𑣲. Love Is Hard For Lawyers.
— Higuruma wants to play at push and pull? Well, you’re the number one winner at that game.
Based on this request <3 Higuruma is going to get some spotlight lately.
Tags: [ANGST/FLUFF], modern au lawyer!higuruma x assistant!reader where they play in eachothers faces. Slightly suggesive.
If Nanami Kento wasn’t your brother, memories tainted by the grumpy teenager who he once was for no reason, you’d be kissing his feet for landing you a job at Higuruma’s firm.
It’s really the best you can get considering your situation—freshly moved from Kyoto, not a single foot to balance your life on in the capital, but getting a job felt like the first step to a life in Tokyo.
That’s enough to put a smile on your face and for you to drag your ass out of bed at the crack of dawn everyday—pull your hair back into a neat ponytail, slip into your work attire, pin the firms badge to your chest and clock in.
You don’t do much since you’re not an actual attorney—never actually being able to graduate law school after your father passed and you were responsible for your brother entirely.
After all, you couldn’t keep up with the long hours at your college part-time job, the even longer theory that your teachers taught, and take care of your younger brother at the same time.
Yet, here you are. 30 and flirty, finally living your big-girl dream in the city with your own apartment, and a job in a field you love!
Working for Higuruma isn’t all glitz and glamour—not exactly. Despite his clipped, neat appearance, he’s a mess in the office.
Papers, cases, legal documents scattered everywhere.
He loses his mind everyday.
Spewing how much nonsense these cases are, or the evidence, or cursing at the lack of information—not having enough reins to work with when clients come in with hopes and dreams.
“Do I look like a magician?” He mumbles.
It’s 8 AM, you’re both still groggy from sleep for some reason—quite unusual for morning people like you two. Forced to become for the job.
You weakly chuckle, busy with filing random paperwork he has thrown around into files—mind already running with the billion other things you have to do today.
Get him breakfast, take the company car to the wash, drive him to an interrogation, sit through a trial and take notes, answer any phone calls when the receptionist leaves early today—
“Y/N.” Your mental list of thoughts gets cut off by that scratchy, gruff morning voice of his that do things to you—ones you probably shouldn’t feel towards your boss.
Higuruma is all clean tux suits, tailored to perfection—always dark, always accompanied by a cardholder in his pocket, a firm symbol badge over his heart like an oath to the job.
A sharp jawline, groomed hair every two months whenever he has the chance to get himself to the hairstylist honestly.
So manly, fresh, like a breeze from the ocean just enveloping you in pure innocent bliss.
You hummed, an automatic response to his call. Brain half occupied by the tasks at hand, still.
“Let’s go for coffee.” He says, pushing himself off his swivel chair and straightening up—long legs taking him behind your chair where he spins you.
The chair circles with you in it as he walks out, leaving you there with a thousand things to do but now with coffee at the top of your priority list.
Just what kind of boss is this? Last time you checked, you were supposed to be fetching it for him…
Not leaving the office with said boss to a nearby coffee shop just a mere half-hour after going into work.
Nonetheless, you quickly snap back to earth, throw your coat on, and follow behind.
At the reception, you try to warn him about the cold outside—hands reaching for his own trench coat, but he’s already halfway out the door.
In his blazer, in his black slacks, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a resolve that includes only you and an Americano.
You trail behind him with rushed steps, trying to get to his side. He chuckles, a breathy laugh that makes your insides shake with how deep it is.
Maybe it was the cold, or maybe you’d grown a liking for your boss too much, but you bury the blush on your face further into your scarf as you both walk side by side to your destination.
Reaching the familiar local cafè, you both step inside to be wrapped in the comforting morning smell of fresh pastries and sound of coffee grounds shredding to dusty heaven in the background.
A faint hum of espresso machines pushing out the rich liquid. And you both subconsciously relax just a bit, frostbitten fingertips warming back to life.
He tells you to sit anywhere while he orders and you oblige, picking a seat next to the window where you watch as the view outside starts to get chillier with falling snowflakes.
A few minutes later, he sits down with a scorching hot Americano for him and your favourite drink for you.
You smile to yourself at the small gesture. Wrapping your hands against the cute mug.
His voice smoothly cuts through the background buzz of the morning rush.
“I do.” You don’t miss a beat, offering a soft smile.
He doesn’t smile back, but his eyes soften around the corners. Crinkling in a way to hold the kind look in his eyes.
“Are you busy this week?”
Your eyebrows knit together. “You’re the one who orders me around, shouldn’t you know how busy I am?” You quip. Sipping on the delicious drink.
His eyes lazily roll for a split second before a smirk breaks out across his face. “I don’t mean on the clock, Y/N. Also, I don’t order you around.”
Your cups clink against the saucers between your words.
He sighs like he’s accepted defeat in a fight he pushed but had no real intention to win.
“I guess I like my order.” He mutters.
You giggle, trying to suppress the stupid smile trying to crawl on your face.
Then, you follow up. “I’m not busy this week, no.”
From across you, he nods. Lighter than he was when he asked, and you take this little morning as a win in your books.
“Let me take you out Friday, after work.” He asks, leaning on his forearms on the table. Eyes focused on your every twitch.
Your breath hitches, a flicker of hope and excitement in your eyes that he catches.
After a beat of silence, you smile. “Okay.”
Going back to the office, you trail a step behind his broad frame—a sheepish grin on your face cradled behind your cotton scarf just to hide the fragile feeling in your chest from the outside world.
Would it just be a casual thing for him? Taking out his assistant? Maybe, but you were silently praying it wasn’t anything just friendly.
That day you continued with a pep in your step, tasks quickly finished and efficiently executed. He tried sending you home early and you refused, saying that there was nobody waiting up for you anyway.
It didn’t sound so sad until it resonated through the wooden walls of his office. Nonetheless, you shrugged it off and continued.
The days till Thursday blurred together in a mess of more paperwork being scattered around, ink staining sheets and signing away lives, earnings and souls.
You were starting to feel the all familiar tiredness that came with being a lawyer’s assistant hit on that specific day. It was gloomy outside, forecasting the heavy rain that was coming through the grey skies.
And a part of you felt like that specific day was foreshadowing something duller.
During the morning and late evening, you noticed the off-putting mood your boss was in—snapping at anyone that would come in, overlooking evidence with sloppy patience and overall edge less as a whole.
He was particularly harsh with you too—sending you straight out the office for some random errand like go to a coffee shop 25 minutes from here and bring back an americano coffee within 15 and looking at you with a displeased look when you fail to do the impossible.
You’d be lying if you said it didn’t start to annoy you—his commanding, full-of-himself tone and bossy attitude—even when deep down you were aware this was your job.
But the little reminder that tomorrow he’d be personally taking you out on a proper date, maybe, made the day go by easier.
And you blamed it all on stress anyway.
“Y/N, stay back for a minute.”
Just as you had one foot into the street, Higuruma called you back from the premises of his office, letting the door slam shut as you walked back inside. Not bothering to hold it for you like he used to a nightfall ago.
Settling back into his seat, the wooden door’s lock softly clicks into place as you close it and take a step in the space—his familiar smell that stubbornly clings to everything sticks onto you.
“Have I done anything wrong?” Your voice comes out strained with exhaustion, forehead hosting a small headache from the tiring day.
Somehow, even with all of the ordering around and screaming he’s done today—he looks worse than you though with those deep eye bags of his
A brief, annoyed grunt comes from him as he picks up some case file thrown over his desk. Eyeing the title, he stops beating around the bush.
You internally wince at his rough voice. “Then what—“
“We are not going anywhere tomorrow, it was stupid of me to ask you out.”
How funny, you can’t bite back the scoff that pushes itself out of your throat at the sound of the sequence of syllables produced together.
“Oh, really? Stupid?” Your gaze flips into a bitter glare as you look down at him hiding behind the file.
“At least look at me in the eyes when you say it.” You bark, he obliges within the second.
Sighing quite loudly, you decide that this isn’t worth your time. “Glad to know you were just messing with me.”
Your heels dig into the hardwood floors and click loudly on your way out—the sound of them slamming against Higuruma’s head now filling with instant regret with every step that resonates with the walls of the firm.
Fuck, he should’ve kept his sour mood in check.
And fuck, you have one more day at work before you can bury your face in your bed and drown in embarrassment without seeing him around.
That night though, you don’t cry. Pure frustration and anger courses through your veins—relentless with the way it heats your body up whenever you think about how ridiculous this all is.
Friday you evidently wake up on the wrong side of your bed and try to school your annoyed expression into something work-friendly as you step inside the elevator in the office’s building.
The doors are a blink away from completely closing and leaving you to listen to elevator music as you climb 8 floors when a hand jams itself fearlessly between the metal panels.
You roll your eyes so far back when you catch a glimpse of that perfectly tailored suit and that too well-known scent of him.
The lid on your coffee threatens to go off flying with how much your grip has tightened around the paper cup.
The heat of the beverage in your hand pales in comparison to how much your body warms up in annoyance at his mere presence getting on the lift.
He settles on your right, you begrudgingly offer a “Morning.” Flat, dull and already a word you’ve said too much.
But for the sake of your role and workplace ethic, you’ll keep your pettiness within measure for today.
You feel his eyes digging holes into your profile as the elevator climbs and climbs floors. By floor 4, you debate on getting off at the 5th and continuing the way on foot.
However, climbing god knows how many pairs of stairs at 8 AM sends a frightening chill down your spine.
So you suck it up and push down the urge to pour your drink over his all too well fitting suit.
Finally, the lift halts at the eighth floor and you get off before the man even has the chance to process where he is.
Greeting the receptionist with a curt “Hi, Linda.” and a small smile, you beeline to your desk without taking a single glance back to the footsteps following you.
An hour of quiet working goes by where you finish up tasks from previous days—overlooking documents, answering emails, updating clients—till you’re summoned in his office.
Your steps are heavy as you drag your unwilling body to his desk, clipboard in hand and spine straight as a stick.
Higuruma shamelessly eyes you the second you step in place next to him—from the piece of lint on your blouse, to the length of your skirt and the slight transparency of your shirt that exposes the color of your bra just slightly.
“Yes?” Your feet stomp against the floor one final time, in defiance of the usual picture-perfect, soft and obedient assistant you are.
He subtly straightens up in his seat, hand tightening around the fountain pen he’s using to sign documents.
Where your voice was usually light and attentive, now it bit him with coldness and finality.
It sends a strong message.
One where you clearly underline that he’s fucked up, legendarily.
However, knowing he has unwillingly guided things to how they are now, he just sighs internally and flips his regretful thoughts back to the urgent issues at hand.
“I need you to check when the evidence for the Zenin case is going to be delivered.”
You scrunch your face into an annoyed expression, remembering how you’ve been updating him about it everyday.
“Do you even listen to me when I talk? I said it will be here by Wednesday. Or am I just too stupid for you to pay attention to?”
Higuruma is surprised at the bite he just found out you possess, sharp features twisted into a stern frown.
Fine, if you were going to be this petty about a mere date being cancelled, then he can be childish about you snapping at him for it.
“Go.” He dismisses, you scoff before wordlessly storming out of the office.
There’s petty and pettier!
You used to come to work with a chirp following behind you that warmed up the whole office, now you only offer Linda a smiley hello when you come in and hushedly greet your fellow coworkers far away from his earshot.
He sends more paperwork to be printed out, some necessary, some not when he literally has them digitally.
But he does it so you have to run around the office in those heels of yours and so when the printer runs out of ink, you have to refill it.
Words are just words that week. There isn’t a single thing worth commenting about the entire time you work, resulting in your conversations only consisting in him bossing you around and you helplessly obliging for the sake of keeping your job.
Your fellow coworkers will turn a blind eye to the very obvious tension between the boss and his assistant, keeping their heads bowed and their gossip shushed because they know it’s best to let time fix the chaos.
You have no intention on fixing things with him—for all you can care, you will continue to ignore, clip your words, and brush him off until the pricking sensation of rejection leaves your skin.
Higuruma plans to do the same—to continue drowning you in extra work, needless tasks and cold looks till you break and apologise.
A little variable inserts himself into the equation and Hiromi’s resolve crumbles rather quickly.
Four weeks ago, before this whole dillema and whatnot, a rather young man strode inside the office with the right kind of determination to land a good impression in Higuruma’s book.
And he did, he was set to start working as a new attorney under him in three weeks time—it seems like time has gone rather quickly because when Hiromi steps inside the office on a dreadful Monday, he’s met with the even more dreadful sight of his dear assistant chatting away—offering a man she just met—more words to the new hire than her own boss.
A loud cough disrupts your pleasant chat with George—a 24-year-old English newbie that came all the way from the United Kingdom to land a job here.
There is hardly anything more brave to do, and you found out that he is equally as brave when it comes to socialising—getting to know almost half of the firm by the time his—and unfortunately, your—boss walks in.
The ashy-blonde, rather slim but elegant-looking man pivots on his heels to meet the man that granted him a position her in the first place.
By natural instinct, his hand darts out in a greeting, offering a hand to a serious-faced Higuruma.
A few tense seconds of silence pass, you watch from behind George’s shoulder how the slightly taller, brown haired man just glares daggers at you hidden behind another.
You quirk an eyebrow, growing disappointed and slightly annoyed at how he’s dismissing the new help.
“Higuruma.” You snap—voice too controlled and professional for the surrounding people to get the hint of irritation behind it.
But Hiromi has spent enough time studying you—both happy and pissed—to get exactly what’s lying behind that simple word.
Clearing his throat, he finally narrows his eyes away from you and takes the new attorney’s hand.
“Welcome to the firm.” He says, motioning for the man to follow behind him as he trails off to his office, briefcase in hand, a look of “behave yourself.” sent over his shoulder to you.
That, you weren’t going to do.
Well—you would just barely dance on the thin line between the tolerable and not until he breaks.
If Higuruma wanted to keep playing, you will keep throwing the dice.
So, just as another draining week of biting your tongue around your boss and showing George around passed and settled into a new one—you already prepared a whole new plan.
One which consisted keeping yourself busy with the new boy! I mean, he surely needs to be showed the ropes to living in Japan, right?
Over lunch, you’d take up the spot beside him in the cafeteria—small homemade sandwich in hand with a drink in the other and sweetly gaze down at him with the question of “Do you mind me sitting here?”
To which he would say no and conversation would easily follow.
And you would deliberately discuss plans with him—
“Say George, has anyone taken you to…?”
“There’s this really nice place down the street, we can go sometime!”
“Are we still on for our hike this weekend?”
Higuruma was more than tired of it.
Not of hearing your sultry voice spit out words and prepositions he’d bark an embarrassingly quick yes to if he were asked, but of you entertaining another man.
It made his blood boil to a point where it interfered with his life beyond work—he’d be at home brewing some coffee when your voice would ring in his head talking about what is your favourite kind (the one order he knows by heart) to his subordinate.
Or it would be your pretty face soft when you spoke to him, while you only sent ugly looks to Hiromi.
And he’d physically wince once those memories would bite his brain.
Higuruma had overheard George finally muster up the courage to ask you out on a date at a nearby restaurant—at one one he had chosen to take you to bur never shared before calling it off.
That was the final straw for him.
No way another guy was going to take his woman—especially not with his idea.
Maybe men do think more alike than they think.
But that restaurant is lawfully his in his head.
And the thought of you dressed up or getting undressed for somebody else will be the death of him.
He waltz into the restaurant at 6 PM sharp. Knowing you’ve agreed to meet at 6:30, he takes a seat somewhere close enough to see you but not for you to notice him.
Swirling the nearly-empty wine glass in his hand, watching as the red liquid moves around in hypnotic waves, he tries to not pay mind to the needles of his clock turning when the click of heels come within earshot.
Arm looped around George’s, heels high enough to make you his height which makes Hiromi scoff knowing that wouldn’t happen with him.
The lady at the front takes you both to a reserved table in the back of the restaurant close to where he’s sitting and he feels a sense of accomplishment at guessing where his newbie would place you.
You’re sporting a smile that’s too giddy, too wide and happy for his liking as you chuckle about something he couldn’t hear—obviously.
For thirty minutes, thirty excruciating ones, Higuruma sits through both his solo dinner date and yours.
Because he’s been tracking how you actually ended up disconnecting from your partner after ten minutes.
Nervously picking at your silky red dress beneath the tablecloth and narrowing your eyes while downing another glass of wine.
George has done nothing short of boast about his amazing life, career and past—ego through the roof and Hiromi sees you regret your decision from meters away.
He should feel victorious. There should be a surge of satisfaction coating his nerves.
Yet, he can’t feel it. All that’s coursing through his veins is anger and annoyance—irritation that the man before you is wasting your time that way.
That he has such a beautiful, smart woman sitting across from him yet all he is doing is being a narcissist.
It’s on minute thirty-one that he loses all sense of justice, sending his chair far away as he brusquely stands up—oxfords slapping against the floor as he makes his way over to you and roots himself there.
You slowly look up—startled from the noise and the sudden presence by your side—to find your boss looking right back at you with emotions you can’t read burning behind those chocolate eyes.
His voice cuts through, gruff and deep, through your thoughts.
“You’re done wasting your time here.”
A hand wraps around your wrist and you’re being pulled out of the restaurant before you can blink and refuse.
The moonlight shines on your skin the second your feet hit the pavement outside—a slight chill biting your bare arms following right after before Higuruma is quick to cover you with his blazer.
You sit in the confusion of it all for a second as he recomposes himself.
Then it slams against you, hard.
And you scoff before turning away and walking straight up the sidewalk.
Hiromi turns to see you already a few steps away—his feet quickly jumping to take him back to you.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He questions, catching up with you within a few steps.
“It’s none of your business. Just like my ruined date was.” You grumble, remembering to tug the fabric off your back.
As you’re about to slip it off—his hand lands on your shoulder and holds it there. “You’re not taking that off.”
You huff out a humourless laugh, struggling to believe this situation is actually happening. Your feet don’t stop though.
Yet you barely have time to take a breath before his back is pressing against yours and you’re pulled back by two hands around your waist into the inside of a car.
“What the fuck!” You scream, clawing at his forearms from the scare.
Eventually, you manage to push yourself off him—back harshly hitting the door in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you.
A sorry attempt, really—when both his legs are spread by your sides and his limbs got shoved onto the other door too.
The atmosphere in the backseat of the car you recognise is his, is thick—leaving you unable to breathe and wanting to claw at your lungs until they start working again.
His and your heavy breathing is the only thing echoing through your heads.
Your eyes catch him swallowing before finally speaking.
“You’re crazy.” He points, gaze lifting to watch you.
For what feels like the billionth time the last month, you scoff.
“Me? Crazy?” There’s no need for you to continue, the proof being the way you’re both sprawled out is enough to say who really lost their mind.
“Yeah.” He breathes. “You’re crazy for thinking that guy was worth your time.”
His words slam into you without remose, catching your breath in their grip and taking it away with them.
“What…” Whisper, voice too thin and frail to resonate anywhere.
He moves, pushing himself off the door and his knees digging into the leather seats as he shifts and looms over you.
“He doesn’t even know your order. He brought you an americano because I made him get me one and he immediately assumed you liked it too without asking.”
Both arms at either side of you, caging you further against the hard plastic.
“He hasn’t seen how you dig your hands in the back of your head when you’re stressed despite talking with you everyday, being glued to your side.”
You feel his alcohol laced breath brush against your cheek as he draws closer to your ear.
“You think you were getting me back by entertaining me. And I’ll admit, you did. It hurt a fucking lot seeing you let him hear that sweet laugh of yours that only I could pull out of you.”
You peer up at him, too entranced to say anything.
“I’m the only one who deserves your attention.”
He’s not touching you, but it feels like he’s mapping every corner of stretched skin on your body and setting it on fire.
His eyes are dead-focused on you, locked in on every twitch you might give up, any reaction that you’re trying to surpress.
Scrambling words together, you answer back.
“Then apologise if you want it to be only yours.” Your voice is a silky whisper close to his ear, making shivers overcome his skin.
A fire spreading through his spine.
You see how his mouth goes slack, his system go into overdrive as he ponders whether to give in or leave it how it is.
But when you’re the final verdict he’s been waiting for in his life, all reason goes out the window.
He sighs. “For lashing out on you and cancelling our date.”
The proud smirk falls flat off your face and melts into a soft smile as your hand reaches up to his tense features and caresses them.
“Okay, that seems about right.”
The tension in his shoulders eases, allowing him to unlock his elbows and draw impossibly closer—lips brushing yours.
“So we’re good?” He hums.
You lose yourself in the hazy feeling of his warmth pressing down on you.
A sound between a choked vowel and a hum vibrates from your throat.
His nose brushes yours in a slow kiss. “And you’ll give me all of your attention?”
And he presses his lips against yours. Sealing your promise against his skin.
It’s nothing fast or hot, just the slow wordless confession of someone who saw a glimpse of a life he doesn’t want and prayed for a new path.
One where you’re hand in hand with him and not with somebody else.
Monday morning, Higuruma drops off a freshly brewed cappuccino by your table and watches how George’s mind rewires once he sees you actually don’t like watered down espresso.
Oh how much you missed that sweet calling.
Brushing off George— after the shitty date turned amazing after you left date you had with him, you don’t want to give him a chance to even see you at the firm.
Sliding through the small gap Hiromi left you when he called, you push the door behind you closed and it locks in place with a soft click as you rest your back against it.
“Yes, boyfriend?” You muse, a sheepish smile clinging to your rejuvenated face.
He rolls his eyes in his chair, yet there’s a smirk he can’t suppress stretching across those sharp traits of his.
“I need your focus on this task…” He trails. You quirk an eyebrow once he doesn’t continue.
Taking a step closer to his desk, you peek over the file he’s holding to get an idea of what he means.
When suddenly, he drops the file and abruptly turns his head to you with a teasing grin on his face.
“You need to help me get a message through to our newbie.”
Your line of sight trails down to where the file has dropped and… the hard imprint of him is inevitably poking through his slacks.
Well… if you’re dating your boss… you technically can’t get fired for workplace indecency… right?
MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
Sorry guys Ive kinda fallen in a slump, had a hard time finding a continuation to this request and now im flooded with many asks and stressing myself out helpp.
So sorry to everyone who has a request pending, ill try to get back on the productiveness wagon and soon go back to my own stories <33
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