Evie, my dear writer. Would you forgive me for this bullshii?
IT'S YOU!!
forgiven !!! the content warning (is that the proper term?) alone sounds so interesting already 🥹 i'm excited n curious to see how hubby romi will help reader through it
as long as i am tagged when it drops, all is well 🤲
hiromi, coz this is basically a higuruma fan acc at this point lmao
starting off strong with the hc that he smells good even after a long day at work. y'all familiar with that letter napoleon sent his wife about not washing until he comes back? yes. that's us (yes US) with hiromi. his perfume from the morning mixed with his natural musky scent by night... more addicting than anything !
hiromi probably sprawls on your bed with his outside clothes still on, especially after a particularly exhausting day. arm over his eyes, he refuses to budge even after your pestering. you'd probably only get a tired hum or grunt.
he's siiilllyyyyyyy (this is lowkey canon...) hiromi at first glance looks like someone you ought to be constantly serious with but bro's a jokester. perhaps too dryly that it catches you off guard at first because you can't tell of he's being serious or not. but he's real a playful man underneath that intimidating lawyer image :3
considering my previous posts, i'm an ardent believer that he's a girl dad. seriously can't see him with sons. shameless plug: take a peek at my dad!romi fics !
these r all i have rn TT it's quarter to 2am and my eyes boutta give in
I need a nsfw fanfic without that waird kinks(Say that you are a person who likes vanilla without saying that you like vanilla), i need hiromi making love to his wife(us. YES, us), softly, lovely, and romantic.
Thank you, i love you and your hiromi fanfics
hiii anon! of course! as someone who's mostly vanilla as well i def can do that hehe.
and thank you for reading my stuff! i'm so glad you enjoy ^_^
lads just clawed my heart out pulling that crap 🤣💔 there goes my plans of posting fics for the boys. valko you are so so so loved, i wish things turned out differently
im actually so heartbroken over it cos i pre-registered for lads and played since 1.0 and now im watching it go down... can't even focus writing pt 2 of that hiromi fic 😭 felt like i just got divorced or smth
ola!! eu li sia fanfic de law professor!reader x law professor student!hiromi fanfic, and I loved it!
But can i ask you something?
Can you make reader older than hiromi? Pls...?
At least 7/8 years older than him🥺
oh yes! she's a lot older than him in that au :D the 'young' part was only a comparison between her and the other professors hehe.
i had reader around 8-10 years older than hiromi in mind while writing. putting hiromi in his second year of law school in the series, he'd be around 23-24, so that makes reader within the age range of 31-34—whichever you prefer! <3
and i'm glad you enjoyed the fic! thank you so much for reading!!
your husband hiromi never misses an anniversary—until now.
tags: higuruma x reader, husband!hiromi, gn!reader, hurt/comfort (kinda?), married life shenanigans, based on this ask
hiromi stares at the date and time on his phone.
fuck.
it's your wedding anniversary. he only realized that two minutes ago, and it's already a few minutes past eleven at night. to make things worse, he's still at the firm, still buried in cases and documents that suddenly feel meaningless in his hands.
hiromi's gaze flicks back to the screen—to your message, still unread until earlier.
are you coming home early tonight?
and his reply—too quick, too thoughtless:
still busy.
that's what he sent you. that's what you'll be reading alone.
you already bore with too much of his missed dinners, missed dates, missed breakfasts, but never a missed anniversary—not until now, at least.
shit.
hiromi exhales sharply through his nose, already standing, already gathering his things—movements efficient, practiced, automatic. but there's a tension in him now, something tighter than exhaustion, because this isn't just another late night.
it's this night.
his mind scrambles as he locks his office drawer.
flowers? everything's closed.
dinner? everything's closed.
a reservation? what a joke.
even the convenience store options feel insulting in his head.
still, he's moving. still trying, still late.
the elevator ride down feels too slow. every second stretches in a way that makes him more aware of how badly he's already failed the night.
by the time he steps into his car, his fingers are already dialing a florists he knows is open late for emergencies.
it rings—once, twice, then—
the tone flats. closed, of course.
he grips the steering wheel a little tighter.
“of course,” he grits out.
the drive home is quiet, but absolutely not peaceful. his thoughts don't let him settle into it. they keep circling back to one thing:
you were waiting, and probably still are.
you probably expected to see him beside you first thing in the morning. you probably expected flowers at your door by noon. maybe a call to a nice dinner out in the evening.
instead, you got a cold reply from him telling you he's still busy.
when he finally gets home, the house is dim. hiromi steps inside slowly, loosening his tie halfway out of habit before stopping entirely when he notices something: no warm greeting, no sound of footsteps, just... stillness.
then he sees you sitting on the couch. not asleep, but waiting, and that's somehow worse.
hiromi closes the door behind him more gently than usual.
“sweetheart,” he breathes out. “look, i'm s—”
“have you eaten?”
hiromi pauses at your interruption. he swallows down any excuses in his throat. “...i haven't,” he admits. “if you want, i can look for a res—”
“i already set aside dinner for you,” you cut in again. “i'll go to bed.”
he hastily rushes to your side. “sweetheart, thank you for dinner. have you eaten? maybe we can eat to—”
“i'm full.”
hiromi sucks in a breath. “...okay,” he whispers. “alright. come here.” he leans in to press a kiss against your cheek, but the way you tilt your head away even the slightest bit makes hims freeze.
“wow,” you chuckle humorlessly, “bold.”
“i'm sorry,” hiromi immediately says. “i remembered late. i know that's not—” he sighs, “—enough. i... got busy.”
that's when you look at him properly, and it makes him straighten up.
“i wasn't asking for the perfect night,” you say softly. “i just wanted you know you remembered it was ours.”
hiromi's jaw tightens slightly. “i did,” he says, quieter now. “just not when it mattered.”
“that's the thing, hiromi.”
he goes still at his name like that.
you continue despite it. “i keep being understanding. i keep moving things around so your life works.” you look away before adding, “and i think i stopped being something you have to make time for.”
hiromi's feet move on their own. by the next second, he's already crouched in front of you.
“tell me what you need,” he says quietly. “...please, sweetheart. i'll do anything, just... don't shut me out.”
the next morning, you wake up alone. you blink up at the ceiling, thoughts drifting off to last night. with a heavy chest, you drag yourself off to bed before heading out to the kitchen to make yourself breakfast.
just when you step out of the room, you freeze at the sound of dishes clinking. your eyes flicker to the wall clock nearby—it's already nine in the morning, hiromi should be out by now. when you reach the kitchen, you find him in there, setting the table.
hiromi glances up when he hears you.
“...good morning,” he greets.
he doesn't approach, doesn't reach out, doesn't initiate anything. instead, he gestures at the table and says, “i made breakfast.”
you don't argue, but you don't thank him either.
later that day, you're baffled to see him still at home. you're so used to him leaving early to the firm that the sight of him at his home office is unusual.
“...you're not going in?” you ask.
hiromi doesn't look up from the document in his hands.
“i called in,” he simply responds.
you blink. “you never do that.”
“i know.” hiromi sets the file down. “i wanted to be here.”
not for work, not because he had nothing to do, just... here. with you. still, you don't respond, but you don't tell him to leave, either.
the next day, hiromi's still trying. not loudly, just consistently. he offers you snacks he knows you like while you review your own paperwork. he keeps the house quieter than usual, doesn't bring cases home this time. he, without a fail, checks on you without hovering too much.
still, the distance is obvious. you talk, but it's surface-level. you respond, but you don't soften.
and it's starting to get to him.
it happens in the evening. you're folding laundry without a word, the tv showing some soap opera from years ago. hiromi's been watching you for a while now—quiet, hesitant, like he's been building up to something.
“are you still upset with me?” he asks.
you don't look up. “you know i am.”
“i do.” a pause. “...i just don't know if it's getting any better.”
that makes your hand still. you finally look at him, and you finally see how tired your husband looks. not from work, from this. from not knowing where he stands with you.
“i don't know how to do this part,” he admits quietly.
that's new. hiromi higuruma always knows what to do. but somehow, not this.
“i can argue cases,” he continues, voice low. “i can fix problems when i understand them.” he steps closer. “but i don't know how to fix hurting you like this.”
hiromi crouches in front of you again. slowly, he lowers his head until his forehead rests on your thighs.
“i'm trying,” he weakly says. “sweetheart, i've been trying since that night.”
he presses himself closer to the warmth of your skin.
“i just don't know if you can see it.”
your chest tightens slightly. your hands fist the shirt you're holding just to stop yourself from forgiving him too quickly and pulling him up for an embrace. you were hurt, too.
“sweetheart,” hiromi murmurs, almost in a whimper, “you're staying too far away from me.”
your breath hitches. you hate that tone—not because it annoys you, but because it gets to you. every. time. still, you don't move.
hiromi almost whines from your lack of reaction. the famous atty. higuruma, feared and revered all the same, reduced to this mess. he can't complain—he brought it upon himself.
“...sweetheart,” he murmurs hoarsely. “please talk to me.”
“what do you want me to say, hiromi?” you ask quietly. that makes him freeze. there's no anger in your voice, just pure exhaustion, and that scares him.
hiromi swallows. “anything,” he admits. “just... anything that isn't silence.” his hand shifts slightly against your leg, like he's grounding himself there.
your hand tightens around the fabric in your hands. “i'm trying not to give in too easily,” you admit weakly. “to you, to this. because if i do, then it feels like what happened didn't matter as much as it did.”
“it mattered,” he says immediately. “it still does. sweetheart, please. i'm sorry.”
for a moment, there is silence again. his shoulders droop a little. then, slowly, you shift. your hand moves, hesitant at first, before resting lightly against the back of his head. your fingers thread through his hair as he keeps his face buried on your thighs.
“you're making this hard,” you murmur.
he lets out a quiet, almost breathless sound, a poor attempt at a chuckle.
“i know,” he whispers. “i'm sorry.”
your thumb brushes faintly against the crown of his head.
“i waited for you,” you say, voice soft. “i kept checking the time, telling myself you'd walk in any second.” your voice dips. “i even reheated dinner twice.”
that breaks him. you see it in the was his shoulders drop completely this time, in the way his hand presses more firmly against your leg like he needed something to hold on to.
“i'm sorry,” hiromi says again, but it's different now. quieter, heavier. “i'm so sorry.” his hands lift from your legs before gently resting at your waist.
“can i try again?” he asks softly. “not the day. i know i can't redo that.” he moves his face from your thighs to your stomach, still kneeling on the floor. “can i try again with you?”
your heart stutters. if there's one thing you know hiromi doesn't like, it's quick fixes. you just know he's being genuine. still, you two have a long way to go.
you study him for a second second longer before humming, “you already are.”
a/n: ermm didn't know what to do with the ending, so i made it (kinda) open... i love writing begging hiromi it just fits him so well
pt. 1 | hiromi likes a challenge from his professors.
pairing: higuruma x reader
content: law student!higuruma x law professor! reader, slow burn, protective higuruma (yum!), f!reader, bit of an age gap (older reader)
based on this ask.
“you're taking her class? good luck...”
“she'll call on you whether or not you make eye contact. there's no way out.”
“the follow-up questions are worse than the actual questions themselves. it's like she doesn't want you to pass at all.”
these are some of the things hiromi heard about the fairly new professor. a young attorney, somehow already achieved enough at that age to teach the next generation of lawyers. they aren't wrong—you are exceptionally terrifying. more than a text-book law professor, you refused everything shallow. you demanded answers backed with personal understanding, valued in-depth justifications, as rewarded initiative above all else.
that's what hiromi likes about you.
being a star student, no one dared to challenge him. the other professors gave up on asking him questions during recitations. he'd get them right one way or another. other students could hear him say the earth is flat and they would write it up as fact. the experience of being in law school was getting stale and predictable...
...until he had the pleasure of meeting you as his professor.
“mr. higuruma,” you call out during a lecture, tapping your own copy of the case. “explain why the supreme court ruled that way.”
so hiromi meticulously does, as always.
when he finishes, you stand there, unimpressed.
“you're missing one exception,” you simply comment. “rewind and think about what you might have overlooked.”
for the first time in ages, he's actually stumped. his eyes fall back to the case on his desk, trying to review every single detail. then, one piece of information clicks.
“...you're right.”
instead of getting embarrassed... he smiles. just a little.
their little charade of who corners who during recitations continues every lecture. the class slowly notices something weird: you ask hiromi the hardest questions every single class.
whispers start circulating immediately, but they all point to one conclusion: “attorney must hate him.”
hiromi tries to stifle a grin. he knows that's not the case—he always noticed how your eyes would relax every time he answers your questions, as if you were profoundly satisfied. he knew getting a direct compliment from you was near impossible, so he engraved such reactions from you in his mind.
one day, hiromi stays after class. there was one section of a case he didn't quite understood, and he needed you. as he's walking to your office, he carries three annotated cases, rehearses the questions in his head, and thought about how you would challenge him afterwards just to test out what he'd learned. he knocks on the door, but no one answers. so, naturally, he invites himself in, the door opening slightly ajar.
“attorney—?”
“how many times do i have to tell you?”
an older professor.
loud, harsh, and clearly irritated.
hiromi pauses. he looks up and sees you standing there, not once arguing back as you take the scolding. the older professor tears apart your lecture slides, your teaching methods, your grading, your age.
“what the hell were they thinking hiring someone your age?” the man roughly says. “look at you. a mess.”
you don't respond past a small nod. you write a note as you mumble something about revising it.
hiromi already hates the guy. every instinct tells him to stay out of faculty matters. every lesson drilled into him says:
do not interfere.
know your place.
respect your seniors.
just as he was about to make his presence known to get you out of the situation, the older lawyer raises his hand.
he jabs a finger to your temple strong enough to make your head tilt to the side. humiliating. patronizing. as if he's scolding a child than a decorated lawyer.
that's when hiromi moves. he steps inside before he even realizes he's moving. with one swift move, hiromi grabs the man's wrist.
“mr. sato,” he mutters. “please be professional. that wasn't appropriate.”
the older professor whips his head towards him, both surprised and furious. he pulls his hand away from his grip immediately.
“this is faculty business,” he snaps. “i also don't remember asking for a student's input!”
hiromi bows politely. “i apologize for interrupting, but if the discussions has reached a point where physical gestures are necessary to make your argument...” he pauses enough to glance at you, “...you are getting your emotions to the best of your defense, and if i remember correctly, you advised us against that.”
the professor's blood visibly boils.
“excuse me?”
“you touched my professor.”
your head snap up at that, cheeks warming against your will. still, you needed to mediate before things get worse.
“higuruma,” you cut in. “outside.”
hiromi obeys, immediately.
a few minutes later, the older professor eventually leaves. you follow moments later, meeting hiromi outside your office's door.
“...thank you,” you quietly say after a second.
hiromi shakes his head and replies, “you shouldn't have been treated like that in the first place.”
something shifts in hiromi after that.
he starts finding excuses to linger after class, making sure you never have to walk into that kind of faculty meetings again. seeing the revered attorney that you are being vulnerable for once made him hyper-aware of every little thing you do.
he realized you reply to emails at quarter to one in the morning.
he realized you take your glasses off during classes to press at your temples every fifteen minutes.
he realized the shadows under your eyes were darker on mondays.
he also realized he wanted to be the one to fix those.
his favorite epiphany?
you weren't intimidating your students on purpose. you only wanted them to succeed in court. hiromi knew this when he caught you beating yourself up in the lecture hall after class, mumbling about how you could've done a better job explaining things to the students.
all the scary follow-up questions and random oral recitations were only an attempt to polish them to their greatest potential.
his admiration only grows ten-fold after that.
suddenly, the years between "professor" and your first name felt unbearably long.
hiromi was too excited to graduate for brand new reasons—surely, once you became colleagues, asking you for dinner wouldn't hurt.
a/n: ok this might actually b one of my fave fics i have written LOL! definitely gonna be a multi-part fic, i have a couple ideas and i'm already in the middle of writing pt. 2~
but that will have to wait bcs it's my bff's bday party later, it's 1 in the morning, and i still have a couple stuff i need to finish for them <3
check out their fics here on tumblr and show em love, especially if you're an arlecchino lover! @/edtanikii and @/sdfgderp (their old acc)!!
i just read the hiromi and f!reader miscarriage one PLEASEEE make them happy again with their rainbow baby T____T i love your writing style so muchh!! <3__<3
AHHHH of course! my heart just warmed thinking about it >_< and thank you! i'm glad you enjoy reading my stuff!! <3
pt. 2 | your husband hiromi never misses an anniversary—until now.
part one here. | based on this ask.
tags: higuruma x reader, husband!hiromi, gn!reader, hurt/comfort (kinda?), married life shenanigans, based on this ask
it's been three weeks since the missed anniversary.
three weeks since the argument.
three weeks since hiromi knelt on the floor in front of you and asked if he could try again.
at first, nothing felt different. then the little things gradually started happening.
the first is the front door opening at six in the evening. you startle from your spot on the couch, tearing your attention away from your phone. you weren't expecting anyone until hiromi came home later in the night.
yet, here he is. briefcase in hand, tie loosened, all home.
“...did you forget something?” you ask.
hiromi pauses halfway through taking off his shoes.
“no, i didn't.”
you glance at the clock, and then back at him.
“are you sick?”
his brow furrows, as if your questions were starting sound absurd.
“no, i'm not.”
“why are you home?”
“sweetheart,” hiromi murmurs. “do you not want me home?”
you shake your head slowly. “it's not that,” you reply. “you're home early.”
“i'm home at a normal time.”
“normal time for normal people,” you retort. “for higuruma hiromi? it's way too early!” then, as if remembering something, you gasp. “i didn't cook anything for dinner because i thought you weren't coming home until ten!”
hiromi shakes his head. “doesn't matter. i was planning to take you out tonight, anyway.”
you pause at this.
...okay.
the next odd thing is that since your anniversary, hiromi never came home empty-handed. at first, you didn't pay much attention to it. a fresh bouquet of sunflowers on sunday, your favorite pastries on monday, another bouquet the following sunday, more pastries on wednesday, then friday, then a bracelet from a jewelry store on saturday.
then flowers again.
then pastries.
then another date night.
at some point, you realize it isn't random. you also realize that weaving things into routine is some sort of weird love language of hiromi's.
it isn't the cost that gets to you—it's the fact that he remembers. that you're picky when it comes to pastries, but he always manages to buy the ones you actually like. the flowers are always fresh, always still wet with dew. the jewelry is never extravagant, just dainty pieces you can match with everyday wear.
somehow, every gift feels less like an apology and more like proof he was thinking about you while he was away.
when he missed your anniversary, hiromi knew you weren't upset because he missed a date—he knew you were hurt because you'd thought he'd stopped thinking about you.
now, all his gifts are his quiet way of saying, i do.
i do think about you all the time.
now, as much as you enjoyed being spoiled, you knew you had to talk with him.
on another unusual night that hiromi came home early, you lead him to the living room to have a conversation.
as soon as you two sit down, you ask, “are you overcompensating?”
hiromi blinks. his shoulders grow rigid as he thinks his answer over. “i don't think so,” he says. “i think i'm doing what i should've been doing.”
“hiromi,” you warn. “i understood. i never wanted for you to compensate for anything.”
“that's the thing,” he replies immediately. hiromi runs his palm across his face before continuing. “you always did. i think i got too comfortable being forgiven.”
you look down at your hands. at some point, it had become true. not because hiromi was cruel, and certainly not because he didn't love you—but because every time work won, every time a date was cancelled, every tume you swallowed your disappointment and said it's okay, the expectation quietly settled between you both.
you would understand.
you always did.
and eventually, understanding became automatic.
“i didn't notice how unfair that was,” hiromi says after a moment, his voice quiet. “you kept making room for me, and instead of appreciating it, i started expecting it.”
“hiromi—”
he cuts you off with a bitter laugh. “i scared myself that night,” he mutters. “for the first time, i looked at you and thought...”
he swallows.
“...i thought, she's getting tired.”
you shake your head weakly. “i don't need flowers every week, hiromi,” you whisper. “i don't need jewelry, and i definitely don't need three date nights in one week.”
hiromi looks at you.
“...that one was for me,” he coughs. “i missed taking my wife out.”
you stare at him for a long moment before you burst out a surprised laugh. three weeks ago, he had been kneeling on the floor, terrified of losing you. now, he's sitting beside you, terrified of becoming the husband who made you lonely. there's a difference, you thought—one was fear, the other indicated change.
slowly, you lean against his shoulder. hiromi goes quiet, like he doesn't want to startle you away.
“sweetheart?”
you hum.
he leans his head against yours before whispering, “thanks for not giving up on me.”
you shift closer to hiromi, and he wraps an arm around you immediately.
“thanks for finally coming home.”
a/n: hi! i'm aware i haven't been keeping true to my word but life HAPPENED happened—my childhood puppy just recently died so i've been a complete mess the past week AND i'm back with the on-and-off fevers and didn't feel like going on here so 😞 i'll def do most of the sent requests but no more promises when i can post them...
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