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What affectionate nicknames would our dear, good-looking lawyer call you? why and when.
MDNI(?)
Higuruma isn't exactly the mushy or clingy type; but he knows very well how to be loving and romantic. So, even though he calls you by your name 60% of the time, he tries to be affectionate; and one of the many ways he shows affection is through nicknames.
_
He often calls you love or my love, it's the nickname he uses most often, for anything. (My love is more for when you're making love.)
Dear, he uses that when he's going to apologize for something. He never realized he calls you that to apologize... let's just say he picked up that habit from his mother.
Sweetheart, darling, and honey are for those times, every 3 months, when he's needy and clingy.
He almost never uses babe, but when he does, it's to give a simple compliment (because he's too exhausted...). Something like, "You look nice, babe."
He calls you gorgeous when he's trying to flirt... He's not a good flirt, to be honest it's almost funny see him trying. Or when he compliments you, becaus honestly, you're no less than gorgeous for him.
He rarely calls you honey, but it's usually when he's already overstimulated and a mess after having 5 orgasms, sighing and whimpering like a puppy in your neck.
-
He's lovely to you in his way, he try everyday to act better, because you deserve.♡
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In which Hiromi Higuruma finds a new motive to keep working at the law office he oh so hates: the lovely new secretary.
fluff, hopelessly in love, slice of life romance
Some days are so draining that they kill your will to do anything, and if they become a recurring pattern, they kill your passion for that thing. That's what happened to Hiromi Higuruma, don't get me wrong, he wanted to go to law school, he really admired the work, until he ended up stuck in a law office full of criminals in suits pretending they cared about their clients instead of their wallets.
The days seemed like a repetitive and monotonous torture; he would arrive at the office, meet with clients, analyze cases, rack his brains over a pittance, and then return home, exhausted to his bones, god knows what time. Honestly, he was disgusted by his coworkers, hated judgmental courts and corrupt people, and hated that most of his peers extorted money from people who had nothing.
On some days, in the silence of his office, — surrounded by disorganized papers containing the most precious information for some people, his finished cigarettes and a cold coffee — he thought about how it would be if he simply resigned from that place. It would be peaceful, God willing, but it would also end all the stability he had fought to have over the years. He always ended up sighing and gathering his things to go back home.
And then, on any given day, Hiromi arrived at the office as usual, stopping at the reception desk and greeting the only people he didn't completely hate, showing his credentials and going upstairs, straight to his own private office room. Although it was a special day, a splash of color amidst the daily grayness that permeated his life: an angel smiled at him, taking his name tag and nodding; he had never seen her there before, bright eyes that scanned his ID as if she'd done it many times before, smiling at him as if he were someone important, and then returning to her work as if nothing had happened.
You could say that the guy with the ink-colored hair had that image on his mind all day; you were his motivation to finish the day and clock out just to see your lovely face again. And then when he saw it, he felt like a very greedy man, the same type he criticized, but not out of hunger for money though, not like his co-workers were, but rather out of a desire to see you again the next day.
Not that he went unnoticed by you either; something about the way he carried himself, even the almost melancholic weariness he exuded, intrigued you and made you want to know more. That's why, as soon as he left the office lobby, you turned to your colleagues, wanting to know a little more than just Hiromi Higuruma's name.
a/n: hello hello !! I know I took a little while to reveal this prologue, but now as promised we have both of our lovelies office workers here & I hope you all enjoy this small series of slice of life writing. If you have any suggestions, feel free to share with me, I would love it
Requests, comments, likes & reblogs are very much appreciated, thank you for reading. ♡
HEADCANONS about 𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who swore he married you for a case. Just his case. But falls in love with you instead. Not proof–read.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who told himself that this marriage was nothing. That he agreed with his entire family to marry you just for the sake of the case.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who promised himself that he'll free you from this bond—this arranged marriage, as soon as he dug out enough information about your family. Enough information to free his client of the charges.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who feels a strange feeling in his chest seeing you commit to the bond. Trying to talk to him about how his day went, making him bentos so he stops eating food from outside, helping him take off his suit, carefully placing the sunflower badge on the dressing table, inside a pretty pink box you made. Specially for the badge. Cradling it like it's something precious.
Like he's something precious.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who can't bring himself to look away, at how soft you look, your hair in soft curls, as you go about your day, frowning at recipes and trying each one to make something new. Just for him. Loving him in your quiet ways.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who comes home one day, beyond stressed. Because he hasn't made much progress. Because all he can think about is you.
you, you, you, sweet little you.
Waiting for him by the doorway as soon as he returns, prancing around the kitchen fussing over new dishes, helping him take off his suit and tie, ask him how his day has went.
You'll really drive him insane.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who walks through the doorway and sees you rushing down the stairs in your soft white tank top and cream white shorts, flashing his eyes with a sweet smile. Engulfing his senses with that addictive scent of yours, your strawberry shampoo? He doesn't care. His gaze is fixed on you. As he feels your small hands smoothly glide down his suit, before folding it neatly against your arm while your fingers gently start unwinding his tie.
Your lips form a concentrated pout as you keep gently fiddling with it. And he does something reckless. He knows. He isn't like that. He is a man of autonomy, who functions upon discipline and control. But fuck—it was so hard when you were around. Poor, sweet you. His hand gently rests on your waist making your breath catch, hands stuttering in his tie as you blink up at him with those pretty doe eyes.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who chucks the sole idea of his actual motive behind, his hand sliding up from your waist, tangling in your hairs as his lips crash against you. Feverish, addictive.
A soft whimper leaves your lips, muffled by him as his lips slant against yours. Swiping his tongue, asking—begging for permission to enter. To devour you. Because he can't...he physically can't resist you. The soft sounds which leave your lips as you melt against his chest, clinging— and his arms gather you lovingly. Affectionately. After all, you're only his to cradle anyways. "R-Rough day?" You make out between the kisses and he only responses with a gruff hum. Because his focus is only on one goal. You. His wife.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who swears his breath stopped, who feels his pants tighten very unprofessionally as you moan his name oh so softly. His lips trail down your jaw, soft squelches reach your own ears along with your own huffs and puffs while he kisses your collarbones, his rough fingers gently tugging down your shirt to a side as he marks you up. His gruff voice whispering sweet nothings in your chest which only make you more pliant in his arms.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who is panting against your neck in ragged breaths, while your head is thrown back against the pillows sobbing his name as his hips moved with intent against yours. Your legs hung over his shoulders...as his lips disconnect for a fleeting moment only to trace kisses down the soft calf of your leg. Your hands sliding down the hard planes of his chest, clinging onto his shoulders for your dear life as he pounds your pussy till she's spurting bubbles in despair around his mean girth.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who only chuckles seeing you struggle, pressing a comforting kiss on your cheek. "Come on, sweetheart. Breathe for me...Take me...t-take me..hah.." he says, voice strained. "I'm yours...I'm only yours to take." He murmers gruffly against the shell of your ear making you flutter around his length making you unwind so easily. As your sweetness dribbles down his cock. Soft pants leave you...eyes barely open, as he smiles down at you. Pressing an affectionate kiss on your temple. "Hold on, love. I'm not done...I'm still not done with you..." He says, as he helps your legs down from his shoulders to his waist, slowly rocking against you making you whimper. "Sh..sh...let me do this, angel. You've always—hah been effortlessly g-good at this. Hmm? Being my perfect little wife. Let..m-me make it up to you, yeah?" His words make you stop breathing. Make you stop thinking.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who wakes up next morning with you nestled into his chest. Your face relaxed.. blissed. The expression makes an unconscious smile flow in his lips. He gently nudges your cheek with his nose...making you scrunch your face up before your doe eyes sleepily blink up at him. "r-romi?" You garble. He presses a loving kiss on your nose murmuring "morning, angel. Did you sleep well?" A soft nod from you accompanied by a yawn absolutely melts him. "did you?" You ask snuggling closer to him. He nods, pressing a kiss on your forehead.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who brings you flowers every Tuesday then on. Different sorts of flowers which get adorned on the vase sitting by the living room table. And dried out flowers get collected by you (secretly) because you paste them on a diary you made recently. Just to preserve these moments. Forever.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who feels somehow lighter now. His work feels less pressuring when he knows after it, he'll get to see you. To make him feel all better.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who talks about you every chance he gets to his colleagues. Praising you like you deserve. Telling everyone how sweet you are to him.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who wins the case he was fighting for. Securing his client. Once again. He accepts the appreciation from his client. Shaking his head, smiling.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who was asked by a judge if he wanted to become one instead but he refused—because he knew what that seat meant. It meant becoming part of a system that reduced people to files and verdicts. He hated the arrogance of deciding a person’s worth from above.
Because someone had to stand beside the accused. Because even those society had already condemned deserved someone who would still say, “I will hear you.”
He did not want power over people.
He wanted to fight for them.
He wanted to remain the hand reaching down, not the one passing judgment.
He wanted to keep his eyes open. Even if...he was the only one who would.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who comes home that day with a bouquet of daises. It was Tuesday. Your day. A soft smile on his lips. As he calls out, "I'm home!"
But no one greets him. The house is unusually quiet. Which brings a frown on his brows as he loosens his tie, walking further inside to see you sitting silently on the couch.
Eyes focused on the ground ahead, staring into a void. "Love?" He says softly trying to walk towards you. His sweet wife. To know what or specifically who had troubled you.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who stops, hand hovering over your shoulder, eyes stuck on the phone in your lap. His face...his words.
The words he never ever wanted you to hear.
The words he didn't even knew were recorded.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who never noticed when pretending stopped being pretending. Who began memorizing the way you smiled. Who started coming home earlier. Who started thinking of home as wherever you were. Somewhere along the way, evidence became love. And he was foolish enough to believe love could erase the sin of how it began.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who once refused to become a judge—only to realize he became something worse. Because he had judged you from the very beginning. He decided what truth you could bear. He decided what lies were acceptable. He decided your role in his pursuit of justice.
Without asking.
Without consent.
Without mercy.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who feels sick—not because he got caught, but because he sees what he has done. Not as facts or evidence. But as damage.
Raw, living damage.
On your face, in your shaking hands.
In the way you look at him like you no longer know who is standing in front of you. And that?
that hurts more than any accusation ever could.
Because you look afraid to trust your own memories.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who once said everyone deserves someone who will stand by them.
And now he understands the cruelty.
Because when it mattered most...
he wasn’t that person for you.
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who hears you say, “i'd forgiven anything expect this...except this!”
And breaks.
Because that tone contains something unbearable.
Not why. Not how could you. But, was any of it real?
Every word feels like an arrow in his chest. But he knows...he knows he deserves it. He deserves your words. You come closer, eyes filled with pain, with utter betrayal which stabs his chest. "I loved you so much that even now—even now—all I want is for you to tell me this isn't real—" your hands grab the front of his suit. "And i hate myself for that!"
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who swallows every word you threw at him. Let's you scream at him.
"I was begging for your love and you let me humiliate myself! I defended you, i worshipped you like an idiot. I built my entire life around you!" The tears streaming down your face however does hurt him. More than whatever you called him. Because he knows he deserves whatever you scream at him. But you don't deserve to cry for a person like him. "Do you know how disgusting this feels? I let you hold me, shared a bed with you, let you kiss me as if you're mine—"
"but I am yours, love. I promise im–" he says. Voice strained.
"No! You made me feel crazy for loving you! You should've never made me love you if you're going to do this!—" you sob as his hands immediately cup your cheeks. "Love, no—"
"was i convenient?" The words clog your throat, choking your voice. "Was i easy to manipulate? That's what I was to you?! I gave you everything! Everything! What else did you want from me?!"
"nothing, sweetheart. Nothing." He cradles you, bringing you closer, as you try to twist away from him. His voice is barely above a whisper, an arm around your waist. "Then what, Hiromi?!" You sound livid. "How sick can you be?! How sick can you be to let someone love you and lie to their face like that!"
"Angel—" now he looks desperate. But your words keep flowing out. "Was any of it real?! The wedding? The promises?! Was none of it real?! You used me! You used me and crawled into my bed like nothing happened–"
"love, no. Stop, i hadn't—"
"were you laughing at me? When I called you my husband, when I said I loved you, did you laugh at me?!—"
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who couldn't take it anymore and kissed you. Kissed you till all your protests die down—till you melt. Once again. To make you listen to him. He knows he's selfish. He knows he's wrong. But he isn't a good man.
He never was.
But he loved you.
He loves you. God, he loves you so much, his chest feels like cracking open, his hand which were holding your face, wiped your tears away.
He disconnects slowly, his forehead against yours, his gaze fixed on you. "At first... it was for the case. I told myself it was necessary. That the case mattered. That if I crossed one moral line just once, I could still live with myself afterward.” he paused, "But somewhere along the way, it stopped being that." He swallows the lump in his throat. "If you hate me, I understand. If you want me gone, I’ll leave." He paused. Longer. Then, quieter, "if hating me, makes you hurt less then hate me." He leans closer, eyes softening further, "But don’t ever think none of it was real to me." His voice drops to almost nothing. "Because loving you...was the only truthful thing I did in this entire mess."
He brushes a thumb against your cheek, "Hate me a thousand times, love. But I'll apologise a thousand times more and till i make it up you. Till i make you believe that... I love you."
𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 who's eyes widen a fraction when your lips connect with his harshly. Desperately, as you poured every ounce of your pain, anger, betrayal—everything into the kiss.
And he lets you.
Because 𝓗𝓲𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓲 𝓗𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓾𝓶𝓪 was only yours to take anyways.
And he'll keep apologising, he'll keep begging till he earns you back .
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♡ Pranking Higuruma by wearing a bad tasting lipgloss
Higuruma was a serious man. He woke up, went to work, came home and slept. It was only until he met you that his life brightened, evenings filled with laughter and joy instead of the suffocating silence he endured for years.
However, the joy you spread was also paired with a handful of trouble. Little jokes here and there that caused the adorable giggle he loved to echo through the house, eyes creasing with happiness as you’d lean against him after revealing your mischievous plans.
This time, he was unable to figure out that what you were doing was a prank, so unfortunately for him it continued on for days. The first day rolled around and you applied a new lipgloss you’d brought, except you’d added some peculiar ingredients to it that made it taste awful. You’d easily be able to deal with it to see Higuruma’s reaction.
“Hiro!” You call from your vanity, watching your husband approach from behind in the mirror, neat black suit and tie layered perfectly over his body. He leans down over you, tilting your head back. “I bought a new lipgloss, isn’t the colour so nice?”
“Very pretty, darling,” he hums in agreement, leaning down and pressing his daily morning kiss against your lips before leaving for work. You expect a reaction, maybe even a twitch of his eyebrows, but he remains fully stoic as he pulls away and says goodbye.
Mission failed. For now.
When he comes home, you apply another thick layer of the gloss, greeting him with a big smooch at the front door. His hand slides around your waist steadily, peppering a few cheek kisses onto you as he slips off his shoes. Yet, still no reaction.
Later in the night, when you kiss him goodnight, he says nothing. Hell, you begin wondering if maybe he doesn’t have taste buds. Was it something he just never told you?
Unfortunately for you, you had to wear it again the next day. The taste was revolting and you didn’t know how long you could keep up the act. Once again, he gave you a kiss goodbye, a kiss at the door when he returned, and a kiss goodnight.
You had rolled over for ten seconds before you swung around to face him again. “Do you have any medical conditions?”
He opens his eyes and glances over. “None that i’m aware of, darling. Why do you ask?”
“…No reason,” you mumble. Silence drags on for another 20 seconds. “So you do have taste buds?”
His eyes flutter open again. “Are you trying to secretly ask me if i’ve noticed your new lipgloss’ taste?”
“Maybe.”
“You made it taste bad, didn’t you?”
You roll over onto him, laughing at his blank expression. “How did you not make a face once? It tasted awful!”
“Because you liked it so much. I would’ve survived the taste if it meant you were happy.”
You teasingly glare at him. “Don’t get all romantic and mushy! It was meant to be a prank.”
“Haha,” he comments dryly, successfully provoking you even more as you push his shoulder, finally eliciting a laugh from him.
Honestly, people don't risk writing original and different fanfics anymore; it's all just a big replica of another fanfic, but with much more explicit porn at the end. Please, go back to being original and create scenarios that come from your own mind... repetition gets boring.
notes: they need each other carnally icl. pls imagine a whole lot of eye-fucking it will immerse u. on a (non) serious note my only knowledge of the court comes from ten-ish minutes of research and three szns of suits before i dropped it lol. do nawt blame me for inaccuracies! first piece ive written in a min and its for the sexy lawyer man hehe hope u enjoy <3
the letter came in without presence. a lingering message from the government, where they awaited your presence to be one of their carefully curated set of jurors for a case you hadn't heard of. a petty trial, you'd be soon to find out.
"god, i'd rather be dead. at least hell is interesting." one woman mutters beside you in the lounge connecting to the room you'd all soon be gathered in. "why did i have the bright idea to get here early?"
jury duty was supposed to be boring, they had warned. hours upon hours of mercilessly gazing at the ticking clock above, mindlessly debating whether it would be preferable for it to be a bomb or an instrument of time.
but when the letter did arrive in your mail, sheathed in manila and crested with the signature of important buisness-folk, you were indifferent, and terribly curious.
of course, getting an excuse to leave work was always in your best interest, but was it really a benefit if you were wearing clothes that clawed at your skin, cotton prickling each time you shuffled; the people skittering around you either afraid to speak more than a hush or boldly bolstering their superficial claims about the case?
as you escort yourself to the courtroom, the room itself is blinding. literally, as the chandelier above sparkles with every angle' but more so how figures of old line the walls, their eyes introspecting every case.
eventually, only twelve selected people are finalized as jurors. you end up being the tenth juror, with the pessimist woman to your left and a quiet, curious man to your right.
the man on in front of you, however, had finished his onion-garlic bagel concoction, your nose instinctively bracing for impact each time his gums slapped together to make a semi-coherent thought.
“you can smell it too, can’t you?”
lip wrinkled in distaste, hand firmly attached to what you assume to be a budding migraine, he spoke again.
"it's distracting. i can hardly focus."
simply glad to have another person share the same feelings--no matter how disgruntled they may be--you whisper back, all care of getting caught gone with the first syllable. you almost felt like a teenager skipping class when the other jurors peered over at you.
"it was breakfast," you mention. "onion bagel...something or other,"
"it was either that or fish from the nile." he's about to make another statement you're certain would make him a target for most guerilla groups when the topic of conversation jabbers on about the case at hand.
onion-bagel man stands to make a point about the case, harping about how the persons involved are having nothing more than a petty dispute, and one should simply 'suck it up and pay the fees'.
"god, it's almost cartoonish. idiot doesn't even realize the evidence in front of him. i mean, who doesn’t even read through the files presented before providing a claim? it’s nothing but baseless.”
this man, whom you've now recognized as the eleventh juror, looks much too important to be here. tailored in a crisp grey italian suit with dark black lining the sleek lines, his character would blend in more as a powerful company owner, you imagine.
his eyes are focused, irises blooming as the opposing sides engage in a lawful battle. sunken bags form under, providing insight into days seen without the sun. icepick-like strands frame his face nicely, giving way to a sloping nose and pale lips.
"he can't be serious," you can't help but murmur. "no case is as superficial as that. there is always somthing more complex behind the scenes that we could find. i mean, there was clearly no witnesses to show for what he's assuming, but then again, all that garlic must have slowed his synapses."
after rambling for so long, you can't help but take a long swig of your water, the number of ceiling tiles becoming especially interesting as you figure you've wearied this poor man more than the case already has.
his lip curls upward, framing his face in a content satisfaction that must not have appeared in quite some time. it would be unnerving to look at if you were able to look away, but you couldn't. as a fly gravitates towards honey, so were you to a simple, natural smile.
"now, i'm really glad to be sitting here." he says, shoulders loosening in their tenseness. "i'm studying at the law school near shibuya, you see, so i thought coming here would be good for practice."
"that, and you are obligated to do so,"
"yes, well, that too, i suppose." he chuckles, fixing the strap of his leather watch as his eyes snag from your own to the plush of your lips.
"but, i thought i was lucky to be here, sitting next to a competent, intelligent woman rather than a man who sneaks in snacks in his briefcases. perhaps god is looking on me fondly this morning."
you tug on the sleeve of your jacket, unable to help how your smile widens with his pretty words.
"you're quite charming for a man who has to help the rest of us decide what to do with the situation we have here. are you going to use your flattering words then?"
"should the court allow it, i may be so inclined."
you prop your head up with your fist, attention divided between the trial and him. being the tenth juror, you were seating in the back, shielded by the bodies of others who were hopefully taking this more seriously than you were.
"do you make all your decisions based on what the court allows, or do you have your own autonomy?"
he lines all of his files in order, each paper as sharp as the stitches that trail his suit. "you ask many questions...you'd make a fine attorney. are you looking to go into the field of law?"
with a sheepish smile, you shake your head, mind already aching at the thought of slaving away at the prospect of becoming a lawyer. "no, i prefer to maintain my original hair color--grey doesn't suit me as much as i'd like to think it does."
his face is a mirror of yours--he pulls out a strand of a pale white, a stark contrast against its original jet black. "yes, well, the box dye company thanks me for my business."
"--and to answer your original question, lady justice merely grants me access to my decisions. i hope we all have the pleasure of meeting her one day."
you’re about to whisper a comment back when the judge’s gavel reverberates throughout the court, the woman’s booming voice announcing how they would all take a recess for the day and continue the next.
sighs and shuffles are heard around you, footsteps echoing as tired men and women scour the area for the exit, grasping any remnance of light with open, eager hands.
"no coffee here..." you mindlessly grumble, despite it being half past seven o'clock. pencil skirts and blazers scuffle past, each becoming as disgruntled as you at the lack of drink.
maybe there's a movie playing somewhere...
"juror ten!"
it takes another moment for your head to whip around, your mind still unused to being called by such a formal title. "oh," you uselessly mumble upon seeing the speaker. "it's you again."
"i apologize for asking you to stay longer here than necessary, but i was curious if you'd like to..." the man fumbles with his words for a bit, something that looks almost comical for someone of his stature. "...discuss the case further?"
huh. perhaps i am the lucky one, then...
in a rare moment of boldness, you reach to grasp the pen from his breastpocket, unfold his palm, and scribble your number on it.
he looks back at his hand, his lips tilting up in a way that assumes he knows more than what he lets on. "will i ever get the honor of knowing your name, or am i supposed to call you juror ten forever?"
"if we win the trial, maybe i'll tell you. you have my number now, lawyer man. make sure to use it."
he smirks, eyes tracing over each sloping number. "i always win my trials."
"i thought you were just a law student? or have they promoted you already?" suddenly, all thoughts of slumping back at home have dissipated as easily as they came.
"i like to think proactively...but i'm sure a promotion isn't too far in the works." he follows your pace as you walk towards the door, as if it was only natural for him to follow after you.
you can't help but snort--a loud, bubbly sound now that your merriment isn't confined to the strict decibal-levels of the court.
"a confident man," you hum, flinching as the sky huddles forth and cries on its unyielding recipients. your hand rises above your head to shield yourself, and you smile as you nod back to his own once you find your car.
"you'll keep that hand dry, then?" as you continue walking, his once-large frame seems to be shrinking, with only the explicitly dark shade of his hair and gleam of his smile showing as you make your way to your car.
"--won't let a drop touch it, ten." his voice was low, calm, but still heard as the words bounce across the walls of the lot. he ensures you get into your vehicle safely, only walking away in a newly-colored suit when you drive off.
as the lock clicks behind you, your heels long-since strewn away, a glass of wine had never tasted so fulfilling. the crimson liquid swirls in your palm as the flute tilts to reach your lips, staining them in its rich velvet hue.
when the phone rings, you let it. you linger in the kitchen for some moments, letting a sigh breeze past as you unbutton your blazer. the silence is more than comforting, washing over you like a lullaby, a gentle balm on your weary soul.
you take a final, gratifying sip before setting the glass down, your fingers lining the circumference of the lid as you answer.
gambling was never a habit of yours, but it seemed to be one you were partaking in more than usual tonight.
"hi, ten.” instinctively, you feel your smile forming, your hand twirling the cord absentmindedly.
“i take it you stayed true to your mission, then. hand didn’t get wet?”
you can practically see him chuckling now, racking his hands through his hair before muttering another exasperated expression.
“i told you, i always win my trials.” the line is silent on the other end for some time, with nothing but the sound of shared breaths and frenzied thoughts escaping. “say…are you busy friday evening?”
you can’t help but laugh—the invitation was so abrupt, not at all in the subtle way you’d envisioned from a character like him.
“to discuss the case more, right?” you teased, your voice carrying a velvet lilt to eager ears.
“well, that, and i’ve yet to get your name.”
you hum into the receiver, rehashing the events of the day all over again. an event that everyone you came into contact with pitied, providing nothing but remorse, sorrow, and even pride to not be in your seemingly hopeless situation--to be something as exciting as this!
“hm. i’ll send you an address.”
may 27th, 2026
divider creds go to @/cursed-carmine
omg they didnt even tell each other their name. oh well.
Summary: you call Hiromi to play the piano with you, even though you know he doesn't know how to play. So, with that, you guide his hands with yours.
Contains: cliché, romance, love, unestablished relationship, fluffy, intimacy, romantic tension, and hiromi's Point of view.
A/n:Pls gang let me know if this is good, English isn't and will never be my first language.
Hiromi was never very into music; I mean... sure, he listens to some music sometimes to de-stress... but he's never even touched a musical instrument, much less learned to play one.
Until he meets you.
When he met you, that changed drastically. No one ever warned him that getting close to a musician would mean seeing a musical instrument every single day, or even suddenly learning about a musical fact, or even being forced to play an instrument, even if in the most disastrous way possible.
He didn't even know that going to see an orchestra would be a constant commitment, just because you'd be performing there too... even if you weren't the principal musician.
He would never easily admit that he enjoyed this drastic change in his life, that he liked being forced into something involving music, that he liked watching you play an instrument, that he liked seeing you every single day without exception... he really liked anything involving you and your world.
—
And there he is again, alone with you at the back of the orchestra, where the practice instruments were kept. He had just finished work and went straight to yours, which was already over.
He was sitting on some random bench there, and you were on a piano bench that was nearby. You two were just chatting, until you fell silent and lazily rested your elbow on the piano keys, making a high-pitched sound. Still with your elbow there, you thoughtfully rested your head in the palm of your hand, looking directly at him sitting on the bench in front of you. Then you formed a thought and gave a slight smile, straightening up to sit properly in the piano seat, facing the piano.
You tilt your head back over your shoulder, looking at him with that familiar expression, that slight smile and almost smiling eyes... you're planning something; and that makes him straighten up in his chair.
until you open your mouth and say... "come here."
You say it so softly that he almost gets up right away like an obedient puppy. But he hesitates a little before getting up, but even so he gets up and goes and goes towards you, standing behind you in silence.
You give another little smile when you see him approaching obediently, since you know how stubborn he is. But then, you pat the seat you're sitting on, a signal for him to sit next to you. And then you say... "Join me." A pause... "...Let me guide you."
He just stared, in silence. Until he try to say something, But you interrupt him.
"Don't be shy, hiromi... You know i'm a excellent teacher.”
And that finally breaks his stubbornness. Making him sigh, and sit down beside you on the piano seat... looking into your eyes, your face, your features... while waiting for some instruction.
"... what should i do?..." he asks, raising his hands towards the piano keys.
"What song do you want to play?" You ask, tilting the head slightly forward.
"...You choose." He says, trying to disguise the fact that he's terrible with song titles, and he knows you know that very well... that's why you teased him.
"Ok, so a random thing..." And without warning, you place your hands over his to guide him, pressing his fingers against the piano's keys with your own over his; making a sweet sound come from the piano.
The touch caused a slight internal short circuit, making his ears warm slightly despite his usual expression; but upon closer inspection, he seemed restless.
And then, you begins to guide him, testing the piano keys with his hands over his; and then he starts to play something for real.
He simply obeys, keeping his hands limp enough for you to guide him.
He starts paying attention to what you're playing and... twinkle twinkle little star!? He knew it was something random, but he didn't know it was this random... but doesn't matter.
What matters is that you're trying to teach him something... but he doesn't feel like he's learning anything; he's too focused on having your hands above his.
But then you suddenly let go of his hands and he snaps back to reality. He looks at you with a slightly confused expression, wondering why you took your hands away from his. But then you speak.
"Now do what I taught you by yourself," you say in a calm tone of voice, but almost with a teacherly air.
And he just freezes... he couldn't pay attention to anything.
"[Name]... I couldn't learn anything..." he says in a low, almost embarrassed tone.
When he says that, you cross your arms and... giggle. Maybe you found it funny that Hiromi Higuruma, the genius who pays attention to even the smallest details and manages to learn things with unreal ease... couldn't learn a small part of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on the piano.
"C'mon, hiromi... just try, it isn't that hard." You say, giving him a pat on the back.
"[Name]... you know i'm the type of person who like to know how to do before i do." He says, stubbornly.
You sigh, almost huff, at his stubbornness. "I'm going to teach you one more time... pay attention."
And then you take his hands again and start guiding him to play the music. And then you look at him with an almost serious expression and say…
"Did you pay attention?"
".... yeah.”
No, he didn't, he couldn't... not when you were so close, not when you were guiding his hands as if he were a boy learning.
"Hmm..." you groan, sounding somewhat disappointed. "Here we go again..." you murmur, sounding rather complaining.
And there begins a third repetition. But this even makes it delightful; you wanting to share an interest with him…
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content: established relationship, gn!reader, domestic fluff, an attempt at humor, reader is highkey creepy with their staring problem
based on this ask
you have a staring problem.
hiromi had noticed it way before your first date.
you were still a legal intern at his firm, and he was your senior attorney. during one of your briefings, hiromi had felt something stabbing at the back of his head. he pauses his speech and turns around to see you staring at him blankly.
...okay, sure. maybe you were listening intently. he shrugs it off and continues.
the next time he noticed how bad your problem actually was, it was when you two had moved in together years later. it was supposed to be romantic, really—your first night as a couple living under one roof, sharing the same bed.
hiromi turned to face you in the middle of the night, trying to find a more comfortable spot to sleep in. when he blearily opens his eyes, he finds you staring at him, unblinking. hiromi pulls your blanket higher to cover your face after.
it's unsettling. not enough to scare him fully, but it is mildly... inconvenient.
the first time hiromi brings it up is during breakfast. you sit across him, chin propped on your palm. staring during the entire meal. halfway though his coffee, hiromi lowers his newspaper.
"...what?" he murmurs.
you blink, before asking back: "what?"
hiromi shifts in his seat.
"you've been staring at me for ten minutes."
you gesture at the food and ask, "is it good? not too salty?"
he glances at the plate of bacon and eggs before shaking his head. "not too salty. it tastes fine."
you nod, pleased.
"..."
hiromi puts his coffee down. "you got your answer," he says. "please stop staring at me."
"but i like looking at you," you explain.
"looking and staring are two different things, sweetheart," hiromi rebuts, pointing at you. "right now, you're staring, and it's creepy."
time passes, and yet nothing changes.
it's a stormy night, and hiromi is in his home office reviewing the last of his documents before bed. just then, the door creaks slowly. when he looks up from the papers in his hand, he finds it slightly ajar.
hiromi sighs and stands up to close it. just as he reaches the knob, his soul leaves when he finds a pair of eyes staring at him.
"the fuck—!"
the door flies open.
you blink up at him, looking all free from any sort of guilt.
"hello," you greet before extending a steaming mug to him. "it's cold. do you want hot choco?"
hiromi clutches his chest, eyes wide from shock. his fist tightens around his shirt as he tries to calm his heart down.
"...sweetheart," he grits out. "how long have you been standing there?"
you shrug. "five minutes and thirty-seven seconds. i didn't want to disturb you, 'romi," you explain, as if staring at your husband while standing motionless in a dark hallway is more considerate.
"thirty-seven—" he shakes his head. then, in exasperation, he says, "...or you could knock like a normal person?"
despite everything, hiromi loves you in all your creepy ways—including your only marital issue: the eeriness of your staring.
he takes the mug of hot chocolate from your hands with a sigh. he takes a sip, his muscles relaxing at the sweet taste of white chocolate and marshmallows.
"thank you."
"you're welcome."
a beat passes. hiromi looks up from the mug.
"you're staring again," he weakly points out.
you tilt your head and say, "i just wanted to see if you like it."
hiromi closes his eyes.
"sweetheart."
"yes?"
"please blink."
a/n: my eyesight's getting worse so no more tiny font to make the text seem shorter 🥲
kianamaiart
andulkaphoto
jbbartram-illu
turnnoffyourmind
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