𓏴 ◞ definition of @thexweapon: a woman obsessed with james logan "wolverine" howlett.
⊹ ᨘ໑▸ basic info : unlabled , any prns ★ 18 ★ infp-t ★ eng/span ★ new fic writer </3 ★ moodboard maker ★
fandoms -- masterlists -- dream lovers
BYI > >
i have a lot of hyperfixations that change a lot , i curse freq and say slurs as jokes ( that i reclaim ) , kys/kms jokes , i am multifandom !!
DNI > >
basic dni material like.. dmsp, homophobia , racist, rcta, lesboys, zionists , disrespectful , dislike my interests , proshippers , maga , ai / ai "artists" , and much more.
feel free to message me to bmf !!!! i dont bite, promise ;0
Kento Nanami absolutely melts under your touch, knees practically buckling beneath him as his head nuzzles into the crook of your neck— his shoulders begin to droop as his fingers claw into the plush of your skin, crescents beginning to form before he calms.
The first time everyone saw it they were in awe, mouths gaping open as they watched his hair fall shabbily into his eyes post mission, legs speeding up to make sure you were really in front of him and not some sort of delusion formed from extreme blood loss and stress. You were waiting for him in the medical ward with Shoko, dropping conversation immediately as your arms opened for him expectantly— the group consisted of Yuji, gojo, and megumi with eyes wide and gojos phone out to take a photo of this monumental moment. They could only make out the whispers of something along the lines of ‘What happened, Ken?’ and an ‘everything’s okay now, love.’
He hated that you had to see him like this, blood running down from his forehead and arms almost limp around you but found himself praying to whatever God would listen to never take you away from him— someone who he didn’t have to hide around, who would hold him and understand his silence. His head only rose as you attempted to get a good look at him, fingers wiping the blood dripping down onto his eyelids with only a soft “let’s get all of you fixed up, alright?” His hand fell into yours as you looked back to lead the rest, thumb rubbing against the coarse skin of his hand.
You were the first person he believed when you said everything was going to be okay, because everything was okay when he was in your arms. The world seemed to stop when he was with you, like latching to you was the puzzle piece he was missing his whole life. No one mentioned anything when they saw him again, too enamored by the fact that there was another Nanamin that only you knew— one that loved like no one else was watching.
Hiromi Higuruma instinctively covers his nose; it’s a habit that he never thought to break. Hands rising to cover his face when he laughs, or hands rising over his mouth and nose as he throws his head back over his desk chair. In truth, it must have started in secondary school, the snide comments and laughs as he turned into that awkward pubescent boy who was speech and debate captain and could never seem to get a date to homecoming.
Now, successful job and all, he tries his best to be blissfully unaware of the internal damage the hellhole that was his high school life caused. He’s still that insecure teenage boy that he used to be, just in expensive tailored suits and a car that most of the people at his high school reunion couldn’t afford.
Except now he has a date.
Not one that asked him out to get laughs from their lunch table or leave him waiting at the local diner until his mom called, worried sick that he had been kidnapped. A date that he couldn’t comprehend why you would have even spoken to him— why you, out of all people, would kiss the tip of his nose and rub his leg when it naturally shook as his brow furrowed at case files. Who would hum his name, the light “hiro…” coming out of your mouth as you lowered his hand from his face, always questioning why he hid himself from you. He loved holding your hand to his face, dragging out the moments of your love—what could his past life possibly have done to deserve you? Someone who loved every part of him, even the ones that he considered breaking and (horribly) attempting to piece back together.
in which higuruma asks you out to a Valentine's Day dinner.
Hiromi Higuruma doesn’t have time for relationships. The up-downs from secretaries and any topic of office chit-chat that included him were drowned out by the blinds of his office as he covered himself in copious amounts of work that made him forget about any romantic life he had (or any life in general outside of work). He was a working man in his 30’s, he didn’t need a relationship to feel fulfilled, right? A successful law firm, a paycheck he couldn’t spend himself, and a nice new car would suffice.
He definitely wasn’t feeling a little sore as February 14th crept up on him faster than he could mentally prepare himself, and suddenly his firm was decorated in red rose bouquets and cheesy Valentine's Day signs. He watched as your closet took on more pinks and reds than usual, a small red kitten heel or a pink button-up with your slacks or a pencil skirt. He loved you in pink, though he didn’t know how to tell you without seeming like a creep.
He watched as the flower bouquets and edible arrangements got delivered to what seemed like everyone’s desk except his own, secretaries doting over who got the largest bouquet from their boyfriends and giggling over their plans for the night. He remembered your tone as you chuckled along with them, gaze lingering on the notes with pet names and raunchy jokes. Totally didn’t make him feel like he was missing out on something crucial.
Something that the zeroes on his paycheck couldn’t buy him.
He knows well enough that he could, if he wanted to. The idea of forcing himself on blind dates that his coworkers would set up with other thirty-year-olds who wanted to forget the fact that they were alone for another romantic holiday wasn’t exactly how he wished to spend his weekend, though.
His body hunched over the mahogany grain, hands weaving through tufts of hair as he watched the sun begin to set on his papers. He knew the click of your heels on the wooden floor, the soft knock of your palm as he composed himself for you— his head immediately rose to your face, a smile as soon as his gaze could linger on you for a moment longer than the passing moments in the halls.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Higuruma. The office had to include you in your favorite holiday. He watched as you pulled the heart-shaped chocolate box from behind your back, practically floating your way over towards his desk. Your red cardigan shifted as your hip went to lean on the corner, watching his stare. “You know the average thirty-something-year-old has something to do tonight, right?”
“It’s a good thing neither of us is average, isn’t it?” his chair rolled out from under him, moving away quickly enough that it seemed as if he couldn’t trust himself with you almost sitting atop his desk (What an HR nightmare that would be). It would be a better gift than the chocolate box, he must say. Your arms rose to your chest, crossing as you watched him grab his coat and bag from the nearest hook.
“Well, you’re quite the gentleman, aren’t you?” A scoff escaped your lips, a tell of your exhaustion with the mix of giddiness that lingered in your heart as you watched him. Your arms pushed your body up from the desk, feet finding their way across the hardwood floors to leave him alone again. “Automatically assuming I don’t have someone to go home to tonight.”
He followed you out, watching you sweep your purse and coat off your desk in a manner that was more ungraceful than you would have liked him to see. You could feel his presence behind you, the soft graze of his fingers as he picked up the coat from the back, holding it up as you slid your arms in. “Well, do you?”
Your breath hitched as you turned, looking up at him as his hands slid into the pockets of the same black Todd Snyder topcoat that he always wore. “No, but that's not the point.”
“Well, since you don’t have someone to go home to. How about dinner?” A beat went by as his face went red, watching you process his request, buffering even. “Of course, as two single people celebrating another Valentine's Day without participating in the consumerist idealized version of the holiday?” His hand scratched the back of his neck, eyes closing before he could start cringing at himself.
“Enough lawyer talk if we’re going to have dinner together.” Your smile was contagious; the lightest rise of his cheeks was enough for you to feel as if today was a success. “You have to be crazy if you think we’re going to get a seat at any restaurant tonight, though.”
In truth, Higuruma had been plotting this moment in his head for longer than he would like to admit. He would hate to say that he’s had reservations for tonight for weeks, not exactly having a plan of what to do with them if you had said no— going out alone on Valentine’s day would be more humiliating than he’s into (he’s a lawyer for Christ’s sake, he’s in the humiliation game!).
“Don’t worry about that, people love to help you when you get them off of criminal charges.” His chest rose and fell like he was drowning in your silence, face turning as red as the roses that sat on every desk that surrounded him. A hum left your lips as you watched him begin to fidget, deciding that was enough torture for him today.
“Alright, but you have to fake propose to me for free dessert.” Your purse slung over your shoulder as he hurried to hold the door for you, almost tripping over his feet— what the hell were you doing to him? He could only manage a laugh at first, the shock that you said yes to him finally setting in. He couldn’t formulate a sentence that wouldn’t seem too desperate, as if he wouldn’t become a step stool for you if you needed one.
“Whatever you wish, as long as I get to have dinner with you.”
author's note: yes im spreading the higuruma humiliation kink propoganda let me live
daily affirmations: i am allowed to be weird on tumblr. i am allowed to post stuff that makes me seem crazy because it's fun to do that. no one is watching me panopticon style they are just following me normalstyle. i am allowed to be weird on tumblr.