Im seriously asking for a part 2 for muzlim reader x ASL the first one was so adorable.
I want some action so can you add something with danger and The Bluejam pirates. Like reader gets taken? (Idk)
Jam pack meetings (ASL x f!child! Reader)
First of all I want to give a huge thanks to both @fangirl0027 and @onepiece-asl-lover for beta reading this to make sure it was respectful and accurate. Thank you Lover for being patient with me and informing about the different aspects of the religion and what some of it’s customs entail and thank you Fan for helping me further include the muslim identity into the story and for all your A+ writing and general feedback.
Okay with that out of the way I want to point out that making a part two of the previous part with the bluejam pirates wouldn’t really work out as the bluejam pirate scuffle happened before they were friends (Let’s go with this and not the fact that I did it this way cause I totally forgot it was supposed to be a second part) so this piece is completely independent to the previous one. But guys guys I really really like how it turned out and I hope you guys do too 🤭. Also peek that tittle, get it Jam packed? Because it’s the bluejam pirates? 😀
Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese
Dividers by @/fireflygraphics and @/drinkthesky
“Ace, I really think you are going overboard here,” Dokucha called hesitantly, watching Luffy run away from the tree trunk Ace had sent to create distance from them.
“Shut up,” he snarled, his demeanor softening slightly as he noticed the small flinch his outburst had caused.
“Tch. If we don’t keep him away, that idiot will find our hideout; if that happens, it’s over, he’ll begin blabbering about it, and we’ll lose what we have done all these years,” he called, stomping off.
“Come on, Ace, look how stubborn he is; he has been at it for months; no matter how hurt he gets, I think he would keep the secret,” she replied, hurriedly running after him, carefully avoiding all the branches that threatened to snag her abaya.
“He could help us; having four people in on it would make sure we can get our ship faster.”
“As if,” he scoffingly laughed, much to the chagrin of Dokucha
“Like that idiot could save even a penny for the cause.”
“Jerk,” she mumbled as she frowned at Ace’s words.
“What was that?!”
“Nothing~” she laughed off, running past him and towards a familiar tree; whistling up towards it, she waited for the young boy she knew waited there
“Sabo, you here?” Ace hissed out
“Ah, you guys are here; I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” a voice echoed back.
“Sorry, someone was being a jerk, so we’re a little late,” she called back teasingly with a roll of her eyes as she circled the tree, her abaya swirling at her ankles, ignoring the scathing glare said jerk sent her way.
“I did a job in town already.”
“So did I,” Ace laughed as he climbed the tree.
“As did I,” she parroted, following in after him, slowly taking hold of the vines that covered the tree. Gradually, she climbed up and began climbing not far from the boy. However, not noticing her feet had accidentally gone over the hem of her abaya, she miscalculated her steps, causing her to lose her balance.
Thankfully, Ace was not far from her and easily grabbed her hand, preventing her from falling.
She sighed in relief, feeling his harm firmly hold her back; confusion soon followed as she remained in that position for a while, annoyance filling her as she found her answers on the growing smirk of the young boy.
“You better apologize for calling me a jerk earlier,” he teased.
“Ace, stop fooling around and help me up,” she hissed.
“Take back what you said.”
“No!”
“Ah, I think you’re slipping.” he teased as he leaned forward, causing Dokucha to tip further back.
“Okay! Okay! I take it back. You’re not a jerk!” She yelled out, letting out a sigh when her words were rewarded by Ace pulling her up into one of the thicker branches of the tree, ignoring her glare with a satisfied smile on his face
“I told you You’re going to fall off one of these days,” he said as he plopped himself down next to Sabo.
“And I told you to stop worrying. I’m getting used to it. I just need to practice. I’m getting better,” she huffed out, joining the two boys as they all pulled out sacks of money.
“Alright, this is what I got,” he beamed, opening his earnings.
“What do you have, Ace?” He questioned as he repeated his previous actions with Ace’s sack, letting out a choked laugh at the amount that laid inside
“This is more than what I got! How did you get this much?!
“Got it from some punks; I think they were transporting it for Mercenary ships,” he boasted, the feeling amplified by the awe in both of his friend’s faces.
“Alright, Alright, what about you, Dokucha?” he inquired as he opened the final bag, staring shocked at the amount of money that the girl had managed to gather, joined by Ace, who dug his hand in the loot, watching the golden coins fall from his hands in a Cascade.
“Where do you get this much?! It’s almost as much as mine and Sabo’s combined.” he gaped.
“I did babysitting and petsitting up in Hightown, the people there are quite generous with my salary after I take care of their babies, especially the pet owners.” She beamed, watching as Sabo gleefully poured their combined gains into a secret compartment hidden by the tree
“Do you think we’re getting close?” She asked excitedly, leaning into the filled compartment
“We still got a long way to go.”
“How much do we need to buy a pirate ship?” Sabo asked, looking up at Ace
“Don’t know ten million? Hundred million, now shut it and hide it already; someone might see it,” he said, watching as Sabo complied, closing the compartment and once again rearranging the leaves and moss nearby to hide it further.
“A pirate ship?! Are you guys going to be pirates?! So am I!!” A voice bellowed from below them, causing all three of them to freeze at the fact that they had been discovered
“Luffy?!” She gawked, looking down at the boy, not noticing the glance Sabo and Ace shared behind her as they quickly scrambled down the tree
“W-wait Ace! Sabo, don’t you dare!” She pleaded, running after the two boys who tackled Luffy down, making quick work of him and tying him to a nearby tree
“Oh! It’s you!” Luffy exclaimed, looking at the girl
“Are you Ace’s friends?! Be my friend, too!” he exclaimed, beaming.
“Ok -
“Shut it.” Ace deadpanned easily, cutting him off, sending an accusatory finger toward Dokucha not taking his eyes off Luffy
“You too.”
“You followed me all the way here? I even took harder paths to avoid it,” Ace growled, turning to look at the rubber boy.
“This is why I told you to stay here too, Ace! And you too, Dokucha! Especially you! You already live in the gray terminal!”
“I’m sorry! I wanted to join Ace’s mountain training!” She wailed
“Well, that training backfired now,” he snapped back, ignoring the dejected look on her face at his scolding.
“We can’t leave him be; he will tell the whole town, so… let’s kill him,”
he muttered with a dark look taking over his features as he crossed his arms
“Let’s do it.” Sabo readily agreed, a similarly dark look on his face
Panicked, Dokucha hurried to stand in front of him, her covered arms extended to protect the boy.
“Guys, there has to be another w-
Once again, her words were cut off as the violent screams and protests of Luffy reverberated across the forest, and soon after, voices were able to be heard coming closer to them; with hurried words exchanged between the duo, Ace made quick work of the ropes holding Luffy down as he pulled the boy along, Sabo mirroring his actions with the young girl, all of them jumping into a nearby bush as the voices came closer.
They watched as Porchemy scouted the area with his subordinates. As they talked, Dokucha noticed something alarming, and she repeatedly tapped Sabo to gain his attention.
“What?!” he hissed
“Luffy’s gone,” she whispered back
“What?!” Ace choke out
“Where is he?” His question was answered as the girl simply pointed to the pirates they were hiding from, a very familiar form on their hands
“We have to help him!” she stated as she started pushing the bushes to get closer.
“No. Leave it, Dokucha,” Sabo snapped back, holding back the girl from jumping into the fray.
“But they will kill him!”
“Dokucha,” Ace hissed, helping Sabo in holding her down.
“We need to go move out treasure before the idiot babbles about it. Do you want to lose all the progress we made all these years?” he pleaded, holding her shoulders.
“Fine,” she deflated and agreed hesitantly, following after the two as they ran back towards their hideout, looking back as they dragged Luffy away.
“Luffy!” Dokucha whispered and shouted up at the boy, looking around as she approached him slowly, frowning at the image of the blood trickling down the hanging boy, guilt slowly filling her body at the sight
“It’s you! Are you here to save me?!” Luffy called, head snapping up
“Yes, now shush, or you’ll get us both caught!” she said, frown deepening at the state of his bruised face, pulling out an arrow from behind her , loading it into her bow and aiming for the rope holding him up, catching the injured boy as he fell into her arms.
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” she muttered, helping him stand up.
“I don’t think so,” Porchemy cut in
Dokucha froze, turning around at the unexpected voice; before she could react, however, she was sent back with a powerful punch from his spiked gloves.
“Ack!” she groaned, rolling on the ground.
“I really liked this one too.” She briefly lamented at the blood debris now staining her abaya
“Are you also Ace’s friend?” he snarled, slowly approaching her.
“I won’t tell you anything,” she snarled, spitting out a blob of blood and glancing at her bow that now lay at the corner of the room, thrown aside with Porchemy’s attack.
“I’m sure you will change your mind once you are in the same condition as the twerp over there,” he spoke, gesturing towards the huffing Luffy next to her.
“No way! I won’t ever say anything to a jerk like you!” she sneered, moving in front of Luffy.
“We’ll see about that,” he roared, running towards her as she pulled Luffy close to her, enveloping him as she braced for the attack, only for it to be stopped as familiar voices joined the fray.
“Stop it!” Ace and Sabo roared as they charged toward Porchemy
“Ace!” she cried as Porchemy easily took a hold of him easily, choking him.
“Sabo!” He choked out, watching as said boy easily sneaked his way behind the giant and pummeled him to the ground with his pipe, running towards Dokucha and Luffy, taking hold of the boy and making a run for it, gesturing for the girl to follow suit
“Let’s get out of here, Ace!”
“You go on ahead; I will not run away from someone I am facing,” he stated as he stubbornly dug his feet to the ground.
“Ace, there is nothing to gain from this, so let’s go!” Dokucha howled
“Tch. You wait here.” Sabo muttered, dropping Luffy in a corner and turning to the girl, throwing her a familiar weapon
“My bow!”
“Watch my back!” he called, running towards Porchemy and Ace, ready to join the fray.
“Of course!” she agreed, loading her bow and aiming for the pirate.
“Die,” she growled, letting go of the taut string while Sabo and Ace let out their own battle cries.
“You have a bad habit, Ace! You need to run when facing a pirate. Do you have a death wish?” Sabo yelled, scolding the boy and glaring at him as Dokucha tended to Ace’s wounds, wrapping them in bandages.
“I was so scared! I thought I was going to die!!” Luffy wailed
“Shut up! You’ve been crying for hours; I hate crybabies!” He shouted at the boy, wincing as the girl in front of her tightened his bandages more than needed
“Be nice.” She muttered, rolling her eyes as she finished bandaging him, watching him storm closer to the crying Luffy as she gestured towards Sabo, beginning to similarly work on his wounds
“Thanks -hic- Thank you for saving me”
“Yo-
“He’s just saying Thanks!” Sabo exclaimed from his spot in front of Dokucha as Ace made a run to tackle Luffy
“You know, I think those two will get along just fine,” She sighed affectionately with a smile on her face.
“You think so?” they seem like oil and water to me, the blond replied skeptically.
“Yes, but they have lots of things in common; they are both just as hotheaded and stubborn as each other,” she laughed, finishing the last bandage on the boy and giving him a slight tap to signal the boy on the completed job.
“You’re right there,” he mumbled, looking as said boys went at it
“Regardless, you and I are in trouble now,” he sighed, gaining the attention of Ace and Luffy as he mindlessly helped Dokucha with her own injuries, helping her tuck the hair strands peeking out from her hijab that had nearly come undone on the scuffle.
“We have been living in this dump, but with what we just did to the Bluejam pirates, that’s not safe anymore.”
“Then come stay with us,” Ace easily offered.
Here it is guys!!!! Again thank you for my beta readers for helping me with this, im so happy how it turned out and I hope you guys like it too!
being a hijabi and wanting to read things where the reader is a muslim and the character is headcanon muslim is impossible… PLEASE I JUST WANT JAMES POTTER TO BE MUSLIM FOR MY ENJOYMENT PLEASE
Itachiyama Institute, one of the schools in Tokyo, Japan, boasts numerous athletic clubs and exchange programs.
"If you stare at her like that, she'll feel scared of you."
Sakusa glanced irritably at his cousin before scanning his surroundings.
The girl Sakusa noticed was from the adjacent class and was one of the exchange students.
Her appearance differed from that of other girls, unwittingly attracting the attention of the curly-haired young man. She seemed to radiate, but not in a way that demanded attention overall.
The analogy of a sunset seemed fitting to describe her.
Shining without blinding, her softness was comforting.
However, what particularly caught the eye of the Ace who ranked in the top three in Japan was--
She wore a mask.
There was nothing wrong with wearing a mask in school or other public places.
But she consistently wore one.
Every day.
Every single day.
He pondered.
He wasn't sure since they weren't in the same class, but he often unintentionally caught glimpses of her, even though she never removed her mask.
Unintentionally.
"If you're curious, why don't you approach her and introduce yourself at least."
The brown-haired young man averted his eyes after feeling a sharp, piercing stare.
Indeed, what was to be expected regarding social interaction from a Sakusa Kiyoomi.
However, Komori himself began to feel repulsed by his cousin's silent behavior over time. It felt like being asked to be a bystander watching a stalker observe every move of their target.
"I can't, we're different."
Komori also observed it; the difference between them was stark.
The girl secretly admired by Sakusa (though he denies it) held beliefs different from theirs.
Komori swore, the browsing history on the laptop was the only silent witness of his efforts. (While he himself was the real witness, bro.)
The characteristics of covered clothing, especially fabric protecting her head, revealed the identity of the girl. Komori glanced at the girl in silence, then at Sakusa as they briefly headed towards the gymnasium.
Sakusa realized that gaze returning to the girl. Unaware that his ears were turning red, he recalled a few days ago, just after school ended.
It was their turn for classroom cleaning duty that day. Specifically, a day before the school holiday. Fortunately, he had a cooperative partner.
In the end, the classroom was immaculate in Sakusa's definition.
After completing the task, as he was about to rush to the gymnasium, he was left speechless in the middle of the way.
He met her.
The girl with the mask.
With the mask open for the first time.
She seemed to be enjoying the view of the school garden in her solitude, undisturbed by her surroundings.
The young man stood frozen in silence, his breath catching as he beheld the face of the girl who had always captivated his attention, her features now revealed thoroughly for the first time. Without the mask that had always concealed them.
His eyes widened in surprise, his heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty, as he beheld the sight before him, unable to tear his gaze away from her newly revealed face.
A clean face without blemishes, with a sweet nose and lips--
"Enjoying the surprise."
Caught off guard, Sakusa jerked his head away, quickly tucking his hands into his jersey pocket.
Even though she wore a mask, he felt exposed under her gaze.
"Please keep this a secret, alright."
Her voice was calm yet firm, and of course, he nodded in agreement.
He didn't understand, as if there was a magnet pulling him to look at the girl. But on the other hand, there was a whisper in his heart to avert his gaze.
Was he hypnotized...
"Arigatou, Sakusa Kiyoomi-san."
Next, only the sound of footsteps fading away, followed by the rhythm of his pounding heart accelerating even more.
Arigatou, Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Arigatou--
"Sakusa Kiyoomi, I swear if you're still standing there like that, I'll throw this ball at your face."
The captain's voice snapped the young man out of his reverie.
"Komori, what's wrong with him?!"
Komori stared blankly in silence at Sakusa, then at Iizuna in succession.
This is my first time writing in English 😥. I hope it's not too bad, and I hope you enjoy reading it 🤗. Assalamu'alaikum, and greetings👋.
Can I request for a strawhat x Muslim female reader? Specifically Shia :)if you don’t know what it’s do some research! IT’s currently 4am idek what am I doing :,)
Have a nice day/night/afternoon! :D
─Strawhats x muslim!fem!reader
─Summary: some headcanons of the strawhats with you being a muslim, nothing more, nothing less
─Warnings: none
Oh, it's fine! I'm sorry if this was too general or if there are stereotypes, despite my search I still don't know much about the culture, I'm sorry for that 😓, if there's anything I need to correct or change, let me know!
─ Luffy probably doesn't fully understand your traditions, since this boy doesn't believe in anything other than giant flying spaghetti as his only god and only because it's food, but he has no problems, you're super cool, whether it's because of your powers, strength or personality! It's the only thing you need.
─ The rest simply don't care about your beliefs, if they are different or the same as theirs, it's fine for them, it's no problem.
─ Robin is surely the most interested in your traditions, holidays… she always listens to you so interested in the history of your religion that she makes you spend entire nights sharing curiosities and stories.
─ Nami will hit Zoro and Sanji because when they fight they are very loud and they usually do it at the least opportune moment, that is, when you want to do your prayers.
─ Sanji bought a book especially about typical food from your area so that you could taste the dishes that you liked the most, he will ask you for help to know if he is doing it right or if the flavor is right.
─ Zoro will probably ask you to teach him bad words in your language so he can cause some chaos when he gets lost on some random island.
─ On the other hand, Ussopp will ask you to teach him some of your native language just out of curiosity, plus this way you could have a method of communicating without others knowing what you are up to, although Robin will surely understand it since she asked you before.
─ Nami loves your hijab and she will leave you some money (interest-free) to buy more in different colors so you can change your style, she will also try to create different 'hairstyles' with the fabric.
─ Although it's usually Franky who changes your hairstyle, since he is used to doing it with his hair, it's an easy job for him, master any style you want, just tell him what you want and you will have a nice hairstyle made of soft fabric in question of minutes.
─ Chopper is more attentive to you during Ramadan because he thinks that you will faint from not eating anything during the day, poor Chopper does not know that you are completely used to it and it is something normal for you.
─ Long time without listening to typical melodies or songs from your house? No problem, sing or hum a couple of notes and Brook will be playing that same music for you, it'll just cost you a punch after he asks about your underwear, nothing out of the ordinary with this guy…
─ It may not be exactly the same as praying, but Jinbe will invite you to meditate with him, usually you do it after you finish your midday prayer to let your thoughts flow.
─ They try not to bother you during Āshūrā since according to what you told Robin about your history, for your people it was a day of mourning, a day to commemorate a painful death, so everything remained much calmer during that day.
─ If someone looks at you badly, whether because of your appearance or your beliefs, they will make others respect you by throwing punches if necessary.
pairing: peter parker x Muslim!fem!reader
summary: peter seems to grow a liking to the pretty girl in a hijab working in the bookstore down the road from the daily bugle, but he's too shy to make a move. now they're both stuck on a few-hours train, it won't get better than this.
warnings: none, just an absolutely simped peter and an equally whipped reader, teeth-rotting fluff, sharing headphones, super halal! <3 this is written with gender-neutral pronouns but the reader is fem presenting which means they're wearing a hijab!
note: hello hello, this is 100% based on one picture I saw on Pinterest of a guy and a girl sharing headphones on the subway and it got me thinking of them <3333 enjoy!!
It was getting dark. The clock is ticking to four p.m. and y/n was growing worried that they might not make it home on time. The subway TVs keep announcing delayed trains and they're wondering if they should've called their brother to come and pick them up from the bookstore.
They'd say this week has ended on a good tone, from the good sales they've made and the tips they've received, and that pretty cute guy in the navy-blue jacket with a thin hood... yeah, it's been a great week.
If they're being honest, y/n is in no rush to get home. They're in a good mood, and that will be crushed the second they step foot through the threshold of their home, so every second spent standing on this platform was cherished.
Until the speakers went off announcing the arrival of the train leading to their destination. With a sigh, y/n stashed their hands in their puff coat's pockets and stepped towards the lines on the floor that indicated the location of the automatic sliding doors.
Meanwhile, a brunette boy with glasses was skipping the stairs to make it to the platform, trying his best to catch the next train out so he won't be any later than he already was.
He promised his aunt he'd make it on the clock this time, and yet there he was, fixing up his wrinkled tie and straightening out his unpressed suit jacket. He was a mess, he knew it, and the familiar person next to him knew it too.
He had to do a double take because this is so not how he wanted to be seen by his crush, but when he did, and their features remained the same, he went red in the face. The tips of his ears fired up and the heat traveled down to his necklace-adorned neck.
He wanted to disappear.
But they were here, the single person he's been thinking about non-stop for the past two months. The only reason he was falling back into his reading habits, the only cause he'd think about while reading romance, the single person he'd dream of when annotating said romance books.
And they... y/n's process march halted the moment Peter stepped onto the train. It was like every rational thought had evaporated and was replaced with endless screeching. Their eyes widened and they zapped their gaze to the ground, a hand slapped their mouth in shock.
He was a well-put-together mess. y/n kept sneaking half glances at him to see the way the black suit complemented his figure so well, the way it stuck to him, and how unironed it was.
They almost felt bad, but the next glance cast to his face only to see it beet red erased that thought.
For a split moment, y/n thought he had noticed them staring and felt embarrassed either by his look or by being stared at, so it was their turn to blush.
The two of them spent a good, stretched-out, awkward ten minutes staring ahead with heated cheeks and awkward stances before Peter cleared his throat.
He's been trying so hard for the past three weeks to gain this person's attention, and so far has only succeeded in spending too much money on romance books recommended by them and a simple "have a great day" while leaving the store, and every time he'd face-palm.
But this, this is the perfect opportunity to talk to them, get to know them, maybe even give them his number-
"I've seen you before, haven't I?"
And they're the ones to break the silence, staring at him with hesitant eyes and pressed lips, Peter realizes half a minute later that he's just been staring open-mouthed at them. He immediately shuts his mouth and hums a tight-lipped "mhmm", not moving his eyes away from them.
Their lips stretch into a simple smile, and they nod, "I knew it, you looked familiar. Did you come by the bookstore-"
"Off 39th and Second Avenue? yeah," He laughs, a sound so gentle and sweet it makes y/n sigh in disbelief. "Visited twice this past week alone."
They clap, their almost fake enthusiasm replaced with genuine excitement, "I knew it! I've seen you around a lot. You always get romance books."
Peter chuckles, almost feeling like he's been caught. He bows his head with a shy smile and nods, "And you always recommended the best ones."
y/n blushed, smiled, and waved it off, "You can obviously tell I daydream a lot." they laughed, and peter chuckled along with them. "Oh don't worry, I've been doing my fair share of daydreaming lately too."
The underlying message didn't go unnoticed by y/n, in fact, they paused and stared at him for further explanation, but Peter stuttered and mumbled his words that they both ended up just laughing it off.
y/n recognizes how risky what they were doing was, talking to a boy, a complete stranger, on the train going home. It sounded like every Arab kid's dream and nightmare wrapped in one. But they were risky, that's what they do. They were never ones to go along with the rules, never ones to follow tradition, but it wasn't like they were kissing or touching, right? It could be worse, but it's not.
The silence that followed was comfortable, and Peter got brave enough to ask for their number, but y/n apologetically turned him down, "Can't give you that, sorry. It's personal."
He didn't argue, only nodded in understanding and assured them that it was alright. For a moment, when they had started to feel bad and give him some sort of media to contact them on, Peter held out one of his wired earphones for them to wear.
y/n glanced between the earpiece and him with furrowed brows, but they took it nonetheless. Peter put the one in his hand in and gestured for them to do the same. y/n gently pushed the earpiece through the front of their hijab and into their ear before making sure it was secure in place. Peter held up a thumbs-up and they reciprocated it, then he pressed play, and "talk" by Hozier began to play.
y/n can confidently say that must've been their best and most enjoyed train ride ever, and they'd definitely be seeing the pretty boy with a head full of fluffy brunette strands again.
notes: fuck this got riddled with feels so quickly im sorry sdkfjhskfjhs
warnings: bruce x muslim!reader, reader has a dad who passed, mention of angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
***
when bruce makes his way up to the bedroom, he is curious to find the bed missing a certain someone. the pillow has a concaved dent, the sheets are crumpled, and the duvet is pushed down to the foot of the bed. that's unusual, he notes, she's never been an early riser.
he saunters towards the ensuite bathroom and finds y/n leaning into the mirror over the sink, applying mascara on her lashes. she takes a quick glance at him and smiles.
"morning, honey. how was your patrol?"
gone are his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants she always sleeps in. she's now clad in an off-white flowy dress that falls around her ankles and bell sleeves down to her elbows. a pale yellow scarf drapes over her head and on one shoulder. if she looks like the sun, bruce would go blind from staring at her in a heartbeat.
"fine," he musters. "where are you going?"
"the mosque?"
he frowns. that's even more unusual, he muses, she never goes to mosque.
"for eid prayer?" she gently reminds him.
"right. sorry, i forgot. happy eid." he kisses her softly, briefly on the cheek.
"it's alright, bruce. and thank you," she beams, sensing the guilt in his tone. "why don't you shower and go to bed? i'll see you back in a bit."
"you're not gonna celebrate?"
she shrugs lightly. "it's no big deal. i'm just gonna go pray, visit the old man, and go back home. see what alfred makes for breakfast."
"can i come?"
she pauses, looking at him in surprise. "are you sure? you look like you had a long night."
this time, he shrugs. "i want to."
he drives her to the mosque, a repurposed old church uptown, and waits in the car. listens to the unfamiliar arabic prayers. watching the movements from the window. the raising of the hands, the unison allahu akbar's and aamiin's. the bowing and prostrating. he doesn't practice it (or anything, for that matter), but that quiet spring morning, he understands the solemnity that comes with it.
she intertwines her fingers with his when she returns to the car. "ready to go?"
"yeah." bruce squeezes for a moment before he lets go, starting the engine.
her old man rests on the north edge of the city, on top of the hill with a headstone that signified his name and the years he spent on this Earth. bruce's footsteps falter behind her, as if not wanting to invade her space as she just... hovers in front of his grave.
"would you like me to give you a moment?" he quietly offers.
"no, don't." her hand reaches for him, and he can't imagine not taking it. "stay?"
"of course."
bruce holds her hand, rubbing his thumb as she bows her head in silent prayer, running her hand over her face when she finishes.
"you know, eid is about forgiveness," she says, "every year, i'd come out here seeking forgiveness for all the times i took my dad for granted. and forgiving him for all the times he took me for granted."
"i take you for granted," he pipes up thoughtfully. "more times than i'm proud of. i'm selfish and revengeful and stubborn--"
"hey, hey, hey. it's okay." she holds his hand a little tighter. then, ever so carefully, she continues, "sometimes it's about forgiving yourself too, you know. can you do that?"
he doesn't answer for the longest time. and y/n doesn't press for it. for a while, they just stand there, hand-in-hand, looking at the sky behind the dark clouds looming over, and the wet grass below.
and then, with a heavy sigh, bruce finally decides with, "i don't know."
it's an inconclusive conclusion. but she sees right through him. she sees the conflict, the chaos running through his mind, and how he's trying his damnedest to keep it together. and that's more than enough right now.
"okay, sweetheart." she brings up their clasped hands, kissing his knuckles and holding it close to her chest. "ready to go?"
Hi I'm really scared to ask this but um Ramadan is almost over so I was thinking how would nanami react to a Muslim s/o where she wears her scarf and everyone else is confused about it but he like explains how it works and is very supportive of her. like I said I'm scared of how you would react to this.please ignore it if you feel uncomfortable,it won't change my opinion about your work, your work and personality have a special place in my heart and nothing would change that (sorry that was very long)
Hey there luv❤
first of all, please don’t be scared, ‘kay? This is a safe space and all are welcome here; especially if they don’t feel welcome elsewhere.
That being said, I really really hope I got everything right in this and that you can find yourself accepted and welcome with this reader insert. If anything, we love to have you here and please don’t hesitate to ever come to us if you need anything at all – from maybe words of encouragement to maybe another specific request? Either way, thank you for putting your trust in us and being here✨
You are valid. You are loved. You are appreciated – mesu.
[ps. this imagine was brought to you by Tsuda Kenjirō whispering sweet nothings into my ear.]
Nanami Kento x f!reader
“By the way, (Y/N), why don’t you ever take that scarf of yours off?” Itadori asked, innocently enough.
Your body tensed and you grabbed the handle of the car’s door unconsciously. You had dreaded the mention of your attire ever since you were put in charge of taking care of the first years together with your boyfriend Nanami, given Gojō‘s preoccupation with whatever special grade curse was eager to make their presence known at that moment.
Currently, you were crowded together in Ijichi’s car after a long field trip; Fushiguro, Nobara and Itadori in the back row; Nanami on the wheel while you were riding shotgun.
In short, you were left with no room to escape.
“I...,” you started off, struggling to find the right words. Would they laugh at you? You didn’t take them for a bigoted bunch, but there was always a certain.. lack of understanding in people’s reactions. Even if they wouldn’t laugh, they certainly wouldn’t look at you the same anymore. They never did.
Why would you wear it, if you don’t have to?
Surely, it’s just because you’re self-conscious about your appearance.
Are you bald underneath it?
Your breath caught in your throat and you struggled to get any sound over your lips. An all too familiar feeling of nausea spread in your stomach, when—
“Actually, nowadays it is mostly referred to as a hijab.”
Your head shot up, eyes wide open as you took in your boyfriend’s profile, who stoically gazed at the road ahead.
“To my understanding, women of Muslim belief wear it to show their dedication to their god Allah. It is also said to protect them from the male gaze…”
“Well, it does look cool when Y/N-sensei wears it,” Nobara muttered under her breath, already well aware that proposing the use of hijab as a mere fashion statement most likely wouldn’t sit right with you.
“Huh, Allah? That’s such a cool name for a god, even if it’s hard to pr— oi, don’t hit me Fushiguro!” Itadori rubbed his aching shoulder.
“Your lack of proper pronunciation may insult Y/N-sensei.” Fushiguro simply shrugged.
Not really registering the ruckus on the back seat, you couldn’t help staring at Nanami in disbelief. You had never actually talked about your faith and religious background so far since he never asked and you just assumed that — given Japan’s majority in Buddhist and Shinto belief — he just didn’t care all that much for another religion. Apparently, you had been blatantly wrong in that regard, as Nanami continued his monologue, eyes never straying from the road.
“It doesn’t surprise me that Japan’s education system cut short on that as it seems… Either way, we live in such a fickle and unrelenting world that expressions of faith and belonging can save people from a lot of harm. And Y/N here actually shares her belief with about a quarter of the entire world’s population.”
Nanami stopped the car at a red light and turned to you, a gentle smile on his lips. You felt his hand on yours, pressing it in a calming manner as he turned back to your students.
“In my opinion, faith can prevent a lot of negative emotions and therefore possible cursed energy from forming. So, you could say that Y/N and people like her actively work against more curses coming into existence, even if they are not aware that they’re doing exactly that. And I for once think that’s a wonderful thing.”
“Nanami…,” you finally brought over your lips. Your heart got heavier by the minute, not having expected any of these words. Your faith was something very close to your heart and you hadn’t hoped for any kind of understanding on his part at all. Now, being told that your community actively prevented new curses from being born was a perspective you had never even considered before.
Nanami gifted you a fleeting smile before he turned his attention back to the road.
“If you’re interested in learning more about it all, you better consult Y/N, though. She’s the expert here after all.”
And just like that the tension which had been building up in your chest vanished in thin air. For the rest of the trip back to the school, you had to answer every nagging question Itadori could come up with. At times, even Fushiguro chimed in with in-depth follow-ups and by the time you arrived back on school grounds you had promised Nobara to show her how to put on different styles of your headwear.
When you finally sent your students on their merry way home, you turned to Nanami just to find him gazing at you fondly.
“I’m on your side, Y/N, as long as you allow me to.”
Pairing: Helmut Zemo x Muslim!Reader; Steve Rogers x Muslim!Reader (Past); Bucky Barnes x Muslim!Reader (Unrequited)
Warnings: Angst; Hurt/Comfort; Not Canon Compliant; Grief; Possessive/Obsessive Characters; Blackmail/Coercion; Canon-Levels of Violence; Character Death (Past); Character Death (Minor); Discussion of The Snap; Eventual Smut; Chapter Specific Warnings Apply
Chapter Warnings: Angst; Grief; Minor Hurt/Comfort, Definitely Not-Great Coping Mechanisms, Further Discussion of Major Character Death (Steve Rogers); Mention of Food/Cooking; Death Discussion; Mention of Wounds
Chapter Summary: The shape of grief is the memory of your smile I will never see again.
Chapter 1
Notes: I have chosen to explicitly mark the Reader as Muslim for the remainder of this series as an act of representation. I want to note here that my experience of Islam is that of a Desi Shia Muslim and that is the perspective I will be writing the Reader. If I get certain facts wrong, it’s likely because I’m pulling from my own personal experience as a Muslim as opposed to diving into research due to conflicting narratives and out of respect for those who are of the various sects.
Please understand that the marking of the Reader as Muslim should not take away from anyone’s enjoyment of the story.
Karbala: The site of the martyrdom of Imam Hussayn ibn Ali. According to the stories of my childhood, Imam Hussayn and his family were denied food and water for three days and nights before he was martyred. To this day, if I don’t get my dad a glass of water immediately after he asks, he accuses me of being like the men who killed the Imam.
Anyways, huge thanks to @brandycranby who helped me anxiety my way through this chapter and also coined the phrase, “You’ve heard of Catholic guilt, now let me introduce you to Muslim guilt,” which is basically the theme of all my writings at this point.
All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.
Years ago, just after he got down on one knee, Steven Grant Rogers became a fugitive from the law. What an engagement present. What a marriage, what a honeymoon you two had, running from the government with Sam and the rest by your side, chasing down HYDRA and whoever else.
You still remember the day he did, showing up bruised, battered, beaten, Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson holding him up. You remember the news that day — the Winter Soldier accused of killing King T’Chaka, the world in chaos, and your doorstep a safe house you never expected.
Hey I know this is a big ask, I kn —
Don’t say anything, just come inside. Let me get my kit.
Now, as you kneel in the gray light of the early morning, listening to the sound of Bucky breathing quiet in bed next to you — always your bed, you need his presence and he needs yours, it’s been that way since you both came back — you wonder just how many traditions of Steve’s he plans to keep upholding.
Because Helmut Zemo is asleep in your guest room.
Yes.
That Helmut Zemo. That Helmut Zemo who actually blew up the UN building and killed King T’Chaka. That Helmut Zemo who revealed the truth of Howard and Maria Stark’s death and kept your family on the run.
That Helmut Zemo is asleep in your guest room.
Bucky, what the hell is this?
We need him, Doc. I’ll explain in a minute.
You don’t have too much time to think on that though — it’s morning, and your day begins when your prayers are ended.
So while Bucky sleeps still, your blanket also draped over him so he can have that extra layer of warmth to keep the nightmares at bay, you fold your prayer mat and leave the quiet sanctity of your bedroom.
You close the door behind you with the faintest click, and Bucky snores on. A peaceful morning — rare enough these days that you actually find yourself cherishing it.
Sam took up sentry on your couch, asleep on the pull-out bed you set up because he insisted on being able to watch Zemo’s door in case he tried anything funny. He’s asleep still too, brow furrowed by whatever he’s dreaming of and all you do is pick up the blanket he flung off sometime in the night, draping it back over him.
This.
This is the normal you expected and how bizarre is that? Take stock of your circumstances for a moment, just think. Here you are, with one super-soldier, one Avenger, and one escaped extremist in your house, all about to wake up in an hour or so. None of them will demand anything — too polite by half — but they will need breakfast and you don’t trust anyone but yourself in your kitchen anymore.
You might be becoming your mother here.
Wipe that thought from your mind.
Don’t think of the past, don’t think of the people you will never see again — their faces bubble in your memories, calling you back, calling you home, calling you to the places you cannot go.
Don’t let them draw you in, not this time.
You start the kettle and coffeemaker instead, justifying it by reminding yourself in hushed whispers — Not everyone drinks tea the way you do…
There. Hold onto the counter, let the sob rip through you. Hold on, dig your fingers into the hard stone, gasp out that helpless little noise, let yourself feel it, let it pass through you just this moment.
It will never stop.
It will never ever stop.
You make a home of it, the temporary accommodations and safe houses you find yourself in every so often. Sometimes you wonder if Tony has a hand in all of it, in keeping the world from finding Steve, or if T’Challa’s the one watching out for all of you. No one comes looking — the movements, the safe houses, the hotels, they fell less like you’re being chased and more like you’re doing the chasing.
You make a home of it.
A home for Steve to come back to from… wherever he needs to go, doing whatever it is he needs to do. He never tells you — not safe, shouldn’t worry you, we’ll be okay — and you ask him only once every night, ask him so he knows you want to know, ask him but don’t let the set of his jaw become any more tense, don’t let him be any more frustrated.
He’d never hurt you, not this man laying in your arms and trying to hide the fact that he is exhausted while you run your fingers through his hair, but you’re scared he’d hurt himself out of guilt and you can’t have that either.
I love you, you tell him softly, patching up his wounds and pressing kisses to the edge of his bruises like that too can have the same healing abilities as modern medicine. They do, they always do, and he loves them more than he can say.
You don’t have to do this. You can stay in Wakanda, keep an eye on Bucky, get some pointers on their health system. King T’Challa’s fine with it, yo—
You need a field medic. I’m trained to do this.
More than trained, but that retirement from combat was supposed to put you in a hospital operating room, not in muddy fields triaging a leg wound and thanking your lucky stars Natasha Romanoff didn’t sever a major artery.
You get used to it.
You get used to a lot of things. Adaptable, I like that, Steve used to tease you, always pressing down the corners of his smile because you’d lose your temper at him for making fun of you after a bad day of classes.
Adaptable.
You hate that word and yet you get used to it, make a banner of it, a shield of your very own to hide your husband behind that armored barrier and you bid him to rest.
I love you, you remind him, holding him in the darkness of your hotel room and listening to him fail to pretend he’s actually asleep, I’m still here, I promise.
You can go back, it’s not too late. If this is too much…
I don’t want to argue this, baby, please. I’m sticking with you and that’s final.
‘Til the end of the line, as he’d have told Bucky.
Who broke whose promise first?
He looks sweet in his relief, always relieved to hear it. Still that boy, seeking assurance, seeking validation, seeking to know he won’t be left alone in the world. He’s not. He never will be, not if you still have breath in your lungs to assure him.
How many more ways can you fail the man you love?
And when he leans up and when he laces fingers with your and when he takes a look at that simple band he gave you for a wedding ring, he kisses you with all the gratitude he can muster, lets you know in soft whispers against your skin just how much he loves you, What would I do without you?
Everything you do now, just not with me.
Sounds terrible, I hate it.
You hate it too, turns out.
You hate that it’s Sunday morning and Steve Rogers isn’t here to wrap his arms around your waist while you attempt to make a ritual out of the days on the run by insisting on making pancakes.
You hate that you can almost feel him tucking his face into the crook of your neck, greedy for time alone with you, time without Natasha or Sam talking to him about the mission or General Ross or whatever else he didn’t want to think about in that moment.
You hate that he’s not here.
But it’s Sunday morning and you take out the ingredients to make pancakes anyways because Steve Rogers might not be here but Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson are and they need something more than a bowl of granola and yogurt for breakfast … and lunch, and dinner.
You’re too busy getting everything mixed together to hear him, the silent interloper in your kitchen. Not until he clears his throat and Doctor Rogers, I presume?
Thankfully the bowl of batter is on the counter instead of in your arms when you yelp, spinning around in a flurry and then fixing Baron Zemo with a withering look to cover up the fact that he startled you.
My apologies, he says first, before anything else, and then, If I may impose upon you for some water…?
You may not, you almost snap, ready to pick a fight in an instant, ready to be Steve Rogers’s great defender, ready to remind the…
Rather apologetic and sad looking man in your kitchen that he is not welcome.
Except he is, because you let him into your home. You set up the guest room. You ought to be a good hostess.
The fridge buzzes as you fill the glass, the red dirt of Karbala settling into place.
Thank you, still politely soft-voiced as he watches you, unnervingly unblinking.
All you can do is nod, nod and turn back around to the waiting batter. The griddle is almost ready as it is and you’ll need to focus on that instead of that dark-eyed curiosity fixed on your back.
He called you Doctor.
He remembered.
You try not to think too much on that — of course he remembered, he makes it a point to know everything about everyone and he studied Steve. He studied Steve and you two… had just gotten engaged, before everything went to hell.
Well. Minor hell, compared to now, right?
The pancakes sizzle slightly on the griddle and you focus only on that, listening for anything but the sounds of him still standing there behind you.
Do you do this often? You can’t tell if that’s an attempt to make conversation or a pry for information, but the result is the same. Tension in your shoulders, the tightening of your lips, a frown as you refuse to meet his eyes. You shouldn’t talk to him — Bucky gave him express instructions to not do that — but here he is.
Talking.
To you.
Do what often?
This. You appear a practiced hand at managing them.
The griddle sizzles loudly as you flip pancakes and try not to look insulted. I don’t manage anyone. They’re grown men.
And yet you are making them breakfast.
I don’t have a butler who tends to my family’s needs for me.
So they are family to you.
You’ve said too much.
You’ve said too much and now he knows and now you are staring at nothing and everything all at once, watching your world crumble around you all at once and desperately trying to put the bricks back to rights.
You alright over there?
The shape of your name in Sam’s voice cuts through the waking nightmare like a warm embrace, not so sleepy as much as he is alert and up, suspicious in an instant about the man in your kitchen.
Steady. You don’t want to cause any more conflict than is already about to happen, so wipe your tears before anyone else sees. Plaster that same paparazzi smile you’ve mastered on your face, make sure nothing’s burning and turn. Turn around.
Morning, Sam. Sleep okay?
He just nods, suspicious as he eyes you both but…
Thankfully saying nothing more before going to actually freshen up in the morning.
You hate this.
Of course you do.
You hate the way they look at you when they walk past, when they think you’re not looking, pitying and worried. You hate how it’s shattered you, turned you into a shell of who you were and you hate that you don’t recognize the woman in the photographs anymore.
You hate that you depend on this, this worrying, to remind you you’re still…
Here.
Baron Zemo’s hand is cool over yours, coaxing you aside, soft voice washing over you, Let me, it is the least I can do, and you really should say no, should protest, should insist on controlling the last vestige of control you have but you surrender that too, watching a man with a too-sly smile take over the space you barely even let Bucky manage.
You barely buzz when he moves you.
And when Sam Wilson returns to you sitting statue-still at your kitchen island, with Helmut Zemo at the stove, he decides there are just some things in the world one does not call out.
