smile starts to grow wider behind the hand trying to muffle his laughter. Van Zieks curls his body forward and turns his head to the side to hide his uncharacteristic expression, but as Ryunosuke begins scribbling into both of his sides, his giggly laughter soon breaks out, unfortunately revealing to his rival that he’s immensely ticklish.

“I think I may have found a form of punishment after all,” Ryunosuke smiles as he playfully tickles the squirmy prosecutor.

“Wahahahait! Stohohop thahat!” Van Zieks childishly giggles as he instinctively tries to pry the lawyer’s hands away from his sides.

“Hey, you wanted a form of punishment right? Well here you go!”

“I was at leheheheast hoping for something mohohore dignified—AH! Hahahaha!” Van Zieks yelps when Ryunosuke goes for his ribs. Soon after, he crumbles to his knees, still being followed down by Ryunosuke’s attack. The prosecutor weakly tries to hold himself up with one hand, while the other wraps around his torso. 

“Mr. Naruhodohoho!” he giggles and hangs his head down to hide his silly smile into his chest.

Seeing that Van Zieks is out of his solemn state, Ryunosuke decides to have a bit of fun with the prosecutor by teasing him. “So, are you going to apologize to me for all your past discourtesies?”

Van Zieks tries to growl over his shoulder. Now his rival is just messing with him. “Why yohohohou!—ACK!” he yelps again and collapses onto the ground when Ryunosuke’s hands crawl towards the upper half of his ribs, digging into some of his most ticklish bones. The prosecutor clamps his arms down and squirms on the floor, unable to take anymore of the lawyer’s silly punishment. “Ahahahalright! Ahahalright! I apohohologize! Hahaha!”

Ryunosuke gives a playful nod of approval then moves his hands away to allow the prosecutor to breathe. Van Zieks sprawls out onto the floor, taking in deep breaths to regain air back into his system. After a few moments, he tiredly turns onto his back and looks up at Ryunosuke.

“I…suppose…I should be thanking you for that?”

“Hey, you were the one being persistent about it,” Ryunosuke smiles with his response, then lends the prosecutor a hand to help him back on to his feet. 

It’s true that Van Zieks did ask for it, but of course, he didn’t expect for it to go the way it went. However, despite the embarrassing display of laughter from the prosecutor, Van Zieks is still thankful that Ryunosuke can forgive him.

[tayterbean]

Doing Febru-whump in summer because I can.

BUCKY BARNES VERSION

DAY TWO : “I DREAMT YOU WERE ALIVE”

Bucky steps up to the large headstone, somewhat intimidated by the seemingly infinite amount of bouquets and tiny American flags surrounding it. With a shaking sigh, he places his own contribution - a bouquet of red and blue roses - down and off to the side.

He takes a few steps back and simply stares, stares at the outpouring of love and support shown for the late Steve Rogers, who was only Captain America to everyone else. Steve has been dead and buried for nearly two weeks, and this is the first time Bucky has had the courage to visit his grave. The only reason he’s here now is because you said it’d be good for him, and while he didn’t believe that, he knew he wouldn’t be off the hook until he went. So, here he was.

He sighs and gives his head a shake, feeling almost stupid for what he’s about to do. “I dreamt you were alive,” he says aloud to the open air. He looks around at nothing in particular - this tree, that cloud, someone’s car. “We were at some little coffee shop, just you and me. And we were just talking.”

He scoffs at himself, but continues nonetheless. “It’s sappy, I know. But after I got out of HYDRA, it was just one fight after another, over and over and… and we never got a chance to just talk…”

He sighs once again, shaking his head at himself, his situation. His eyes drift to the ground on their own. “I would’ve told you everything, Steve. I can’t tell my therapist shit and I have a hard time even telling stuff to Y/N, but I would’ve told you everything if you’d have just asked.”

He angrily swipes at his eyes, feeling them beginning to water. He doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction because, deep down, he is hurt and he is angry that he is.

“And I get it, man, I do, I get it. I’m not the same as I used to be, I know, but… But you were the first one I trusted after HYDRA and in the end, you betrayed that trust. You got to live out your life exactly how you wanted it, in the forties, with Peggy, while you left me to deal with all my shit alone.”

He brings his right hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And Steve, I’m sorry, but I never could’ve done that to you, not in a million years, man.” He points at the grave, stepping back. “And you knew that.”

Just as he is about to speak again, he stops, breathing somewhat heavily as he looks at the headstone. As his eyes glance over the name Steve Grant Rogers engraved into the stone, the reality of it all slams into him. Steve Rogers, his lifelong friend, pal, punk, sidekick, everything, is dead. Steve, dead.

It didn’t hit him when Sam first told him the news, it didn’t hit him when he carried in Steve’s casket, nor did it hit him when Steve was buried, but it sure as hell is hitting him now.

He brings his right hand up to his face to shield himself from the world, grimacing against his tears. He doesn’t want to cry, he just doesn’t - he’s angry, not sad, not grieving. Angry that Steve left him behind without a second thought, angry that Steve took the easy way out, meanwhile he’s stuck still dealing with seventy years of PTSD and trauma.

He curses, trying to get himself back together, but failing miserably nonetheless. He knows he’s lying to himself, but right now, he needs to be able to do so because the truth is simply too much to bear. He needs to be angry because he can’t be sad - if he allows himself to be sad, he fears he may never see happiness again.

Then, he feels the gentlest of hands come to rest on the small of his back.

And all of a sudden, things aren’t so bad anymore.

“You okay?” you ask him softly, rubbing your thumb along his back in a way that simply makes him melt.

Still shielding his face with his right hand, he nods just once. He removes his hand from his face a moment later, dropping it limp by his side. “Yeah… Yeah, ‘m fine.”

He can sense the doubtful look you’re giving him, the one that you always give him when you know he’s not being truthful. It’s an automatic response for him, to say he’s fine when he really isn’t. It’s also something both you and his doctor want him to improve on. But right now, he just can’t.

Instead of openly admitting his brokenness to you, he simply sighs and wraps his arms around you tighter than he ever has before. You’re just tall enough for him to comfortably bend down and rest his head on your shoulder, which he does so immediately. It’s now that he really loses his grasp on his emotions, his body beginning to shake a bit and his eyes welling with unconsolable tears.

Unconsolable, of course, by everyone who isn’t you.

Although his tears come harshly, wracking him, your presence keeps him grounded, keeps him sane. You shush him gently now and then, rubbing his back in that simple, yet so comforting, way. “It’s alright,” you say next to his ear. “It’s alright… I’m here for you, Bucky, and I always will be.”

Of course you would, and likewise, he would always be there for you. Because while Steve found his true love in the forties, he has found his right here, in a time where he should not be living, but is nonetheless. After all his time with HYDRA, he has finally found his purpose, right here, with you.

And maybe that’s what Steve had intended all along.

He hugs you tighter still against him, placing a kiss to the side of your face. “Thank you,” he mumbles to you.

You rub his back once again - you must know he loves that. “Anytime, Buck… But I guess the one good thing that came out of all of this is that Steve finally took all the stupid with him.”

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Bucky smiles.

[tayterbean]

Doing Febru-whump in summer because I can.

BUCKY BARNES VERSION

Day One : Head Wound

You tapped lightly on the hospital room wall, rounding the corner and peeking your head inside. You give Bucky a smile, but it does little to lift his miserable mood.

“How you feeling, champ?” you question, stepping into the small cubicle of a room.

Bucky, who is laying in a hospital bed, half asleep, sighs. “Like I was hit by a train.”

“Oh, man up. It was only a car.” You give him a joking smile, which he responds to with a deadpan expression.

You understand why he’s feeling miserable, of course. The car that hit him on a mission the day before was doing close to forty-five miles per hour and hit him pretty much straight on. It had nailed him in the mid-section, which bumped him back so far that his head slammed into the pavement. If it wasn’t for the super soldier serum, he probably wouldn’t have made it. The mere thought makes your stomach drop.

Thankfully though, instead of death, Bucky escaped with some major bruising and a helluva concussion. Despite being alive, however, you can tell he’s still absolutely miserable.

Now wearing a frown, you come up to the side of his bed and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. His eyes are closed - despite having slept most of the past thirty-six hours, he’s still exhausted.

“How’s your head, Buck? Really.”

His eyes remain closed. “Hurts like hell,” he says, voice somewhat strained. He squints his eyes open, grimacing somewhat. “Almost as bad as getting wiped.”

Your frown deepens, and you give a sigh after a moment. “I’m sorry… Is there anything I can get you, anything you need?”

He forces his eyes to remain open as he thinks, his gaze wandering off somewhere unknown. After a moment, you notice him beginning to shift himself over to the left side of the bed, and not without difficulty does he do so.

“Hey, hey, whatcha doing?” you ask, slightly alarmed.

As an answer, he pats the open space beside him, eyes meeting yours again. He manages the smallest of smiles, and at this point, how can you say no?

Being extra careful, you climb into the hospital bed right next to Bucky, sitting up taller than him and wrapping your arms around him. His head immediately comes to rest against you, one of his arms draping across your middle. He lets out a sigh, the exhale shuddering slightly.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles, and you aren’t sure if it’s gratitude or pain in his voice - possibly a mix of both.

“I’m glad,” you respond softly. You bend down and place the gentlest of kisses to the top of Bucky’s head.

It is not long before Bucky’s breaths are shuddering more often, shivers sometimes pin-balling up his spine. It takes you time, but eventually you come to a valid conclusion as to why.

The last time Bucky’s head had hurt him this bad, he was at the hands of HYDRA, being wiped and manipulated, and while you knew he was joking earlier, you can see how that would shake him up quite a bit. Maybe he just needed to feel you and have you close to keep himself calm and to let his subconscious realize that he isn’t in any danger just because he’s in pain.

Once the realization hits you full force, you hold Bucky just a bit tighter and place another kiss to his head. “It’s okay, Buck,” you simply say. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice comes as soft and muffled, nearly a whisper. “Please don’t…”

And you didn’t. As long as he needed you, you would be there, and he knew that he could never thank you enough for that.