1 - 20 of 35 Works by frostypik
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“Hey, uh, Grian?” Scar pipes up, breaking the silence that had fallen over them as they walked. “I kinda… No, wait, I mean, really need to pee.”
Grian snorts at that. He twists his neck to give Scar an exasperated stare, quirking an eyebrow. “Seriously? Now? Can’t you hold it till we get there?”
There was a long pause, and for a second, Grian sees an expression on Scar’s face that he can’t say he’s ever really seen before. It was almost helpless. But it was gone just as quick as it came, melting into a goofy, lopsided grin.
“…Right. Y-yeah, of course I can. I’m a grown man, after all.”
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Originally, Grian thought the worst thing that could ever happen to him was being dragged out into the desert by Scar, the madman who insisted on taking over the entire land and monopolizing sand. Sand, of all things. Of which there were thousands of blocks of.
Somehow, he was wrong.
The actual worst thing that could ever happen to him, he’s now decided, was waking up with a hard-on while sharing a bed with said madman who was currently spooning him from behind, fast asleep and snoring gently without a care in the world.
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Grian’s eyes widen, having just put the pieces together in his mind on what this is all about -- Scar’s found out about BigB.
He panics, his breathing speeding up a little, squirming under Scar’s grasp which tightens quickly to meet his struggle. “Scar,” he pleads, which gets the man to look up at him, if only to glare at him with an expression that’s both emotionless and filled with a cacophony of emotions all at once, which shuts him up instantly.
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“Can I… uh, tell you a secret?”
Date laughs – that low, incredibly attractive chuckle that never fails to give Ryuki butterflies, a queasy feeling that stirs warm in his stomach. This time, however, it nearly makes him vomit, already starting to get cold feet just from the way his superior quirks an eyebrow at him. “A secret? Alright, you’ve got me curious. Shoot.”
It wasn’t true. What he was about to say was nothing short of a blatant lie. But if he played his cards right, with someone as perverted as Date…
“I’m… a girl.”
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In all the times he’s dreamed of this moment, Ryuki always thought it would be perfect. It was just a fantasy, after all – what was so wrong about that? He’d imagined that everything would line up like some cheesy romance novel, where Date would whisper to Ryuki that he loves him, that he’s always loved him, and everything would shift in the world. Black and white would suddenly sprout into vivid colour.
But this…
Well, despite how different it was from his fantasies, this was perfect, too, in all the ways he’s never allowed himself to explore. The taste of whiskey is prominent on Date’s tongue as it hungrily explores Ryuki’s mouth, making the smaller man whimper. Perhaps he's found a new definition of perfection.
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Crutch by frostypik
Fandoms: 大逆転裁判 | Dai Gyakuten Saiban | The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles (Video Games)
02 Mar 2023
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Squeezing his eyes shut, Ryunosuke tried desperately to push away the images that flooded his mind of Kazuma, his best friend, watching their heated exchange. If he allowed himself to linger on the idea for too long, Holmes would surely pounce upon that weakness of his, inquiring as to what exactly had him so distracted.
He had momentarily failed to remember that Holmes, despite his rather eccentric personality, was a genius of deduction.
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Maruki thinks to himself that maybe he should just hang up.
He doesn't, though. He’s too busy hanging onto every noise that’s fed to him through the small speaker pressed against his ear, entranced by the sound of Akira's voice. What he needed was a slap to the face, a perfectly normal explanation that would make him feel silly for even thinking the perverted thoughts that were running through his overly tired brain.
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“Look. If you’re so worried about being alone,” Akira says, picking up a dart for himself, “then I have a proposition.”
Akechi cocks an eyebrow at his rival, clearly baffled. Something about the way he said it, about that mischievous glint in those eyes trained on the dartboard, left him with knots in his stomach, every one of his hairs standing on end. Yet, he can’t help but ask, curiosity getting the better of him. “...What kind of proposition?”
Hook, line, and sinker. Akira's got Akechi right where he wants him.
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Something about the way Akira peers down at Maruki makes him feel like he doesn’t have a choice in the matter, because he’s never seen so much desire in someone’s eyes before, not even with Rumi. There’s a whirlwind of emotions going on in the depths of pale grey orbs that shine in a way that almost makes them look blue in the light of the office, a cacophony of heartache mixed with want and need.
This is what Akira wants.
Something about that makes his chest ache with sympathy, lost somewhere in the depths of the sheer panic flooding through him.
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“...Zushi is waiting in my lodge,” Wing explained before his departure, that gentle smile of his exuding such a familiar warmth, “so I shouldn’t keep him much longer."
He began to walk slow strides; despite what he’d said about Zushi waiting for him, which was indeed true, he had no need to rush back to his quarters. It would be correct to say that he had plans for training with the boy, but not the same kind of training he'd been having Killua and Gon do.
There were many more ways to train one’s body than through the four principles of Nen, after all.
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“Turn around,” the Troupe leader commands, an unusual amount of authority to his voice that sends a shiver down Hisoka’s spine. Just as he had suspected, Chrollo’s gaze is met with clean, pale skin, no tattoo in sight.
“It was a fake?” He asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a question, and there’s a lack of surprise in his tone. Hisoka makes a quick recovery, smirk returning to his lips. Challenging Chrollo to get angry, to punish him for his rebellious acts. Would he let this much slide, now that he has undeniable proof on display before his very eyes? Or, alternatively, what would he do upon deciding that this was the final straw? Kick him out of the Troupe? Hisoka hopes for a more interesting outcome, but won’t deny that it’s a possibility.
He simply can’t tell what’s going on in the man’s head, can’t judge what he’s thinking by that vacant, expressionless stare that sizes him up like prey.
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“I’ve been with all kinds of women back on Whale Island,” Gon explains to Killua, an enthusiastic twinkle in those large eyes as he begins to talk about his hometown, “they were older women who really liked younger boys. They taught me lots of stuff!”
With the way that particular statement was phrased, and the pride in the young boy’s voice, Hisoka felt himself stiffen up, having been eavesdropping from a safe distance. Was Gon not as pure and innocent as he’d thought?
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The mere thought of someone else having control over him made Killua sick to his stomach, and he spent many sleepless nights mulling over the concept. He didn’t want to feel exposed, to be vulnerable. He wasn’t weak, he couldn’t be.
But…
If it was Gon, Killua decided, it would be okay. Gon wouldn’t hurt him. He didn’t have to be so afraid.
And so, when Killua had finally approached his friend about his desires, Gon had practically lit up. He recognized how much trust it would have taken for the ex-assassin to admit something like this, to put himself in such a vulnerable position. He was just happy that Killua could believe in him.
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PWP technically, but also a subtle character study on killua
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Edgar sighed; an undeniable note of growing aggravation could be heard in his voice as he, for what was the third time in what felt like mere minutes, swatted away the pair of hands reaching for his waist.
“...Clingy today, aren’t you,” he commented in a bored tone. Luca knew, though, by the way the painter’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly, the hand holding his paintbrush pausing for a moment just long enough to be caught by the trained eye of his boyfriend, that he was actually quite interested in the other’s actions despite the way he tried to come off as indifferent.
Luca glanced at the several paintings laid out to dry on the table next to them and sighed. “W-Well yeah! I... I wanna cuddle, you’ve been working so hard and… well, I miss you!”
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workaholic edgar obsessing over painting vs luca wanting to wreck his shit as a stress relief who would win
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"Any damage inflicted within the photo world will be carried over to your true self."
Upon hearing this, the seer's interest had immediately been sparked.
What were the limits of this world of illusions that only Joseph had total control over? If pain could be felt, then could other senses also be stimulated through their mirror selves? And if so, what sensations could be felt from within the camera’s realm, and what couldn’t?
Eventually, Eli settled on one final question: could pleasure be inflicted upon others’ clones, just as pain could?
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The blunt statement was so awkward it made even himself cringe, so worried that he might disappoint his lover by pushing him away that he hadn’t known any other way to say it. It wasn’t really as if he could help his own bodily cycle, but he still felt a little guilty.
“...So?”
The question threw Eli off; he fumbled for a second, confused. “...S-So… I mean, um… y’know,” twiddling his thumbs, the seer refused to lift his head, cheeks painted a brilliant red. “I-I mean, we probably shouldn’t… I mean, of course, if you want me to make you feel good, then I’d be happy to, but…”
“...And I’m saying, why shouldn’t I take care of you?”
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It drove Naib insane in the worst way possible that after being practically princess carried to his own bed, heart pounding so hard from the alcohol and the pure exhilaration of being swept away like that he thought it might skip a beat, the other man couldn’t bother to be enough of a romantic to at least touch him a little or kiss him before jerking him off like it was the only thing he knew how to do.
No foreplay tonight, either, it seemed.
Series
- Part 3 of NortNaib FWB Collection
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The seer had known his heat was right around the corner, but it wasn’t as if he could refuse the invitations the Baron sent them for matches. The only choice he’d had in this situation was to pray maybe his needs wouldn’t be cruel enough to strike him at such an inopportune time, though it was now clear that he wouldn’t be given such mercy -- not when his body already felt so hot all over.
And with Hastur being the hunter for today, his mind wouldn't stop wandering to those tentacles of his.
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Naib wasn’t sure how long they’d been at this, but it was long enough to have his body covered in bruises that blossomed along his skin, mixed along with various fresh scratches and bite marks trailing down his body wherever he was capable of hiding with clothing; it took attention away from the scars he hated so much, to say the least, though a dull pain ached from every mark that covered him.
It wasn’t as if he would admit to being tired, though -- especially not when it seemed like Norton had plenty of stamina left in him to keep going. He refused to back down now.
Series
- Part 2 of NortNaib FWB Collection
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It wasn’t exactly uncommon for Norton to barge into Naib's room, demanding some violent form of intercourse that he was sure wouldn’t be called “intimacy” in any normal circumstances after he’d had a bad day. He supposed everyone had their ways of taking their anger out and, for the taller man, sex was apparently the most effective on his list of strategies.
The mercenary would be lying if he said he minded being at the receiving end of that particular coping mechanism.
Series
- Part 1 of NortNaib FWB Collection