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lazyjellyfish300 · 3 months ago

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@melpomenes-muse can't forget the hubby tag 💕

White Day

You never meant to fall for your neighbor across the hall.

↳ pairing: hiromi higuruma x fem. reader

↳ wc: 5.4k

↳ notes: i've been wanting to write for my favorite defense attorney for a long time. i'm really excited to have finally gotten around to it! i hope you enjoy!

The day you moved in, you met Hiromi Higuruma on the fourth trip up the elevator with an armful of boxes and the vague promise of a herniated disk.

He was on his way out, manilla folders tucked under one arm, tie just slightly askew – like he’d started the day neat and polished but had since been worn down by whatever mountain of legalese he’d been tackling. There was a quiet, practiced politeness about him as he reached past you to hold the elevator doors, murmuring an apology as if the arm braced overhead were some grand imposition and not, in fact, the only reason you weren’t pancaked between steel.

“You’re new,” he said, glancing from the leaning tower of tape-bound boxes you carried to you teetering behind it. His voice was smooth, deliberate – measured in a way that suggested he was used to choosing his words carefully. “Welcome to the building.”

It wasn’t much, but it was the first kind thing anyone had said to you all week. You clung to it tighter than the packing tape holding your precariously stacked belongings together – a bond that gave out the moment the elevator doors dinged closed behind him, spilling the contents of your life onto the scuffed tile floor.

In the months that followed, you pieced together fragments of his life like a puzzle. Accidentally, you never sought the pieces out so much as found them in your pockets. Hiromi, across the hall, worked too much, slept too little, and lived almost entirely off a diet of conbini meals. He smoked late at night by the building’s front steps – just long enough for you to catch the faint trace of tobacco lingering in the stairwell the next morning – and returned emails from his phone with the grim efficiency of someone accruing more inescapable sleep debt rather than paying it off.

You were an insomniac, with a habit of ordering takeout at hours best described as ungodly. The overlap in your schedules was impossible to ignore – him arriving home as you ventured out to retrieve a bag of comfort food from the lobby. At first, you nodded in passing. Then the perfunctory nods turned into murmured “evenings,” which turned into chats on the way back to your respective doors. One night, you lingered in the entryway longer than usual, your coat doing little to ward off the cold. He stood nearby, a cigarette between his fingers, the ember’s orange glow painting flickering shadows across his face. You hadn’t meant to stay – it was cold, and you were already exhausted – but he looked over and asked, “Rough night?”

You nodded. “Always.”

His laugh was quiet, dry, and just a little self-deprecating. “Yeah,” he said, eyes fixed on the empty street ahead. “I get that.”

The next time, you started the conversation. “Long day?” you asked as he fished a lighter from his pocket.

“Mm.” He flicked his gaze toward you, his lips quirking into something that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough to send your stomach into a curious tailspin. “They’re all long.”

And so it went – short, fleeting exchanges that somehow turned ritual, little moments you found yourself looking forward to in the long evenings when the hot languor of your eyelids paved way for dark orbital bruises.

“Do you work nights?” he asked one evening, nodding toward the takeout bag in your hand.

“No,” you replied, shrugging. “I just don’t sleep much.”

His brows lifted faintly, a silent acknowledgment of shared affliction. “Ah.”

The silences between you weren’t uncomfortable, and you found you didn’t mind sitting beside him on the building’s concrete steps, a cigarette in his hand and a carton of fries in yours with not a word spoken between you. Other times though, the quiet felt cradled in something else. A brush of his fingers against yours when you handed him a takeout menu you didn’t need anymore, the drawling rasp of his voice murmuring an apology so quiet it made your nervous laugh feel like a hyena's scream in comparison. Once, you caught him glancing back at you just as the elevator doors slid shut, and you couldn’t decide if the flutter in your chest was ridiculous or warranted.

There were the little gestures: a cup of coffee left outside your door, still warm. A text after the building’s hot water went out, letting you know it was fixed. The day he offered his umbrella because yours disappeared somewhere between your door and the front steps – you missed the endearing way he rubbed the back of his neck when you turned your back to unfurl it, pleased you’d accepted it at all.

You told yourself it was nothing. Just coincidence and neighborly kindness, just the nature of living in close quarters with someone whose schedule aligned so improbably with your own.

Somehow, those small moments stacked up – shared smiles in the hallway, quiet exchanges about the weather or the truly horrible plumbing in the building – and one day, you realized you had a problem.

You had a spectacularly inconvenient crush on a man who looked like he hadn’t rested properly in years, and wouldn’t know romance if it flashed a neon sign.

It started small. But then the little things began to stand out. The faint scrunch of his nose when he read a text he didn’t like, which was completely different from the wrinkle that formed at the curve of his bridge when he smiled. The way he always looked up – no matter how dead on his feet he seemed – just to meet your eyes when he said hello. And the way his profile seemed to cut through the gritty, timeworn backdrop of the building’s facade, stark and clean against the crumbling edges. His face would flash crimson as he cupped the end of his cigarette to shield the ember from the wind, flicking the lighter, the filter pinned between his teeth in a way that shouldn’t have been nearly as fascinating as you found it.

By then it wasn’t just noticing, but appreciating. And by the time February rolled around you were hopelessly smitten, your goggles turned the world pastel pink, and you were fully in over your head.

Which was why, on Valentine’s Day, you found yourself carefully wrapping a box of homemade chocolates. They weren’t over the top – no heart-shaped nonsense, nothing pink or frilly – but each piece was infused with flavors he’d mentioned in passing: mocha, coffee, matcha, dark chocolate. Things you’d quietly noted, stored away for no reason other than that you’d wanted to.

You left a note tucked under the ribbon. Simple, casual.

“Hope you like them. Let me know what you think.”

The elevator doors were crawling shut when you heard the brisk thud of shoes on old beaten carpet, followed by the slap of a hurried hand against metal. Long fingers curled through the narrowing gap, prying the steel doors open with a strained push.

Hiromi slipped into the elevator, slightly disheveled and a little breathless, murmuring a bitten curse under his breath as he bent to retrieve the keys he’d dropped. Folders were precariously shoved under one arm, a pen just barely hanging on to the collar of his shirt.

“Morning,” you offered, your smile kind but tinged with the quiet amusement his harried state often inspired.

“Morning,” he replied, straightening and glancing over, his tie already starting its daily rebellion against proper alignment. His sunken but shrewd gaze flickered briefly to the box in your hands, but if he thought anything of it, he didn’t say. “Sorry – didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You didn’t,” you assured him, shifting your weight as the elevator shuddered back into motion. The box felt heavier than it had five minutes ago. “Busy day?”

Hiromi laughed but it was throaty enough to be a scoff, clearly bracing himself for the expected impact of another brutally long day. “Aren’t they all?”

You smiled faintly. The silence that followed felt charged, and nerves jangled in your chest. Your heart was hammering, loud enough that you were sure he could hear it, but you hoped it might be mistaken for the grinding clunk of the old elevator gears.

It’s not a big deal, you reminded yourself again. Just a gift. Just a thoughtful gesture. Just a little too forward for two neighbors hovering in that nebulous space between circumstantial friends and something more, but one that might nudge things in a direction you were too cautious to name outright.

When the elevator gave its telltale groan as it neared the ground floor, you cleared your throat and stepped forward.

“Um, hey—” You held the box out to him, hands steadier than you’d feared but not quite steady enough for your liking. “I… made these. Thought you might like them.”

Hiromi blinked, his gaze snapping to the box with faint surprise. For a moment, his expression teetered between caught-off-guard and something softer, before smoothing into that burnt-out neutrality you’d seen him wear so many times. “Oh.” He juggled his folders into one hand, careful despite his hurry, and accepted the box with a quick bow. “That’s kind of you. Thank you.”

When he straightened, he offered you a small, fleeting smile – it made your stomach twist in on itself and spawn butterflies, no matter how many times you’d seen it.

The elevator dinged as it reached the lobby, and he stepped out with an apologetic glance at his watch. “I’ll see you around, won’t I?”

“Yeah,” you barely managed to eek.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the morning rush with your chocolates in one hand and his folders in the other with pages fluttering like paper wings.

You lingered in the elevator after the doors slid shut again, staring at the empty space he’d left behind.

It hadn’t gone how you’d expected – not your pre-planned worst-case scenario of a mortifying rejection of your feelings, and yet, somehow so much worse, because it wasn’t the rose-tinted reciprocation you’d naively dared to daydream about, either. The thanks and hurried acknowledgment barely registered against the clear distraction in his eyes. You’d poured so much into those chocolates, and you were left clutching distracted politeness like a consolation prize.

By the time you made it back to your floor – after a mortifying number of circuits up and down – you’d collapsed into the corner, head buried between your knees. Embarrassment wasn’t just a flush in your cheeks; it was a whole-body takeover, wrapping you in shame as thick as the tiles were cold. When the next passengers shuffled in, you peeled yourself off the floor, dodging their alarmed glances like a guilty specter as you slunk back to your apartment to lick your wounds.

Hiromi never mentioned the chocolates. Not once.

So, you did the only reasonable thing: you avoided him. It wasn’t like you’d outright confessed, but the thought of that little box sitting in his hands – or worse, the top of his trash bin – had you cringing so hard your spine might’ve snapped. Passing his door became a tactical mission: footsteps muted, breath held. The faintest whiff of tobacco from your window had you retreating like a skittish alley cat.

But while you ducked and dodged, Hiromi… didn’t. Every afternoon, he plucked another piece from that box, letting them melt on his tongue during rare, stolen breaks at his desk. Mocha when the morning slog threatened to drown him. Matcha when coffee breaks needed a little extra something. Dark chocolate after a colleague dumped another stack of case files onto his desk with an apologetic shrug.

Every evening, Hiromi waited beneath the weather-beaten veranda, the spot you both claimed without ever speaking something so official. His coat collar turned up against the cold, cigarette glowing like a signal flare, he’d scan the dim hallways for your familiar shuffle. He wanted to thank you. Tell you how your chocolates made the grind a little sweeter, made him feel a little lighter, and he was grateful for the little things.

But you never came. Not for long enough to speak, at least. Instead, you became a blur – an apparitional gremlin of mismatched pajamas, half-smushed pillow hair, and hurried footsteps. The only sign of you was the tributes he’d leave on your doorstep, his offerings of coffee and muffins, gone by the next time he passed.

Through the curling smoke of his cigarette, he wondered if you were sleeping better. Maybe that’s why you don’t join him as often anymore, why your late night rendezvous suddenly returned to being a solo affair. He hoped so.

The day had been a marathon of mediocrity, the kind of relentless tedium that blurred its edges into monotony. Paperwork bred more paperwork, meetings inexplicably managed to feel both crucial and utterly pointless, and the office coffee – gritty with a scorched aftertaste – served only as a cruel reminder of how far his standards had fallen.

Hiromi moved through it all like a ghost of himself, his body operating two steps behind his thoughts, trailing in that sluggish haze unique to too-little sleep. Four hours wasn’t the worst he’d had this week, but it came with its usual cargo: dreams that clung like cobwebs, fragile but persistent. Unfiled briefs, missed deadlines, the kind of nonsense that soaked through his undershirt and had him gasping awake at three in the morning.

By early evening, when a colleague materialized in the doorway, Hiromi had surrendered himself to the day’s slow crawl. His office, lit in jagged strips of orange from the low-hanging sun slicing through the blinds, had taken on a tomb-like quality – stifling, quiet, and inescapable.

“You’re still here?” The man lounged against the doorframe like a picture of eight hours' sleep and a decent breakfast, a stark contrast to Hiromi’s wilting state. He wore the smug energy of someone whose day had gone entirely to plan. Must be nice.

Hiromi didn’t lift his gaze from the monitor. “Where else would I be?”

“Home. Out. Making the most of the day,” came the reply, too chipper for this hour.

There was something in his tone that prickled, a faint suggestion that today should be different, though Hiromi could only just summon the curiosity to ask why. “What makes this Friday any different from last?”

His colleague shrugged, the movement loose and nonchalant. “Oh, nothing. Just, you know, White Day and all.”

Hiromi blinked, his expression an unbroken mask of indifference, save for the flicker of his eyes, which shifted upward with the kind of mechanical courtesy reserved for the truly drained. “Hm?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Should I?”

“It’s March fourteenth,” his colleague drawled, the words slow and deliberate. “White Day. The day you’re supposed to return the favor for Valentine’s Day.”

Hiromi’s brain sputtered, then juddered to life with all the elegance of an old engine coughing through winter. “Oh,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his hand dragging through his hair as if trying to pull clarity from his skull. “That’s today?”

“Brutal.” His colleague sucked air through his teeth, his expression a caricature of pity, though his eyes gleamed with the mischief of someone who’d spotted an opening. “Didn’t get a gift for anyone?”

Hiromi snorted with arms stretched above his head, his exhaustion thinning his filter. “No one got me anything, so there’s no one to return the favor to.”

“Huh. Rough.” The younger man pushed off the doorframe with a shrug, his jacket slung over his shoulder in a gesture that felt entirely too self-assured. “Well, I’m heading out early. Got a dinner reservation. Gotta make sure I’m on her good side before I make it official.” He grinned, throwing a thumbs-up so cheerfully condescending it bordered on insult. “Good luck with… whatever’s keeping you here.”

“Good luck,” Hiromi replied flatly, already turning his focus back to his monitor.

But the thought lingered, catching like a burr in his mind, tugging at him with small, relentless hooks. No one had given him anything for Valentine’s Day – no soft-spoken confessions, no blushing declarations with trembling hands and gift-wrapped tokens. There had been no shyly offered gestures for him to downplay, no dramatic moments requiring his polite reassurance: “No, no, please, there’s really no need for all of that.” Nothing.

Except… there had been.

The memory surfaced slowly, a faint glimmer in the fog of his overworked mind, before it crashed into him with the force of a truck on the freeway. One moment he was scrolling through a deposition; the next, his pulse skipped, his hands frozen over the keyboard as the realization unraveled in merciless detail.

The elevator.

You’d both been in it that morning – was it really a month ago, now? – him juggling loose files and mentally compiling an impossible to-do list. You’d handed him a small box, your voice soft but steady, and said, in a way he thought was oddly shy for you, “Thought you might like these.”

He’d thanked you automatically, his tone clipped with the reflex to bury the ridiculous warmth that kindled in his chest, before all but sprinting through the entryway doors. He hadn’t even realized it was Valentine’s Day then, hadn’t stopped to consider the gift as anything more than one of your many small kindnesses that were always his undoing.

You were thoughtful like that. Always had been. The spare umbrella you’d pressed into his hands during last year’s rainy season. The mugs of instant coffee you’d offered during late-night power outages when the dim hallway emergency lights turned the corridor into an impromptu meeting ground.

You, who never made him feel like his exhaustion was something to apologize for, even when he collapsed into your shared conversations like a marionette with its strings cut.

You, who had been the quiet balm to so many of his sorriest days.

And somehow, he’d forgotten.

The box had ended up buried under a week’s worth of neglected paperwork by mid-morning that day, forgotten until a rare, unhurried moment between consults. When he finally opened it, he’d been greeted by chocolates arranged with precision that could only come from care. Not the haphazard, store-bought variety, but something deliberate – each flavor attuned to his preferences, each one a quiet nod to things he’d mentioned in passing, likely without even realizing you’d been listening.

He’d eaten them over the following days, savoring the indulgence but not the intention. The empty box, now stripped of its original purpose, sat on his desk, crammed with paperclips, pens, and a single stray thumbtack.

Hiromi leaned forward, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could blot out the creeping tide of guilt threatening to swallow him whole. The past month replayed in his mind, vivid in a way they never were before – a montage of your silences, the way your smiles had grown quieter, your usual warmth edged with something more cautious. He’d chalked it up to stress, bad timing, anything but what it really was: his own staggering obtuseness.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” he muttered suddenly, his head falling back against the chair as he twisted sideways, fixing his beleaguered coworker with a look that bordered on desperation.

The younger man froze mid-step, clearly debating the safest answer. “Uh…”

“I like my job a lot, sir,” he hedged, after a moment too long.

Hiromi let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Forget it. Go enjoy your dinner.”

The man didn’t wait to be told twice. The door clicked shut, and Hiromi was left alone in the oppressive quiet of his office, slumped in his chair, staring at a crack in the ceiling like it held answers.

God, he was an idiot.

Because the truth was, he noticed things about you, and he wasn’t used to being so perceptive about anything but work. The way your apartment light stayed on well past midnight, the faint glow visible from the sliver beneath your door. The way you hummed to yourself in the hallway, just barely audible, your voice low and private – except he was always listening for it, attuned to it, lingering by his own door in case he might "happen" to step out at the same time as you.

He’d been so careful not to overstep, so committed to keeping his distance, convinced that somehow, you’d notice him the way he noticed you. Maybe he’d been too subtle. Standing in the same spot every night, cigarette after cigarette, the nicotine rush indistinguishable from the pleasure gleaned from moments he stole with you. And now?

Now he owed you.

Big time.

Hiromi shoved back from his desk, grabbing his coat and his phone in one motion. His fingers fumbled over the search bar as he walked, half-blindly typing: “last-minute White Day gifts.”

Jewelry? Too much. Flowers? Too predictable. He swore under his breath, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He’d figure it out when he got there. Something would speak to him. He didn’t have time to second-guess himself anymore.

Not about you. Hiromi sprinted through the office, his coat slipping from one shoulder, tie askew as he lunged for the elevator button. When the doors stalled, he snarled a sharp curse, bouncing on his heels, as though sheer impatience could force them to hurry. The moment he hit the street, the cold air stung his face, jarring him into focus. His breath fogged in frantic bursts as he dodged through the evening crowd, weaving between briefcases and backpacks with a single refrain pounding in his skull: Weeks, Hiromi. You’ve had weeks.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this – racing to fix what he’d fumbled, clutching at something he should’ve noticed was already slipping away. You’re a grown man, not some clueless teenager. But that was exactly what he felt like as he stumbled into the nearest store, his heart sinking the moment he stepped inside.

It was carnage.

The shelves had been picked clean by people far more organized, thoughtful, and prepared than he’d ever managed to be. Half-empty displays of gaudy packaging mocked him from every aisle. Cheap chocolates in crushed boxes. Plush bears with matted fur that looked like they’d been stepped on. The sad, plastic sheen of leftover trinkets that no one with an ounce of dignity would ever gift to someone they actually cared about.

Hiromi ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration as he paced the aisles like a trapped animal. His brain, which had spent the day sluggishly dragging its feet, was now overcompensating – overthinking everything in the worst possible way.

What if she hates this? What if she thinks it’s insulting? What if this just makes everything worse?

He could picture it now: your face falling in polite disappointment, your soft, "Oh, you didn’t have to," laced with the kind of subtext that screamed you really shouldn’t have.

No. That wasn’t an option.

Hiromi doubled back for the third time, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty store. His phone buzzed with an email reminder of the job he’d abandoned, and he resisted the urge to hurl it into the nearest display of cheap candles. He grabbed at something – not because it felt right, but because he was out of time and out of options.

It wasn’t great. Hell, it wasn’t even good. But it was something.

And the rest? The rest would just have to be a groveling apology. A way to explain himself without coming off like a total asshole, to let you know he wasn’t the man you probably thought he was after weeks of appearing apathetic.

It would have to be enough.

He clutched the bag to his chest as he jogged out of the store, and started making his dash for home.

Maybe, if he was lucky, the gesture would mean more than the thing itself. Maybe.

The evening air burned in his lungs as Hiromi sprinted down the sidewalk, the soles of his dress shoes slapping against the pavement with a rhythm as erratic as his breathing. A suit, he learned – rather painfully – was not designed for anything more strenuous than a brisk walk.

His tie had long since loosened lest it choke his already struggling airway, and his coat flapped behind him like a cape, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when lady serendipity smiled upon him with pity when he saw you just ahead, reaching for the brassy bar of the building's entry door.

“Wait! Wait!” You froze mid-step at the sound of your name, sharp and startling, ricocheting off the concrete walls. Turning quickly, you caught sight of Hiromi – half-bent over, hands braced against his knees as he dragged in air a few short steps below you. “Are you okay?” The question slipped from your tongue before it even rooted in your brain, concern knotting your brows as you took in the disheveled sight of him.

Hiromi straightened, not quite gracefully, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. “I realized—” he began, words forced out between gulps of air, one hand lifting to clutch a small plastic bag that swayed pitifully against his trembling fingers. “I realized – hah I’m out of shape – I never properly thanked you for your Valentine’s gift.” The admission caught you entirely off guard.

“Oh.” Your voice came out faint, startled, and entirely inadequate to convey your sudden tangle of emotions. Relief mixed with confusion, unraveling the anxious knots you’d carried for weeks.

“I’m a complete and utter ass,” Hiromi barreled on, his words tumbling over each other in his haste. “Truly, an irredeemable ass. The chocolates? Fucking stellar.” He swallowed, wetting his throat that stuck itself closed from the cold air sucked down his windpipe. “But I hope you can forgive me for my… my ass-ery.”

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped, and the tension in your shoulders eased. Your hand dropped from the door to more casually clasp your wrist in front of you. “Your… ass-ery?” “Yes,” he deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “It’s a clinical diagnosis, I’m afraid.” You shook your head, smiling now as it was always so easy to do as he thrust the bag toward you. “Here. I—well, it’s not much, and honestly, it’s terrible, but…” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes locked on the bag rather than you. “I thought you deserved something. And an apology.” Your heart warmed, then grew hotter still, a supernova blooming in your chest until you were certain you must be a brilliant viewing hazard. Oh my god, this is happening, this is really happening— Curious, you peeked into the bag…

To find a small potted cactus, squat and prickly, nestled beside a tin of mints.

You stared at the contents, your brain valiantly attempting to connect dots that refused to align. Then, slowly, you looked back up at Hiromi, blinking as the sheer absurdity of it all began to take shape. “Hiromi…” you started, your voice dragging slightly, in perfect sync with the slow crawl of your eyebrows knitting together. “What am I looking at right now?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his discomfort manifesting in the faint flush creeping up from the open collar of his shirt. “They were out of flowers,” he said, a little too quickly, his tone and expression both pleaded for understanding. “Cacti are… supposed to be hardy. Low maintenance. Practical.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out, your gaze drifting helplessly back to the cactus like it might somehow offer an explanation. Finally, your eyes narrowed on the tin of mints, holding it up as if demanding it speak for itself. “And these? Am I being politely told I have bad breath? Should I…?” You gestured vaguely toward your mouth, your deadpan delivery sharpened by the incredulous lift of your brow. “What? No! Of course not!” Hiromi’s wide-eyed horror was immediate, followed by a sigh that bordered on despair. “They were out of decent chocolates too, if you can believe that. All the ones left looked like they’d been stepped on or…” His nose scrunched slightly. “...or licked, probably.” It all hit you square in the chest then, and you couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst out. It rang across the sidewalk, echoing against the walls, and for a fleeting moment, Hiromi looked almost dazed, like the sound itself had knocked him off balance. “Hiromi…” You shook your head, trying to catch your breath as you gestured vaguely at the gifts still cradled in your hands. “A cactus and breath mints. I don’t even know where to start with that—”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners, and he ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, ruffling the stubborn strands to fall in hooks over his forehead with a self-deprecating snort. “You’re not supposed to start. You’re supposed to forgive me for being an idiot, and let me take you out for dinner.” You looked up from the strange gifts cradled in your palms, meeting his gaze. His face was still flushed, his tie hanging on for dear life over his shoulder, and his chest rose and fell unevenly, but there was something so earnest in the way he looked at you – like he would and did run all the way across the city just to say this. “I’m going to put these… thoughtful gifts inside,” you said, the sickle curve of your smile applying a damning edge to the teasing lilt in your voice.

You turned to head upstairs, but hesitated, the words catching on the tip of your tongue. Your pulse thrummed, and for a moment, you felt suspended – caught between the weight of your nerves and the feather-light hope fluttering just beneath them. Before you could second-guess yourself, the question tumbled out. “Do you… want to go to the izakaya a few blocks over?” For a moment, Hiromi simply stared, wide-eyed and stunned like you’d offered him the key to salvation. His stillness stretched the seconds thin, and then – bit by bit as he finally seemed to believe you – the rigidity in his frame unraveled, replaced by something altogether softer and breathtaking in its sincerity. “Oh thank god,” he said, frayed at the edges and incredulous. He cleared his throat straightening with a sheepish cant of his head. “Yes, I’d like that. A lot.” The way he looked at you then – with such gratitude and appreciation – sent your heart into a clumsy somersault. It wasn’t all that different from how he’d looked at you all along during those late night smoke breaks or slow traipses down the hall. Maybe you were a fool too for not noticing sooner. “Okay,” you replied, your smile curling so wide onto your face in a way that made it impossible to even try to play coy. “Yeah! Yeah—okay… give me a few minutes!”

Hiromi stepped aside to let you pass. He watched until you disappeared into the building, his calm, composed exterior holding steady until the door clicked shut behind you. Only then did the cracks appear – his breath shuddered out in a rush, and he broke into a tight, eager circle of pacing on the sidewalk. His hands flexed at his sides, barely containing the bubbling energy before one shot up in a victorious fist pump. Yes. Yes! The word pulsed in his chest, each repeat hitting harder than the last. His grin stretched wide, a little lopsided, and he dragged his hand down his face to rein it in – unsuccessfully. Inside your apartment, your composure unraveled just as spectacularly. The door slammed behind you as you collapsed against it, pressing your back to the wood, chest heaving as the realization hit in waves. You were going on a date with Hiromi. Your breath caught, your hands flying up to cover your face as a giddy squeal escaped – a sound you didn’t even try to stifle. You slid down the door to sit on the floor, every inch of you vibrating with pure, unfiltered excitement. You quickly peeled yourself off the ground, your grin so wide it ached as you darted through your apartment. The little cactus found a place on the bedroom windowsill, perfectly positioned for sunlight, but your thoughts had already wandered far beyond it. You regarded the mints, staring at them clutched in your palm, your thoughts spinning out in a thousand directions. Dates. Late nights. The shape of his smile. His mouth. His mouth alone was an entirely separate line of thought that sent your stomach into freefall. Your fingers lingered on the tin before you flipped it open, popping a mint in your mouth with a little hum of delight at the cool burst of peppermint. You tucked the rest into your bag with a flicker of a grin that might’ve been a little too self-satisfied, but who could blame you? Just in case you needed them.

#jelly's library ☁︎༄｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ﾟ #hiromi higuruma x reader #hiromi x reader #higuruma x reader #higuruma x you #higuruma x y/n #jjk fluff #hiromi fluff #jjk x reader #TOOTH ROTTING SWEETNESS #im sat in awe of all the intricacies of his character you wove in this story #it felt like a character study wrapped up in the fluffiest of bows #the buildup was so gradual #obvious to everyone but HIM #ngl i thought the colleague was gonna be kento for a sec #kinda glad it wasnt?? im toxic for a sec forgive me hahaahha #back to the show #i love how the realization just hits him all at once #his epiphany: holy shit someone does care and i care about her too 🥹#reader is honestly so strong here i bet the overthinking was a NIGHTMARE #i love his efforts to make things right even when it looks like it's too late #saving the day in his own chaotic way #the giddiness of them separately when they finally agree to go on a date #sooo wholesome #this one is a gem wibs congratulations!!!

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unreasonablerobin · 2 months ago

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HI BARBIE

Damian Al Ghul x Girly!Reader

Synopsis: Damian and his... very girly girlfriend??

W.C: 4.3K

Tags: Fluff ♡

Something was different... everyone in the manor could tell that there was something different with Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

Considering he lived in a manor full of detectives, you really wouldn't think he'd have gotten away with his secret rendezvous.

7 months ago...

It all started with Alfred noticing new smells on his clothes as he did the laundry. At first, it seemed that Damian had simply switched to a new shampoo or maybe gotten a cologne. Then, the sharp scent of cologne started to come mixed with floral. Alfred did what any good butler would do. He ignored it. If his master wanted to indulge in wearing floral scents, he wouldn't shame him for it.

Alfred wasn't the only one who noticed the change in scent, though. Dick had been messing around with Damian in the training room. They always liked a good spar with each other. Everything was going as usual until... SNIFF

"Dude, are you wearing perfume?" Dick suddenly asked as he blocked a punch from his little brother. Damian's composure faltered for just a moment before he pulled himself together, grabbing Dick and tossing him over the shoulder. The poor vigilante was too distracted by his discovery to catch himself. He fell to the floor with a thud.

"Don't be ridiculous Grayson." The boy clicked his tongue as he began to walk out of the training room.

"It's one of those Britney Spears ones, Kori has a few," Dick said more to himself than Damian as the boy was choosing to ignore him the more words tumble out of his mouth. "Hold on don't tell, is it the pink one with the little green gems on it?"

Damian had to fight back the urge to inform him that the perfume he was thinking of was called Fantasy. He'd become quite the enthusiast simply from listening to you go on about all sorts of perfumes, and other products, sat at your vanity as he admired your reflection through the mirror.

"Why do you know so much about Britney Spears perfumes Grayson?" Damian retorted.

"Cause I have a very gorgeous girlfriend, Dams. I got her the perfume for her birthday, the bottle reminded me of her." He replied a lovesick grin already forming at the thought of his alien lover. The former assassin took the opportunity to sneak out of the training room as his older brother got lost in a train of hopeless romantic thoughts over his lover.

Once he made it back to his room he sharply inhaled. Yep, it smells like your perfume. Very clearly, like you'd jumped around spraying it before sneaking out this morning. He took a handful of his shirt and lifted it to his nose. Yep, also smells like your perfume and your setting spray. If he wanted to keep your relationship hidden from his lunatic families he'd need to do a better job of covering it, he thought to himself as he began to light any scented candles he could find. An attempt to cover your traces. One of them was a gift from you, so not entirely hiding your presence.

5 months ago...

The two of you were walking through the mall. Hands intertwined and a bundle of shopping bags in his other. He'd insisted on carrying them. No matter how ridiculous he looked. It was a funny sight. His cold hard expression paired with cute bags of clothes, makeup and a Sanrio plushie peeking out from one of them.

"Are you hungry, beloved?" Damian turned his head to face you. You pondered for a moment until your stomach decided for you by making a growling sound.

"Yes..." You said slightly embarrassed. A downturned smile spread on your face.

"Where would you like to go?" You were about to respond when your phone started ringing, a cheery pop song blared from your charm-adorned handbag.

"Sorry, one sec," you reached into the bag. Shoving all sorts of things around to get to your phone. "It's my mom, you pick I'll be back in a minute!" You stepped off to the side and answered the phone.

Damian huffed at the feeling of his empty hand as he began to scan the mall food court up ahead.

'Burger King, McDonalds, Stephanie and Cass, KFC...' He paused his train of thought. Oh shit, he didn't realise Stephanie and Cass would be here and walking towards you both, unaware of your presence.

"Mom, I promised I'd be back home for dinner. 6:30, I know," You laughed at her antics before saying your goodbyes and hanging up.

You didn't get the chance to turn around as your hand was being grabbed and you were getting dragged away.

"Damian?" you looked at the boy as he swerved between the crowds. "Is everything alright?" You watched as he occasionally looked behind the two of you. Taking a small glance back you spotted two girls you recognised from a photo he'd shown you.

"Hold on, is that Damian?" Stephanie stopped Cass in her tracks and pointed ahead. Cass looked up from her milkshake and saw the head of her little brother.

"We should go say hi! Wonder what he's doing in the mall?" Stephanie had taken Cass' arm and was pulling her towards Damian, both unaware that he wasn't alone and trying to get away from them.

Damian noticed the two getting closer and took a sharp left turn into a random clothing store. He used the clothing racks to hide from the persistent girls following them.

"Why's he gone in here?" Stephanie wondered out loud. "It's a women's clothing store." Cass shrugged her shoulders as her mind went to Dick's theory on Damian trying out more feminine things, and being ashamed of it, after the perfume incident. She thought the theory was ridiculous.

Cass looked around quickly to see if the shop was even worth spending time in, but nothing was to her taste. As she scanned the store she spotted what looked to her brother... and a girl? Sneaking into the dressing rooms.

'No, it couldn't be,' Cass thought to herself watching the figure of a boy that looked exactly like her brother disappear into a dressing room with a really pretty girl. 'Could it?'

You and Damian crammed into a little dressing room with all your shopping bags.

"So..." You began, turning to the mirror to fix any out of place hairs.

"We'll have to wait a while, they are unfortunately persistent."

"How long?"

"I do not know, beloved," He shoved your shopping bags into the corner. "Longer than you'd like, I'd imagine."

You stood in silence for a moment.

"I can think of a couple ways to pass the time..." You turned away to prevent yourself from laughing at Damian's flushed face.

3 months ago...

Damian and Jason had been giving each other a hand during patrol that night. Damian was chasing some low-life thugs and they managed to slip out of his grasp and dash all the way to Crime Alley. Thankfully Jason was there and helped him catch the guys. After dealing with them Damian stood up, a vibration surged through his pocket. He reached in about to immediately hit decline. Why would he answer the phone on patrol? That's what he thought until your face graced his peripheral. He quickly turned his back towards his brother. It was a photo of you and your closets friends. (Obviously the contact picture was only focused on you). It was taken on your birthday. You were all dolled up in makeup and a gorgeous outfit you'd insisted you needed his opinion on before going out. He was about to answer when, "Who's that?" Jason called out from behind.

'Oh Shit.' Damian thought to himself. There are so many excuses to use when your brother smells your girlfriend's perfume on you, so many ways to hide from your sisters when out on a date. How does one convince Red Hood that 'Beloved <3' isn't what it looks like? That its no one special on the other end of the line?

"No one," Damian tried his luck with lying anyways. "Mind your business!" He possessively clutched the phone to his chest. Hiding the caller ID and contact photo. That was only for him to see.

Jason stared at him through his helmet, "Uh-huh, sure," Damian could feel the bullshit look on Jason's face behind the helmet. "No one at all."

"No one for you to concern yourself with Todd, mind your business." Damian stuttered out sharply before disappearing into the night. Away from prying eyes.

Jason couldn't help but grin as he watched his brother run off, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

"Idiot."

Damian had perched himself on top of an apartment building. He brought his phone in front of him and called his last missed call. You. He sat in the silence of dawn, only the buzz of his voice and the tires of some earlier commuters to be heard. Until he heard the sweet voice of his favourite person.

"Hello? Damian?" God, how did your voice sound so angelic this early in the morning, through a phone speaker?

"Good morning, beloved," He sighed contently, "Apologies for not picking up when you first called I was finishing up something." He felt at peace hearing your voice and the ruffle of your bedsheets. Even if it was only through a phone and not in person. It would do.

"Oh sorry!" You whisper yelled. The sun was only rising, your family were probably still asleep. "I didn't mean to bother, we can talk la-"

"Nonsense, you are certainly not bothering me, beloved. I'm more than happy to make time for you at any hour of the day or night." He cut you off. It was silent on your end of the line for a few moments. A couple of giggles and some sheet rustling could be heard. Damian could see it in his mind you going slightly rouge and hiding your face in the pastel duvet.

"It's just," you trailed off, "I had a stupid nightmare and I couldn't go back to sleep."

"If my presence is what you seek in order to feel safe than I will always be available." You smiled at that looking out the window by your bed.

"I will be there."

"What!?" You shot up in your bed, shrinking in on yourself when you realised how loud you were being.

"Damian, there's no need-"

"Yes there is very much need," You sighed at his persistence. "You require my comfort to fall back asleep, I know how much you enjoy your weekend sleep." You fell back k down into tour bed with a smile. He was so right. You loved your weekend lie ins.

"I am finished patrol so I will make my way to you."

"Okay, I'll see you in a few, my windows open," you bit your bottom lip for a moment, hesitation filling you, "I love you." There was silence on the other end of the line until the call ended. You looked at your phone in confusion worried you'd accidentally hit the red button or if Damian had decided he actually hated you. A shadow replacing the sunrise light that had been beaming onto you stopped your train of thought. You looked up to see Robin perched on your windowsill. Strategically, as to not damage your flower boxes.

"I love you too." He whispered before he crawled through the window, landing on your bed.

2 months ago...

Damian was sat in the back of the Batcave as Bruce and Tim discussed something about an ongoing case. He was cleaning one of his katanas. Deciding it was clean enough he picked it up and set it to the side. A small sound of metal hitting metal made the two detectives perk up. The sound came again as Damian picked up another blade to clean. Tim turned his head ever so slightly to glance at the boy and in the corner of his eyes, he spotted it. A small ring on his left hand. He gave a small glance to Bruce, who was still staring at the screen before him, but he could tell the scrunch of his face wasn't from the confusion of the case. Damian completely unaware of his brother's and father's change in demeanour continued to clean his blades. The metal ring subtly caught the light as he carefully rubbed the cloth against the sharp edge of the blade. A gentle smile graced his face as he stared at the ring. His mind wandered back to the day he gave you the promise ring. He knew you'd love it but he was still so nervous. He would rather die than let anyone know that though. Little whispers snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking up he spotted Tim leaning in towards Bruce muttering something.

"Can I say something?" Tim questioned in a hushed teasing tone.

"No, you can not." Bruce sternly replied, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh come on," Tim looked from him to his brother out of the corner of his peripheral. "You can't not be curious about what's up with him?"

Bruce gave the young detective a quick glance before returning to the screen with CCTV footage playing.

"Of course I am, but it is none of our business." He said curtly. "Damian is very capable and I trust that he is independent and mature enough to do as he pleases."

Tim sighed in response to that. He'd have to lay off on the teasing for now, but just know that when he gets a moment alone with his little brother he will become the biggest pain in the ass.

Damian couldn't help but let his smile grow back after hearing his father's words. He spun the ring around his finger for a brief moment before setting his blades aside and exiting the cave.

1 month ago...

Another rare day where you manage to spend the day in Wayne Manor. Today was much easier than all the others. Dick was in his apartment with Kori'ander, Bruce and Tim were away on company business, the girls were all out, and Jason was god knows where. You didn't really care if they were in the Manor or on the other side of the world at this moment. You were sprawled on top of your boyfriend in his bed. Nothing could possibly ruin this day for you. Your head was rested on his chest, listening to his rhythmic heartbeat. His hand held yours and the other played with the ends of your hair. You both layed in the silence of the day as you quite literally watched paint dry. Over on his desk, which was supposed to be used for homework and not art or makeup, like it you had previously been using it for. Two small paintings lay drying; one of batcow and the other of a sunset. A huff of laughter from the chest beneath you made you look up.

"What?"

"There is paint on your face, beloved."

You shot up from his body and where about to run into the bathroom. Damian gently grabbed into your face. The red paint streaks where mostly dry now so he was easily able to rub them off. Even when your face was paint free, you both sat there, your face in his hands and his thumb caressing your skin.

"You are so beautiful, Habibti." You stared with a lovestruck look right back at his lovesick one. He leaned in a little closer.

"May I?" He asked, ever the gentleman. You nodded.

He brought his lips to yours not caring about the sticky sensation of your lip gloss. You sighed into the kiss and brought your hands up to rest of his. They slid down and held onto his wrists. Neither of you would get Iver this feeling. The butterflies, your lips on eachother, the fear that enters your body when you hear a knock of the door. Oh my god. You immediately pulled away.

"Master Damian," Alfred's muffled voice came through the door. "Would like some cookies? They are freshly baked."

"No thanks, Pennyworth." Damian quickly replied. There was an uncomfortable silence for a second before-

"Would your friend like some?" Both of your eyes bulged out and your jaws dropped.

"I won't tell, no need to fret!"

You looked to Damian nervously, who nodded his head, telling you that Alfred really meant what he said.

"Yes please!" You piped up. You could smell those cookies and my god, you wanted them so bad.

"Very well, I'll prepare them and some tea." Alfred laughed before heading back to the kitchen.

Present...

Yesterday had been another one of those rare days where nobody was in the manor, so you had come over and Damian persuaded you to stay the night.

You sleepy made your way into the bathroom attached to his room. Deciding it was time to get ready for the day. Your eyes scanned the counter top covered in skincare and makeup products left here overtime by you. You couldn't help but smile thinking of all the smalls ways you two had been intertwining your life's. You had things in his place, he had things in yours, he carried hair ties for you and you carried bandages for him. It was simple and sweet. It got you thinking about why he didn't want you to meet his family as you did your skincare. He'd met yours, plenty of time at that. He'd spent the night, he'd had dinner with them, hell you're mom bought him an Easter egg! You swore up and down to yourself he didn't have any problem with you or his family. Now picking up your primer you couldn't help but be confused. Why is he so desperate to hide you and your relationship? You shook the thoughts away when you spotted your frown in the mirror, now just focusing on getting ready.

An hour had passed and Damian was awake. He could hear you in the bathroom as he rolled over in the now cold bed.

"Babe, can you help me?" You softly called out as you nudged the bathroom door open. "I can't get my earing in." You informed with you hands at your ear.

He got up from his bed a maneuvered you back into the bathroom, where the lighting was good, shutting the door behind him.

"I can't get it through, it shouldn't be closed up though!" You handed him the earing and stood beside him under the ceiling light.

He tilted your head and began what would be an annoyingly long process of trying to perform the simple task of getting a piece of metal through a hole.

Alfred was in the middle of cooking breakfast and asked Dick to go wake his brother up. Unaware that you were still here. You usually snuck out earlier but you're phone was dead when you woke up so you never checked the time.

Dick trecked up the stairs, past Jason leaving his room and towards Damian's. He softly knocked on the door before swinging it open.

"Uh, Jason?"

"What?" Jason grumbled at the end of the hallway.

"Who's phone is that?" Dick asked pointing towards a phone that definitely wasn't his brother's. Unless he'd taken a sudden liking to charms and bows.

Jason sleepy stared at Dick until the image of Damian's phone with a picture of a girl and suspicious caller ID appeared in his head. Now he was sprinting towards his brother's room.

Jason and Dick stood in the doorway examining the unknown phone plugged in and rested on the nightstand. Jason gasped and pointed at a woman's bag, say on the floor, leaning against the desk leg. Dick dramatically took hold of Jason and put a finger to his lips. He then pointed to the bathroom door.

"Damian it's fine!"

"I don't want to hurt you!"

"It's not going to hurt, babe I promise!"

A girl? Babe!?

This had Dick and Jason turning to eachother, shock written all over their faces as they sprinted to the stairs.

Bruce, Tim, Stephanie and Cass were all sat at the dining table. Bruce was reading the newspaper, Tim was chugging a coffee, Stephanie was talking to Cass while they waited for the other three boys. Same as every morning. At least it was, until-

"Damian has a girlfriend!" Dick shouted like he was the final girl just after discovering who the killer was.

"She's upstairs!" Jason skidded into the kitchen behind him.

Alfred froze, as he watched Tim and Stephanie sprint faster than he'd ever seen before. Dick and Jason following right behind them. Cass subtly followed. She didn't want to be nosy but... she needed to know! Her suspicions were driving her crazy ever since the mall. Bruce sighed, folding up the newspaper and setting it down before heading up to Damian's room as he heard screaming.

You were mortified. Six people just barged into the room and saw you in your pyjamas; your underwear and one of Damian's shirts. You screamed and immediately bolted back into the bathroom. You were panicking. Damian didn't want you to meet his family and you just did it in the worst way possible. Half naked and screaming. What a way to meet the future in-laws. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you slid to the floor. Atleast your hair and makeup look good.

"Drake, what the fuck!?" Damian yelled.

"Hold on, why am I the only one getting yelled at?" Tim retorted.

Stephanie nudged his shoulder. "You scared her stupid!"

"We barged in at the same time!"

"You're a guy!"

Damian stood there with a frustrated expression watching Tim and Stephanie bicker and the rest of his family pile in. Cass's small smile at him help him relax a little, but only a little. And just for a moment, cause then Dick and Jason piped up.

"So..." Dick began. "Who is she?"

"None of your business."

"That's what you told me when someone named 'beloved' called you on patrol." Jason chimed in with a teasing tone. Damian could only stare at more frustration than before. His cheeks began to flush and that just passed him off more. Stephanie wasn't helping with her "awww's in the background. Damian was about to scream for them to all get out, get physical with Tim if he needed to.

“Damian.”

Everyone turned towards the stern, deep voice in the doorway. Bruce stepped forward to his youngest son.

"Father," Damian started a tangent before Bruce even had a chance to say anything more. "Her name is Y/n. We have been dating for 8 months, and I love her. No matter your approval or disapproval I will continue to see her." Damian informed his father in a stern and determined tone.

“If it’s alright with you I would like to meet her. Properly.” He requested. “I believe the rest would also like to meet her.” Damian didn’t know how to respond. He thought his father would have a bigger reaction to lying and sneaking around with a girl. Especially considering the occupations of everyone present.

“Of course only if she’s alright with it as well.” Bruce added with a light smile.

"Allow me to check." Bruce ushered all of his children out of the young boy's room.

Once they’d all left he slid into the bathroom where you were still sat on the floor.

“Habitat,” he called out softly. “We don’t have to go down there if you don’t want to.” He knelt in front of you.

“No! I want to, I’d love to meet your family.” You countered quickly. “Only if that’s okay with you, I don’t want to overstep.”

“Whatever you want, beloved.” He said with a smile identical to his father’s.

You were now dressed and sat beside Damian at the Wayne dining table. All of the Wayne's were staring at you. It wasn't daggers or disgust. You'd figured it was curiosity.

"How the hell did you even meet?" Jason asked the first question.

"School." Damian answered coldly.

"No offence, but I didn't expect you to end up with someone so..." Dick trailed off as he swung is fork around as if it would conjure up the words he wad looking for.

"Girly?" You suggested. "I get it, you probably thought he'd end up with someone like yourselves."

Everyone at the table felt a bead of sweat drop from their foreheads.

"What?" Stephanie asked with a nervous laugh.

"She knows." They all snapped their necks to look at Damian and then their father at the head of the table.

He sighed, "Damian I trust that you thought about all this before giving us away?"

"Of course I did. Do not suggest that they are not trustworthy." Bruce and Damian had a bit of a stare off. While that was happening Stepahine had kicked Tim out of his chair beside you.

"You're hair is so gorgeous! What do you use?" She asked as she held a strand in her palm.

"Oh, I cannot think of the name! But there's some up in Damian's bathroom, I'll show it to you."

Dick leaned over the table, "I thought I was going crazy when I started smelling perfumes off him!" You laughed at his comment.

"What do you use? It smells similar to the one Kori uses."

You began to chat with the vigilantes about all sorts of things. Telling Cass and Stephanie about the products you use and where you shop, listening to stories about Dick and Kori. Jason chimed in with a few book recommendations and reviews after learning you like to read. Quickly you found yourself having conversations with all the Waynes like it was as easy as breathing. As you were laughing at some Internet joke you and Tim were discussing, you spotted a poute on your boyfriend's face. And it finally clicked.

Damian Al Ghul was jealous of his own family.

He kept your relationship a secret and avoided introducing you for so long because he didn't want them to steal your attention.

You couldn't help but smile at that.

A/N: First piece published!! I welcome back feedback with open arms. Please just don't take this opportunity to be rude. I'd love to know if I write ooc or if my grammars incorrect, ect.

Shout out to Damian Al Ghul my gatekeeping king🙏

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