Welcome! ✨ I'm Lia and the mission of this blog is to spread the love for Tanjirou Kamado from Kimetsu no Yaiba. | Not spoiler free! | Requests: CLOSED | Rules | Masterlist
I see ALL the time of the reader being the more dominant one in a relationship or situation with Tanjirou. They take the lead, are smug, etc but honestly I’m the opposite. I’m very shy and clingy, I’m horrible at taking initiative in relationships and I’m a complete sub/bottom. Can you write something with a reader like me?? I’d appreciate it ✨ also I’m not trying to imply nsfw LMAO. Probably just a timid ready who’s a baby when it comes to relationships :3
i'm so sorry anon but my requests are currently closed!
Could I please request some angst where Zenitsu's s/o leaves him for Inosuke?
anon i couldn’t resist writing this as modern au!
Zenitsu’s s/o leaves him for Inosuke
Zenitsu doesn’t know why it happens, only that it does.
You leaving him for the guy in class who could pass for a girl by his face alone.
Black and blue hair, green eyes. Beautiful—for a guy.
Unusually beautiful, but maybe it’s that unusualness that had given Inosuke an edge over Zenitsu, his hair too short compared to Inosuke’s long locks.
Zenitsu’s hair is naturally black but he’d dyed it blond late last year, thinking one day how tired he was of seeing his hair in its natural color. And because he’d wanted change.
He remembers reaching for that box of dye, buying it at the store without a problem. He remembers leaning over the bathroom sink, starting the process of dying his hair from one color to another.
Zenitsu had been surprised at how messy it was to do it on his own, without help but wishing he had some. Tanjirou would’ve come help, although he probably would’ve also freaked out over following the directions on the box.
But Zenitsu hadn’t asked his best friend.
He had no parents, and his adoptive father as well as master was out, too far away at the Kuwajima family’s dojo to come home, see what Zenitsu had done to his hair. To stop him from ever touching that box of hair dye and opening it by its top flap.
Zenitsu had liked how he looked, despite all the criticism he’d heard from the school and his classmates. It’s against the rules, it’s the wrong color, it’s too bright. He looked better in black, some would say.
Zenitsu had liked the change. He had liked that change, but this one tears at his heart.
Seven months together, but no more than that.
Seven months and twelve days, Zenitsu had memorized it since his first date with you, so happy back then that you hadn’t said no to him. Even happier that you had been with him for over half a year.
In those months, he’d revealed more layers of himself to you than what anybody, even Tanjirou, had seen when they’d both still been little kids in elementary school.
Seven months and twelve days, he and you.
Day three (or whatever number Zenitsu hasn’t memorized), you and Inosuke.
Zenitsu is close to going crazy over it. He sees you by the classroom door with Inosuke, a wide smile lighting up your face. Though Inosuke is almost fully turned away from Zenitsu’s desk, he can still spot that bit of a smile on Inosuke’s face.
Well, look at that. Zenitsu’s bitter thought crosses his mind. He hopes it would’ve masked his pain, the pain that’s too much for him to simply blink away or bury in the back of his head, like doing so will keep it from ever resurfacing. But it does, over and over.
He doesn’t watch you and Inosuke anymore, needing something to do. Now. He can’t stand to keep watching or else the questions will start to annoy him again.
Why him? Why Inosuke? What did Zenitsu do so wrong that had caused you to leave him for someone else?
If his master could see him now, he’d probably smack Zenitsu with the nearest long object he could find, in lieu of a training sword, and smack some sense into Zenitsu out of the kindness of his old heart.
Zenitsu’s master would then tell him to sit up straight, stop giving in to his misery, and stop by the dojo for a few quick matches with Kaigaku and the other students. That should take his mind off things, at least until he goes back to class the very next day.
Zenitsu hates how bitter he’s become since it happened, but he doesn’t know any other way to feel.
He rolls his pencil under his fingers, up and down as his eyes follow it on the smooth surface of his desk. Zenitsu hears a throat clear in front of him.
“You know, you don’t have to look at them,” Tanjirou says, already smiling when Zenitsu looks up, aggrieved.
“How can’t I when they’re right by the door?” Zenitsu rests his face on his desk, still rolling his pencil. The sound keeps him somewhat focused on something else besides his ex and their new guy.
Zenitsu flicks at his pencil, sending it flying across his desk onto the floor with a loud crash, startling the students sitting around them.
Without fail, Tanjirou leans down to get it, giving Zenitsu a break from his stare, but Tanjirou’s eyes come right back around to Zenitsu when he places the pencil on Zenitsu’s desk. “I know it only happened last week, but if you keep looking at them like that, then the only thing you’re going to do is hurt yourself even more.”
Tanjirou takes his fingers off the pencil, but Zenitsu doesn’t even roll it on his desk anymore. He would’ve flung the fucking thing again, if he wasn’t so sure Tanjirou would just pick it up, use it as another opportunity to lecture Zenitsu again about his post-breakup behavior.
Zenitsu thinks of you, how happy you’d seemed with him before all this had gone down. What an idiot he’d been to think he’d found someone who could be his, who could take everything he was and make him want to be even more.
Zenitsu glances at you and Inosuke one more time by the door, gulping whatever’s left of the bitterness he still feels inside him.
“He just doesn’t know how lucky he is.”
Zenitsu hadn’t known either, and when he had it was already too late.
Hello! I was wondering if you could do a Tanjiro angst where his close friend/ crush saves Nezuko from an attack and takes the damage instead. (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀) I want the angst to hit my feels
hello, i’m so sorry for the lateness of this but i hope it’s not too late for some tanjirou angst! you wanted it to hit your feels and i think... this will do it.
warning: potentially disturbing content
Tanjirou’s crush saves Nezuko from an attack and takes the damage instead
You don’t listen to logic.
You go against it, moving before any of you can realize what you’re doing and stop you.
Nezuko is a demon with a regenerative ability you don’t have. She can take much more damage than you ever can. But it’s like for those few seconds, you forget that Nezuko is a demon and decide for yourself that, demon or not, she should still be saved.
You don’t know what compels you to do it. A sense of responsibility, perhaps?
Nezuko is younger than you, and as the older one you don’t want someone younger to die before you do. But that’s not the reason. You’re not even old.
A desire a die, then? No, that’s not it. There’s still so much you have to live for, so much you haven’t seen yet. To die now would mean missing out on all of those things, and more.
But there is a reason, you think.
You do it for Tanjirou.
For the boy you’ve known for barely more than five months, yet have grown such feelings for, that you don’t want to know how your life would’ve gone without meeting him.
He’s kind. Too kind for you, you used to think.
You aren’t like he is, looking out for yourself and only yourself. Because in this world, this country, it’s kill or be killed. Save yourself, no one else. Especially not a stranger. That’s who you used to be.
Until you met him.
This boy and his sister, the demon with a special case, being a demon and yet not acting upon her instinct to consume human flesh.
They had both changed you. Made you see what you couldn’t before, that it doesn’t have to be only yourself you can look out for. Despite all the things you believe and still believe, if you’re being honest, about people and demons and how cruel they both are, there’s no denying the difference between your life and the lives of those siblings.
This world has been so much crueler to them, the remaining members of their family. You can still remember when you’d first heard the story from Tanjirou’s lips in the dark, Nezuko staring in silence, having woken up from her daytime slumber. The fire you’d all made together had been crackling before you, sparks floating little by little upwards.
It was like being told a story right before bed, but the story of Tanjirou and Nezuko Kamado wasn’t one told with a happy ending. Far from.
You had shed tears when you heard it.
… When you think about it now … maybe that’s why you had done it.
So he can’t mourn again, another death by a demon.
It’s surreal how you can think with the pain you feel now, more pain than even your worst days on the streets, crossing the wrong people and making the wrong decisions.
You try but can’t move one of your legs. Moving your neck and head sends a sharp pain that forces you to stop.
Tanjirou and Nezuko kneel at your sides, Nezuko on your left, Tanjirou on your right. He hasn’t said anything to you but already there are tears in his eyes. And in Nezuko’s.
“(Name)…” He can’t say your name without his voice cracking. Tanjirou closes his eyes. He tries to smile when he opens them, as though he doesn’t want your last moment—is it really your last, you wonder?—to be of him crying. “Thank you… for saving Nezuko.”
Nezuko nods on your other side. You think she’d be smiling with Tanjirou if it weren’t for the gag in her mouth.
You realize now that both of them are holding your hands. But while Nezuko only holds you with one hand, Tanjirou is holding you with both of his, your right hand held between his. Not with gentleness, but a ferocity that makes it seem like Tanjirou thinks the tighter he holds on to you, the greater your chances are of surviving.
Like it’s not the last link he’ll ever have to you when you’re gone. If you’re gone? You aren’t able to tell anymore. Your vision’s not quite there.
The pain is so much. You strain for your voice and it hurts to speak. Badly.
You try to look at Tanjirou. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you… to lose another one… of your family.”
More tears fall from Tanjirou’s eyes. He loses all control of his voice now, holding your hand so tightly that it starts to hurt. “You’re our family too.”
He lowers his head, resting it against your intertwined hands as he cries. You wish you could comfort him, but you’re the reason why he’s crying to begin with.
You can’t make yourself get better. You keep feeling it, all your pain, and even your grip on reality is slowly, slowly loosening. Your body can’t do this forever. You and Tanjirou, if this is really your last moment together, you do your best to smile at him, even through everything that hurts.
“I’m really glad… I met you, Tanjirou…”
Tanjirou shouts something at you. Maybe about you staying awake? To not leave him? You think you can make out the word “love” from his lips.
But, of course, you never know because the world turns black.
it’s been ages since we had a picrew game so I’ve decided to start one 💫
make yourself in this picrew by belle.at.her.finest on instagram, post and tag five(-ish) people! here’s mine:
tagging @racingpointless @renaultsportofficial @maxfewtrell @callumilott @storm-in-my-teacup + @babysdrivers 💗 and honestly anyone else who wants to go ahead!
Thank you @riccflair-dripp for the tag. Usually I’m making dumb jokes and I’m doing something lame with my face so it seems pretty accurate haha.
I’ve only been on here for a solid two weeks and don’t know a bunch of people on here yet, but here it goes, tagging some of the people that I already appreciate and love. @zaddiardo, @sharkleclerc, @ricciardosea, @christianhorners, @fabioquartarar0
Everyone who wants to do it can go ahead since I’ve no idea who’s all done it already uwu but I’ll tag some people I knoow @eszzter @wereallcrazyheredarling @neclasy @bwoahidol @formulahigh
@wereallcrazyheredarling you look just like I imagined you to be, so cute ❤️
I’m plain as f.ck 😂😂 @sebfreak @chasingpegasus @vroombabies @suckmyravioli @lemonhemlock @teamsewiss @raikkasillas @k-raikkonen @benzandmesu @aohnnesrain If you guys have time…
Rules: post the first line of one of your wips and tag as many people as there are words.
(So, the last WIP I worked on has a killer first line that I’m pretty proud of, but…it’s long. Almost a full paragraph. And I don’t know that many writers to tag according to the rules. So here’s this instead. 😆)
“Would ye open the fuckin door, for Christ’s sake?”
“Not tonight,” Sam told him, “tonight, under the moon…” He paused to lick his lips slowly as desire coursed through his veins. “Tonight, you’re simply beautiful.”
😉
I cant brain to tag. Whoever wants to play go ahead
“It was still early in the world of Hawkins. Kids were sleeping soundly in their beds, seconds away from being woken up for their day of school, and adults were brewing their morning coffee. It felt normal, as normal as any other day had been, in the rural town, in Indiana. No one knew about the events that had unfolded the night before, events that would turn the world of twelve Hawkin’s residents, upside down”
Technically a paragraph but the first line was just too boring.
From a stranger things rewrite I’m doing, with two OC’s (hence the 12 residents)
Hearing you ask that made him turn around. Sylvain only shrugged, “Yeah, I guess everyone has dates. I asked a bunch of girls, but they rejected me.” He was hiding it, but having to explain himself really stung.
LOLOL This still needs to be majorly edited–but here’s a sneak peek
Hi there, I'm a newer writer on here and I just wanted to say I absolutely adore your works! Your writing is really inspiring to me, and I always love everything you put out!! Thanks for being so awesome lmao, hope to see more of your work soon!! Have an awesome day!
omg 😭 i’m so sorry for not welcoming you or answering this sooner! i haven’t been on tumblr much these days bc this month has been so busy.
i’ll try to keep this explanation short, but there’s been a big change in my life that i’ve just been dealing with this week and last and will continue to deal with next week. this change has been both stressful and time-consuming. ofc there’s also the additional stress of school and nano as well.
that’s why i wanna say thank you so much for this ask!! trust me when i say i really, really don’t hear this at all from anyone that my works are adored or that my writing is inspiring or even that everything i put out is loved. and as ok as i am with that now–bc as a writer it’s not ok to obsess over how much or how little love you get–it’s always appreciated when i get an ask like yours, esp when i need it.
participating in nano for the first time has been h e l l. when you’re trying to write 1.7k words a day an hour or two before you go to sleep (what i’ve been doing) inspiration doesn’t come easy, and you have to push through obstacles like writer’s block and laziness and perfection, or you’ll never reach that 50k.
there’s been days this month when i’ve looked over my writing and thought the worst of it. so while i’m glad i haven’t given up on nano i can’t wait for this shit to be over LOL.
when it finally is i hope that you do get to see more of my work soon! thank you again and have a day more awesome than mine! just like with you and my works there’s gonna be someone (or maybe there has been already) that’ll read your works and adore it too! ❤️
🌻💫💛✨This is the Amazing Person Award! Once you are given this award you are supposed to paste it in the ask of eight different people, who, in your opinion, deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it is sweet to know someone thinks you’re amazing inside and out ✨💛💫🌻 [SUNSHINE LIAA 😭😭 Here are cookies for you!! 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪💖 I MISS YOUR TYPOSー but of course I miss YOU more!! 😂😂😭😭]
nom nom nom
sis i’m leaving your name out of this in case you wanna remain as an anon… but you know what i have to do now right?? HERE’S CHOCO FOR YOU 🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫 AND I MISS YOU MORE!!! 😭😭 it’s been way too long since i last made a typo around you 😂 i’m gonna be giving out this award not by ask but by dm instead so expect one soon “anon” ❤️❤️❤️
Hello! Mirror anon here! I've finally made a writing blog, and even though I don't have many followers, I'd say it's been good, as the notes of the posts are overwhelming compared to the minimum number of notes I had as my goal!! I'm really proud of this accomplishment, and I think it's mainly from the things I've learned from other people's writing, yours included. What I'm saying is, thank you, author-san, and I hope you have a great day/evening! - mirror anon
MIRROR ANON OMG AND CONGRATS ON YOUR WRITING BLOG!! 🎉🎉🎉
i’m very glad for you that the notes you’ve been getting are more than the minimum you had as your goal! but one thing i wanna tell you and that i’d really tell to any writing blog is don’t focus too much on your numbers, how many posts/notes/followers/etc. you have. bc whatever you have is still something and a clear sign that you’re not posting to no audience. you do have one and they all get to read what you write on your blog!
i’m really proud of you too for this accomplishment. i’m honored you’ve been learning from my writing (as inconsistent as i am with it LOL), but you don’t have to thank me! learning from other people’s writing is exactly what i try to do too bc it’s imo one of the best ways to improve. and honestly mirror anon i’d love to read what you have on your blog! if you’re comfortable with this but don’t want to send it in as an ask, please feel free to msg me here or in discord with the url.
it's sooo good tysm for writing it!!💓💓💓- the akaza anon
you're more than welcome! 💜 akaza anon i loved doing your req. it gave me a great opportunity to practice writing a longer piece, and it was fun not writing akaza as a demon lol. aus are a bit hit and miss with me in general. i can either write one decently or write one poorly, but a detective au will always have my fingers flying across the keyboard!
hey!!! can i request an akaza x reader detective au?? thank you sm💘💘
IT’S FINALLY FINISHED ANON! 💕💕
special thanks to @kny-hcs and @knysstuff 💙 without your ideas who knows how this would’ve turned out??
this au is not meant to be an accurate representation of real-life detectives or investigations.
akaza is in his 20s.
reader is gender neutral.
au is akaza-centric.
2,432 words
warnings: potentially disturbing content
Akaza x reader detective au
Why is it that the most powerful and beloved are often the most corrupted as well?
On the TV the anchorwoman is in the middle of a story about the one and only Muzan Kibutsuji. A business tycoon and mogul of the music industry, with deep ties in other industries, including fashion and beauty—hair, specifically.
“An anonymous source has confirmed that Muzan’s third album is almost done and expected to release early next year.”
As the woman continues, you set an empty plate down in front of Akaza, in a good mood because of your day off today. Unlike Akaza, whose weekends are considered his days off. But he’s happy that in this marriage, there’s at least one of you that’s enjoying this morning.
Or maybe it is you two? Akaza can’t deny how delicious his breakfast has been, as it always is with your cooking.
With a spatula, you slide the last of all the pancakes from the frying pan in your hand onto Akaza’s plate. Round, golden-brown, smooth on top, the pancake is cooked to perfection, like all the other ones had been. Save for the first with the uneven edges.
Your pancakes are so good, Akaza hadn’t waited to stack them on top of each other on his plate—he’d eaten them all one by one. His hunger mostly sated, Akaza takes his time with the last few pancakes, drenched in butter and syrup, and digs his fork in.
You and Akaza look at the TV at the anchorwoman still speaking, but it switches from her to recently taken footage of Muzan Kibutsuji. Dressed fine as always, no strand of hair out of place. A patient smile graces his lips, despite the many microphones, cameras, and recorders in his face.
One of the reporters pushes his microphone closer. “Muzan, Muzan! Can you confirm with us the release of your next album?”
Muzan’s smile doesn’t drop. “I’m afraid I can’t, not yet. All I can say is that it’ll be soon and to be patient.”
His voice is so calm, even the story-starved media relaxes under it, seeming to take what Muzan’s said as the truth.
But it’s not the truth Akaza’s looking for.
Muzan the man, not Muzan the musician. What else has he done besides leaving behind that trail of corruption, using his fame as a shield for himself against, well, everyone?
“You know, honey…” You point at the TV and Muzan’s face with your spatula. “There’s something about his smile that rubs me in the wrong way. It’s too perfect, I think. The man’s not the angel that everyone thinks he is.”
Angel? Muzan doesn’t even come close to one, Akaza thinks to himself, taking a sip of his coffee, but he’s actually quite pleased that you can see through Muzan.
Akaza wouldn’t have been mad if you did like Muzan though. A long career in the music industry had given Muzan more influence than any man like him should have. His influence has already fallen all over the country. Akaza doesn’t need it to fall over you too.
“Oh, he’s not,” Akaza agrees, lifting the bottle of maple syrup from the table. He flips open the cap and turns the bottle over, tip pointing at his pancakes for the syrup to drizzle down. “Muzan Kibutsuji’s a corrupt man. It’s just a shame that most of the public doesn’t think so.”
“Most, but not you,” you correct, smiling at Akaza before you turn around for the sink with the frying pan still in your hand.
It’s a habit of yours. To clean things as soon as possible, even before you finally settle down and eat, because you don’t want to do the cleaning later.
As you’re at the sink, the running water sounding from the kitchen, drowning out a bit of the TV’s volume, you glance at Akaza over your shoulder. “Think you’ll finally get him?”
Akaza doesn’t talk about work with you in detail. For obvious reasons, of course. For your safety and whatever’s left of his after four years on the job, exposing his face to petty and cold-blooded criminals alike.
Much of what he does as a detective can’t be discussed with a civilian, even if it is you, but more than that… He doesn’t think you should know what Muzan is capable of. Or what he’s been accused of doing.
He’s thankful you don’t ask, respecting what Akaza’s job can and can’t allow him to tell you.
There are little things that he can share with you, but more often than not there are things that you come by on your own.
Like how different the real Muzan must be out of the spotlight.
“Maybe,” Akaza says, after a moment spent on a mouthful of pancakes. “It could finally be the year.”
Maybe.
Muzan in handcuffs. It’s what Akaza would like to see, but it’s not a guarantee of an arrest.
It never is with Muzan.
*~*~*
“Akaza, how are you doing? How’s (Name)?” Douma’s voice at the police station isn’t the voice Akaza wants to hear as soon as the doors close behind him, but it’s inevitable.
For a detective with a high rate of solved cases and a few years’ worth of more experience than Akaza has, Douma’s a talker. He doesn’t shut up and since Akaza’s first day as a detective, Douma hasn’t left him alone.
“Well—same for (Name) too.” Akaza keeps things short. Because if he doesn’t, Douma will ask him a million and one more questions, and Akaza doesn’t have time for that. “Where are we with the eyewitness that was brought in earlier?”
As usual Douma follows Akaza to his desk, and it isn't until they both get there that Douma says, “Still the usual. Scared shitless of Muzan and won’t say anything. He’s terrified if he does, Muzan will hear about it.”
Akaza doesn’t blink at what Douma says. It’s not a surprise for him to hear that the eyewitness is scared. In fact, it would’ve been a surprise if the eyewitness wasn’t.
The public doesn’t know how much power Muzan has, what he’s like when there isn’t an audience to smile for. Silencing the media, who adore him too much to ever speak poorly of him anyway, and the darkness that lurks underneath that celebrity exterior of Muzan’s, thick and carefully crafted to keep his fans, his fans.
Power that has scared all his enemies, that has made it that much harder for detectives like Akaza and Douma to chase after Muzan without a shit ton of resistance to fight back against them.
It’s well-known among those who’re afraid of Muzan, which has been every one of the witnesses that’ve been brought in so far, that anyone who dares speaks out against Muzan will suffer for it. Immeasurably.
But suffer in what way? Akaza doesn’t know the specifics. Muzan’s been too careful to slip up now, but Akaza can take a few guesses. And all of them involve enough pain and blood and missing bodies that the police have never been able to find.
Still… There has to be at least one witness that’s willing to go up against the quiet terror that is Muzan.
This eyewitness they’ve brought in could be it. He’s a bottom feeder, doesn’t belong to Muzan’s inner circle and has never been near it, but somewhere inside that brain of his has to be some piece of information Muzan doesn’t want the police knowing.
If there is and they can extract it, then they can use it to damage Muzan’s reputation, and maybe more of the public can finally realize that the angel they’ve been worshipping is no angel at all.
Akaza ignores Douma’s eyes, gathering his thoughts. He moves his cup of coffee away from Douma before it can be knocked over. Again. “Anyone who’s smart should be afraid of Muzan.”
“I don’t disagree there, but it does make our job a lot harder,” Douma points out, closing his eyes as he releases an audible but exaggerated sigh.
When he meets Akaza’s own, it’s with a long, unblinking stare, one that Douma rarely uses and one that Akaza hates. It means Douma is serious.
“You still want to question him, don’t you? Try to convince him there’s something worthwhile waiting for him, if he just gives up the name of the man that scares him so much?"
“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” A small part of Akaza is annoyed that Douma had to ask. Every time there’s a witness, it seems like Douma always has to point out that there’s little to no chance that someone will give up Muzan’s name to them.
Akaza understands why. He’s run the reasons through his head more times than he can count. It’s like a dance at this point, where the steps and music are the same.
They bring in a witness, Akaza or Douma questions them, tries to convince them to say—even only once—Muzan’s name, but the witness refuses. Often demanding a lawyer, which ends the dance in another failure to add to the collection.
But all of this is also practice, whether Akaza wants it to be or not, for when the right witness is brought in.
Every time he’s been refused, he’s gained more of an insight into how the minds of Muzan’s lackeys works. What words will work on them, what words won’t. Even if the end result is still them refusing, slapping a hand at Akaza’s offer of protection in exchange for a single name, it’s not all for nothing.
Akaza thinks this is it, when he’ll finally walk out with a success.
“It’s your failure again if the witness refuses,” Douma reminds Akaza but doesn’t move away from Akaza’s desk, an amused expression on his face.
“It’s always my failure, but it’s not like I can stop trying.” Akaza looks back at Douma, unbothered and with a glint in his eye. “Not like you can either.”
With that last jab at the older detective, Akaza walks to the familiar interrogation room and goes in.
It’s time to put all that practice into play.
*~*~*
Akaza’s heart pounds as he’s on his way home to you. He’s done it. Finally, a witness that’s willing to give up Muzan’s name and hates Muzan more than he fears him, enough to want to work with the police.
Akaza is tired but thrilled about this new development. Although he can’t share it with you, him as a detective and you as a civilian and department rules and all, he knows you’ll be able to pick up on his good mood when he comes home.
The clacking of Akaza’s shoes takes him to his and your apartment’s front door. He unlocks it without a fuss, stepping into the living room and taking off his shoes.
“(Name)!” Akaza calls, not seeing you anywhere within sight, but there’s a large pot sitting on the stove and a cutting board with a knife that’s been in recent use, so he knows you’re home.
Just as he’d thought, you’re in another room. Akaza hears you shout to him from upstairs, “Hey honey, I’ll be down in a bit! I’m just doing some light cleaning in our room!”
“Okay, let me know if you need help!” Akaza shouts back up the stairs.
Frankly, cleaning is the last thing he wants to do after coming home, but if it means you having less work to do, then he wouldn’t mind doing it. And in his current good mood, he could practically do anything at that moment.
His shoes off, Akaza walks into the kitchen, about to put a hand on the lid of the pot of stew, but he pauses when he sees the envelope sitting on the kitchen table. It’s so black that the dark brown of the table doesn’t do anything to make it more noticeable, but Akaza notices it because of his name on the front.
His full name, handwritten in white ink.
He furrows his eyebrows, calling to you again. “(Name), what’s this envelope?”
“Oh, I almost forgot about that! That came for you earlier in the mail! Looks kind of fancy, doesn’t it?”
Akaza shouts back a “Thanks!” but doesn’t answer your question. He picks up the envelope with a hand. It does look fancy, like an invitation Akaza’s been sent to some formal event, but if all his years of being a detective has taught him anything, it’s that he should always trust his gut.
Akaza’s gut is telling him this letter, or what’s inside of it, isn’t an invitation. Akaza doesn’t tell you this, however, for he knows how worried you’d be if you knew what he was feeling about this.
Akaza feels an urge in him to tear the envelope apart. Black envelope, white ink. It’s usually the other way around, and it’s too pristine, the ink too purposeful in its lettering of his name, for Akaza’s liking.
He’s always thought, especially as a detective, that everyone is imperfect, hiding one thing or another. Akaza hates the idea of there being a perfect anything, so he forgoes a letter opener, tearing the envelope open along the top.
Snugly tucked inside is a card in the same black as the envelope. Akaza pulls it out with his fingers, being slow about it so he doesn’t give himself an accidental paper cut.
The card is blank on the front. Akaza turns it over. Nothing on the back either. His gut feeling doesn’t disappear.
Akaza opens the card and it almost slips from his hands when he reads what’s inside.
Stop investigating, detective.
Just three simple words in more of that white ink and elegant handwriting. There are no initials anywhere indicating the sender’s identity… but Akaza doesn’t need one to know who it’s from.
Muzan.
Akaza looks at the card some more. He’s tempted to tear it into smaller pieces, to do the same to the envelope, and throw it all in the trash, but he knows better than to do that. This is evidence. Of a sort.
Akaza feels it now.
If Muzan’s sent him this, then there’s a decent chance that Akaza, Douma, and the other detectives have been getting too close for Muzan's comfort. This card was his way of putting fear into Akaza, to force him to stay away because Muzan knows where you and Akaza live. But it doesn’t work and Akaza doesn’t fear Muzan.
This just makes him want to continue all the more.
Until the day Muzan Kibutsuji is finally behind bars.
‘B-Beat, how would they beat the cold? A warm drink or snuggles with you?’ Can it be a Tanjirou x reader? Where he shares a hot chocolate with the reader while snuggling because she got cold, clinging onto him even if she didn’t want to admit the she was cold. Just giving an excuse that she’s in a ‘cuddly mood’ u///u Have fun with your writing friend! That’s the most important part uwu 💕
HEHE! I kind of did this differently because for alphabets it’s mostly headcannons but I did my best!!
Christmas Alphabet!
Tanjiro Kamado:
B-Beat, how would they beat the cold? A warm drink or snuggles with you?
Tanjiro is actually used to the cold! He’s lived up in the mountains for such a long time, that when it gets cold he doesn’t really feel it. It drives Zenitsu up a tree because while he’s freezing his toes off, Tanjiro is next to him offering the blond a blanket without shivering. However, if you can’t handle the cold he finds you adorable.
“Can we cuddle?” You’d ask with a blush, “It’s not because I’m cold, I swear!” You know he can’t say no to you. He’d kindly lend you his haori and offer to make you two some hot chocolate, not caring that a cool breeze passed by and for the first time in awhile he feels a bit cold himself! (Please let him share a blanket with you, knowing him he wouldn’t care if he was cold as long as you get taken care of first.)
I NEEDED THIS! it's getting so fucking cold where i live now and it's not even december yet. ❄️ but if i'm sharing a blanket with tanjirou then it's gonna be with hot chocolate and marshmallows and some christmas movie playing on the tv.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! 🎃 anon comedy horror isn’t what i usually write for so this is kinda my failed attempt at it lol, but i thought this rq was perfect for today!
PLATONIC
zenitsu x tanjirou
Comedy horror au for Zenitsu
“Are you sure about this?” Tanjirou asks.
“Yeah, I told you I was yesterday—now stop asking me that!”
Zenitsu’s voice is raised, confident, but Tanjirou isn’t so sure himself that Zenitsu will stay that way.
A haunted house has a way of changing you when you enter and exit, and the house Tanjirou and Zenitsu are going to isn’t going to be one for the lighthearted.
It sounds dramatic, but Tanjirou is of the belief that nothing is as dramatic as his best friend is.
Zenitsu doesn’t have a good track record with horror.
He doesn’t even like horror, but for Tanjirou to get Zenitsu to admit that is like pulling teeth. A lot of effort for a small thing.
They’d once—okay, twice—went to the local theater, buying tickets for a popular horror movie, but both times Zenitsu hadn’t made it through the opening scene, running out of the theater. Tanjirou had to apologize to everyone there for Zenitsu’s screaming.
So while he doesn’t grab Zenitsu by the arm and drag him away by force, Tanjirou tries to change Zenitsu’s mind with reason. Or he’d tried to. A haunted house is dark, much too dark to see any cute girls in.
Tanjirou had tried using that on his best friend. But Zenitsu is determined, and Tanjirou knows by now that Zenitsu will do almost anything just to see a cute girl.
Tanjirou is silently thankful Nezuko isn’t around for Zenitsu to see. She’s outside with the music club, holding a concert that’ll begin a little after lunch.
Best friend that he is, Zenitsu is still someone Tanjirou wouldn’t ever want to date his little sister.
This year’s cultural festival has been keeping everyone busy, but all their hard work has paid off, at least from what Tanjirou’s seen. The stress of these past few weeks preparing for this day has worn off, everyone too happy their work’s done to think about any of the cleaning they’ll have to do later.
Hosted by a neighboring class, the festival’s only haunted house they’re going to is on their floor and now with the flight of stairs they’ve climbed, it won’t be long before they reach it.
It’s just a shame Zenitsu thinks a haunted house of all places is where he’ll find the right girl for him. But there’s no way for Tanjirou to change his best friend’s mind.
“This is it?” Tanjirou looks up and down at the black “curtain” in front of him and Zenitsu.
It’s made out of a trash bag, but Tanjirou isn’t critical about that—you do what you can for the school festival and that’s what this class had done. The black-curtained entrance to the haunted house, with horrors waiting for them inside.
“Of course, it is!” Zenitsu gives Tanjirou a withering look, like he can’t believe Tanjirou would even ask. “This is where I’ll finally fall in love. Isn’t it a beautiful place?”
“I wouldn’t call it that since we haven’t gone in yet... but I guess it could be? You can’t really predict when and where you’ll fall in love though.”
Zenitsu brushes off Tanjirou’s good-natured yet unsatisfactory answer, pushing the curtain aside with a hand.
He turns back to Tanjirou. “Let’s go in! My love is waiting for me somewhere here.”
Somehow Tanjirou doubts that but he follows anyway, feeling the curtain fall over his back as he and Zenitsu are met by darkness. Not complete darkness, but enough so that the only light they have helps them walk forward and not trip over each other.
From this little light, Tanjirou can make out the bottoms of more curtains, aligned to form a hallway for visitors of the haunted house to walk through.
Not even a minute goes by before they have their first scare. A long white sheet, illuminated by more light than Tanjirou’s and Zenitsu’s feet are, that stands out among all the black.
But what stops them both is the sight of the bloody handprints on the sheet, all of them erratically made. Almost like someone was gripping the sheet for life as they were rapidly losing theirs.
Tanjirou and Zenitsu look at each other.
“It’s just handprints,” Zenitsu offers with a shrug, but less confident than he’d been outside the haunted house. “That’s not scar—”
The sheet ripples as a hand springs out from behind it, an effective interruption. Tanjirou and Zenitsu scream. They back away as a girl comes out, her long black hair obscuring her face. Her dress is as white as the sheet itself, but tattered and bloodier at the hem and short sleeves.
She doesn’t say anything to them but she doesn’t need to.
Unsettled by her presence, Tanjirou is about to suggest they carry on with the haunted house, since the girl is just standing there still and silent and not harming them, when Zenitsu does something Tanjirou doesn’t expect.
He steps forward, shaking but not backing any more than he had when the girl sprung out.
“S-Sorry, that was rude of me!”
“Zenitsu, what are you…” Tanjirou’s voice fades as he realizes what Zenitsu’s doing. “Are you seriously going to flirt with her? Here?”
“Don’t make it sound bad! If she just puts her hair back, then we’ll see that her face is actually pretty cute.”
Tanjirou wants to retort that they haven’t even seen her face yet, but the girl suddenly brings a hand up, pointing a finger at Zenitsu.
“Me?” Zenitsu points to himself, giddy. “You think I’m cute? Well, you know after this haunted house thing, maybe we could—Hey, where are you going?” Zenitsu yells after Tanjirou, who’s started walking again without him.
“To wherever this ‘hallway’ goes. If I have to listen to you flirt with that girl, then we’re never going to get out of this house.”
“Tanjirou, why won’t you just let me have this?!! This is an opportunity here!”
Tanjirou smiles as he walks, knowing Zenitsu is following behind him and can’t see his smile. He knows his best friend has many more opportunities than this (“opportunity,” his ass), but in a haunted house all Tanjirou wants to do is finish touring the house as soon as he can.
They have a few more run-ins with creepy residents of the house. A boy and a girl with death stares, another girl whose eyes roll back, her arms flailing about as she tries to get to them. Zenitsu almost lets her “hug” him before Tanjirou grabs him, taking them both further down the hallway.
It’s been quiet for the past few minutes. Tanjirou doesn’t like it. The only noise he hears is the sound of his and Zenitsu’s footfalls.
They can’t even turn the full corner before an angry cry rings out, startling both Tanjirou and Zenitsu enough that they take a huge step back.
A third set of footfalls can be heard down the hallway, coming closer and closer and closer. Until it finally stops.
“What the hell is that?” Zenitsu screeches, tugging on Tanjirou’s sleeve, just remembering he’s not the only one hearing this, seeing this—
—this thing.
A guy in a boar’s head. A boar head with a human body, dark clothes bloodied in the middle. The eyes of the head are blue and emotionless, with tusks jutting out from the sides of the snout. The thing actually tilts its head as it stands several steps away from Tanjirou and Zenitsu. They’re far enough away that the thing could stretch an arm out and still not touch either of them.
“It’s just a part of the haunted house… Yeah, that’s it!” Tanjirou tries to reassure himself and Zenitsu.
But then, in a change of heart, the boar begins to run again, and it’s like Tanjirou and Zenitsu think the same thing.
They need to get the fuck out of there.
Tanjirou and Zenitsu turn around, running as fast as they can back the way they came. But as they do, they don’t get to see the thing stop or take its head off, upon realizing Tanjirou and Zenitsu aren’t going to be continuing their tour of the haunted house anymore.
“Fucking idiots. It’s just a boar head,” says Inosuke, shaking his head at his two best friends.
now that we’re so close to the end of this month, I’m posting to let you all know i’ll be taking a hiatus during the whole month of november, bc i’ll be participating in this year’s nanowrimo challenge.
it’ll be my first time participating and i have every intention of trying to get those 50,000 words written. i’m using this last week-ish of october to finish prepping for nanowrimo and the story i wanna write.
i’ll still be active in tumblr and answering DMs and non-request asks, but i won’t be writing requests next month in general. maybe there’ll be a request or two i can write but i can’t promise anything.
i love you guys and thank you for all your patience! 💖
