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violettelueur · 4 years

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— FUSHIGURO MEGUMI + GOJO SATORU + ZENIN MAKI + GETO SUGURU || THEM BEING PROTECTIVE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS

↳ featuring : fushiguro megumi + gojo satoru + zenin maki + geto suguru from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : grammar issues

↳ form : headcanons

↳ published : 17 february

↳ pronouns : non specified in headcanon

↳ request : Heya! Can I request a headcanon with Gojo, Geto, Megumi and Maki being very protective of their childhood friend? Like (reader) is just so sweet, innocent, pure and kind and understanding and, ya know she just give you the "must be protected" vibe, she's just so precious. And tho they know (reader) can protect herself, they also know as well how reluctant she is to use her curse techniques because of how destructive of nature it is, and so they just wanna protect her from curses but as well as from thoses power-hungry elders.So yeah hc 'bout them being (over)protective of their lil ray of sunshine, just a fluffy hc if possible?Thanks for your time!

↳ barista’s notes : so this is the first time i have ever written something for maki, so i hope you guys really like it - if there are any tips, i will gladly take them into account ╲ʕ·ᴥ·　╲ʔ other than that that, i hope you enjoy your cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and please come to the cafe again soon!

When you and Fushiguro became friends at a young age, he has always been protective over you since he thinks of you as one of the ‘good people’ that needs to be protected.

The Zenin clan probably thought they got a 2 for 1 deal when they discovered you, but Gojo saved the day for the both of you.

When you both grow older and you went to the same middle school as him, he will beat up anyone that tries to harm or bully you - his sister will notice and tries to stop him but finds it really adorable that he is protective of you.

Since he knows you just don’t want to use your technique, he will ask Maki to train you with cursed weapons and he will train with you to make sure you can protect yourself.

Like I have mentioned in another headcanon, Fushiguro will keep a close eye on you and will stay by your side. If you walk somewhere, he will look at you for a second before talking behind you like a bodyguard.

Fushiguro isn’t one for physical touch, but if he sees someone looking at you in a way he doesn’t like, he will either place a hand on your head like he is patting you or pulls you closer to him by your sleeve and keeps grip on the fabric.

Since he is protective, expect a few texts here and there (if you are not with him) of him asking if you were okay and where you are right now.

He will ask for photos for evidence - so just take a few, please.

In conclusion, Fushiguro will do anything and take as many precautions to make sure that you are going to be okay no matter what situation comes at you.

When you and Gojo became friends when you both were children, he would find you annoying at first due to your kind nature but soon appreciates you as one of the only people that didn’t care about his power/status.

I feel like when you both were younger, you both promised each other that you will marry each other, so he can protect you - I don’t know why just a thought.

When you both attend Jujutsu Tech, he will tell Geto that you are off-limits and there is no way that he has a chance of dating you - he will never have his permission/blessing.

When you both are on a mission, Gojo loves to carry you away (properly in a weird way) from combat since he knows opponents will force you to use your technique to get a sight of it.

During missions, Gojo will always pick the tougher opponent while giving you the weaker one since he doesn’t want you to force yourself to use or technique - even though he knows you don’t even have to use it to fight and you could probably defend this opponent at the same time he does.

When it comes to the clans, he doesn’t trust any of them to see you, so he makes sure to always keep a distance from you to them - if his elders tell him to marry you, that’s one thing he won’t disapprove of.

When someone looks at you in a way Gojo feels weird about, he will swing an arm around your shoulder and just acts like he is teasing you about your height when in reality he is keeping an eye on the person.

When you are talking to someone that Gojo feels a bad vibe from, he will stand behind you in a far distance giving the person a death glare while sliding his thumb across his neck - that his stare wasn’t enough to give someone’s death warrant.

In conclusion, Gojo makes you avoid situations that put you in danger and will hide it with some teasing to make you not realise since he doesn’t want you to think that he thinks you’re weak, he just really cares about you.

When you and Maki were friends since childhood, she would always make you avoid her family since she was one of the first people you told about your technique.

You and Maki are always together no matter what, you both just seem to be together when someone looks for you or her - like if they asked where you were, the person would tell them to look for where Maki is.

Since you refuse to use your cursed technique due to how destructive it is (and by Gojo’s advice not to unless it is urgent) Maki will train you to use cursed tools to help with your combat disadvantage.

Since you and her used cursed weapons, a lot of people tend to avoid you both when it comes to training, leaving you and her to become competitive with each other.

Kugisaki admires you both highly and always wants to be by your guy’s side, so in a way, she becomes protective of you as well even if you are older.

If someone from her clan tries to talk to you, she will just immediately drag you away while glaring at them before mentioning to you not to talk to them - even though you said you didn’t even say a single word.

Maki can be quite blunt at times, so when she tells you that she thinks you can’t handle something, in reality, it translates to “I’m worried about you” - you will learn this after being her friend for a while.

If anyone Maki doesn’t like comes up to you/or she feels has bad intentions, just know she is suddenly by your side in a second - like the flash.

In conclusion, you and Maki are just best-friends that are strong-willed, even though she says things that are quite mean due to her forwardness, just know that they have caring and worried connotations to them.

When you and Geto became friends, he was probably the one that introduced himself to you first since he seems like a friendly person when he was a kind - even if he was a damn tease.

As you grew older, Geto always made sure to slyly be by your side wherever you went so he can keep an eye on you.

When you and Geto enrol at Jujutsu Tech, just like Gojo, Geto will tell his friend that you are off-limits - but on the low, he seems more threatening than Gojo for some reason.

Since your cursed technique is extremely destructive, Geto sometimes makes you go to get Ieiri so you can avoid getting into dangerous missions - he knows you are going to be gone for a while, so it’s a good way to get you away from danger.

If you are adamant to go on missions with him - since you are capable - he will teach you how to fight with hand-to-hand combat since he is more comfortable with you doing that then get yourself hurt by your cursed technique.

If someone is looking at you in a way Geto doesn’t like at all, he will turn to them while giving them a threatening smile - because that’s more creepy than a murderous look.

If you need to be somewhere else, Geto will look at you from afar to make sure you are okay and if you notice, he will smile and wave at you.

Geto is your protector in the shadows, if you are fighting someone with no ease and suddenly something hits them without you doing something, just know Geto is right behind you with one of his curses in hand and if you turn around, he will smile and wave at you.

In conclusion, Geto is someone that is protective behind the scenes and not right in your face, he knows you are capable of protecting yourself, so he does it behind your back as a reassurance to him.

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pikapeppa · 6 years

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For DWC: "Good, Chasing, Prayers," for Blackwall and Arya?

Thank you for this prompt! I realized recently that I don’t really write much of Arya and Blackwall talking - I just go straight to the sex LOL??! So here is them having a lil’ conversation BEFORE the sex. Bahaha.

For @dadrunkwriting Friday. Read here on AO3:tinyurl.com/baewall3

*****************

The hour is late, and Skyhold’s grounds are silent and still. The chapel is deserted at this hour of night, and Blackwall is grateful.

He gazes at the candles. Their tiny flames flicker and dance, casting shadows across Andraste’s granite robes. It’s silent and peaceful here, and of course that’s the point; the people of the Inquisition come here for peace, for answers, for comfort and for hope.

Blackwall awkwardly folds his arms. He has not set foot in a chapel or a Chantry for years. When Thom Rainier was a boy, he prayed before bed every day - the kinds of selfish prayers only a small boy could provide: Please, Maker, make me big and strong. Make me the best swordsman in all the Free Marches.

Then Thom became a man. He became big and strong, and he won the Grand Tourney. And he had no use for prayers anymore. He was a hero, a lauded swordsman across the Free Marches. Prayers were for people who didn’t have the strength to take what they wanted, and Thom Rainier was nothing of the sort.

Then Thom became a murderer. He became a coward, and he abandoned his men, and he hid behind another man’s name instead. And he had no right to pray anymore. Prayers were for those who sought forgiveness, and Thom Rainier deserved nothing of the sort.

Then Thom became Arya Lavellan’s lover, and more importantly, her shield.

Now, many years after his last foray onto sacred ground, these two crucial roles have compelled him to pray once more.

He heaves a heavy sigh, then lowers himself to one knee and looks up at Andraste’s stone face. I don’t remember how to do this, he thinks. It’s been so long, and the only canticles that stick in his mind are ones of glory and battles victorious. He supposes they might be appropriate; the Inquisition begins the march to the Arbour Wilds in the morning, after all. But glory is the last thing on Blackwall’s mind.

Safety and protection. These are his greatest concerns, the ones that nibble at his mind and make his heart tremble in his chest. These are the wishes he has for Arya, the ones that sit in his clasped hands and the tip of his tongue, and these are the favours he finally asks.

He bows his head. Please, he thinks. Please, Lady Andraste, if you are there… watch over the Inquisitor tomorrow and keep her safe. Don’t let any harm come to her.

He trails off, feeling awkward and unsure. It almost feels like he’s telling the Maker’s Bride to do his job; Blackwall is Arya’s shield and her shelter, after all. It’s his responsibility to keep her safe.

So he bows his head once more and tries again. Lady Andraste, he prays, Give me the strength to keep her safe. Let me stand between her and her enemies, and let any injuries fall on me instead.

The chapel is silent, and the candles flicker still, and Blackwall lifts his head to study the statue’s still and stony face. Then he hears the creaking of the door.

He swiftly rises to his feet and turns. The heavy wooden door inches open, and Arya pokes her head inside.

Her gamine face creases into a smile, and then her slender elven form is slipping through the door. She’s wearing her favourite red dressing down, and her bare feet are silent on the stones as she makes her approach.

“Here you are,” she says. “I found your note on the pillow. Then I got too cold to wait. You’re my favourite source of heat, you know.” Her smile grows mischievous as she sidles up to him.

Blackwall bashfully scratches his beard, feeling oddly caught out. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he says. “I was just…” He trails off, feeling more embarrassed by the moment. Arya has always denied being the Herald of Andraste, and she’s not particularly adherent to Dalish beliefs either. What if she thinks him strange for coming here? He thinks himself strange, after all.

She wanders over to Andraste’s statue and takes a seat on the dais, and her words address his very thoughts. “I haven’t seen you come here before,” she says. “I didn’t think you really believed in the Maker.”

“I… do,” he says hesitantly. “I think. It’s… hard to say.” He rubs the back of his head. Of all the strange and unsettling things they’ve seen and done, nothing has disproven the Maker’s existence. But nothing has proven it, either. And yet, Corypheus had told Arya that the Golden City was empty…

She tilts her head curiously, and Blackwall sits at his lover’s feet on a lower step of the dais. “I don’t know, Arya. I don’t know what to think half the time. But… it doesn’t really matter, does it? I just…” He shrugs. “I suppose I thought that praying can’t hurt.” He drops his eyes to his hands, feeling more foolish than ever.

She leans toward him, and her slender archer’s fingers slide across his hand. “Blackwall, what’s wrong?” she says softly. “Are you worried about tomorrow?”

Yes, he thinks, but the words remain locked behind his lips. He doesn’t want to add his worries to the weight on her shoulders; she carries enough burdens already. The dark circles beneath her lovely amethyst eyes are proof of this.

He places his hand over hers, engulfing her hand in his large and callused palm. “Do you never feel the need to pray?” he asks.

The concern in her face heats into a cheeky smirk. “To this human goddess, you mean?” She jerks her head at the statue of Andraste.

“No,” he says. “To your elven gods. You never want… I don’t know… a little help?”

She leans back on her elbows and shrugs unconcernedly. “No,” she says. “If our gods are around anymore, they’re not doing my people any favours, so I shan’t waste my time.”

Her words are confident and calm, and Blackwall marvels at her conviction. “What makes you so sure?” he asks. “The tattoos on your face… They’re religious marks, aren’t they?”

“Ah, my vallaslin,” she says. “They’re more a mark of adulthood, but yes. Getting my vallaslin was the last truly Dalish thing I did before I gave up on the religious stuff. My Keeper despaired of me, I can tell you,” she adds. “‘Taking our history lightly’ and all that. She would have disowned me if I hadn’t been the second-best hunter in the clan.”

She winks at him, then gestures grandly toward her face. “These are the marks of Mythal,” she says in a mockingly dramatic tone.

“Who is that?” he asks.

“The mother of the other elven gods. Well, most of them,” Arya says, and she stretches out on Andraste’s steps once more. “The protector and defender of our people. Or so they say. She doesn’t seem to have done much good in protecting us elves from you humans, though.”

Her smile is teasing, but Blackwall bows his head all the same. “I’m sorry, my lady,” he says.

She chuckles. “It’s all right. I’m just giving you a hard time.” She sighs and tilts her head back. “I don’t have much faith in the elven gods. But I have faith in the Inquisition,” she says firmly. “I trust our people. I trust our army and our scouts and everyone here who’s been preparing us to head out tomorrow.”

He admires her tattooed profile. Arya has always placed greater stock in the goodness of her people than the grandness of the gods. As Blackwall studies the determination in her face, he can’t help but think that Thedas would be a better place if more people were like her.

“You know who else I have faith in?” she says softly. She sits forward and cups his bearded cheek in her green and glowing palm.

“You,” she says. “I’m not afraid of tomorrow. I can face down anything that comes at us, because you’ll be there with me.”

Her eyes are warm and deep and bright, and Blackwall exhales heavily as he presses his cheek into her palm. She is right about that; he will be there by her side, with his sword and shield in hand and his heart on his sleeve. He’ll defend her until his dying breath, because she’s the woman who gives him life.

He rises to his knees and pulls her close, and she slides to the edge of the step and parts her legs so he can settle himself between them. He wraps his arms around her waist and savours the tightness of her arms around his neck. Arya presses her cheek to his, and he lets his eyes drift shut as he breathes in her embrace.

She rubs her nose against his own in a sweet and slow caress, and Blackwall releases a long and leisurely sigh. The tightness in his shoulders is easing, loosening and lightening with every second he spends in her arms. As he clutches her close, he realizes that it was foolish to come to the chapel, but not for the reasons he’d thought.

He came here in search of comfort. He wanted reassurance in the light of the battle to come. But in the bed he shares with Arya, in the uninhibited heat of her arms, he had that reassurance all along.

He kisses her cheek, then buries his face against her soft and fragrant neck. Her loose robe is sliding apart, and he presses his lips to her exposed collarbone. Without opening his eyes, he smoothes his hands carefully from her bare calves up to her knees. “I thought you were cold,” he murmurs; indeed, her skin is cool beneath his palms.

“I was,” she says. She shuffles closer still, her legs parting wider as she strokes the back of his neck. She places a kiss on his hair, then presses her lips to his ear and whispers. “I’m not anymore.”

His palms are on her thighs. He slowly slides them higher, and his eyebrows rise with growing surprise as he notices something unexpected: no other fabric is meeting his fingers. No linen tunic, no slippery silken slip…

He swallows hard. His errant fingers slide higher, his thumbs stroking her tender inner thighs, and then her breath catches in a tiny gasp.

Desires blooms in his belly. His eyes dart up to her face. “You’re… you’re naked beneath this robe?” he rasps.

She nods. Her fingers tighten in the hair at the back of his neck. “I didn’t think we’d be down here this long,” she breathes.

He exhales heavily against her neck. Heat is spilling through his limbs, trickling down his throat and swelling between his legs, pulsing through his palms and spurring his hands to untie the loose belt of her wine-red robe.

She leans back slightly, palms braced on the statue’s steps and her eyes steady on his face. Carefully and breathlessly, he slides the two halves of her robe apart.

The candlelight flickers across her body, casting shadows and shades of gold across her bare skin. Blackwall stares at her, scanning her from her throat to her thighs in a slow and reverent sweep. She’s exquisite, a beautiful gilded figure of perfection, and he drinks her in until every birthmark and every scar is captured at the backs of his eyes.

His gaze comes to rest between her legs, and she lifts her hips and slides her thighs apart. It is a clear sign of welcome, an invitation to do more than look, but to Blackwall’s surprise, his Arya doesn’t speak. No carnal commands fall from her carmine lips, none of the usual demands for satisfaction or for his torrid touch; she simply looks at him, silent but for the deep and eager breaths that ghost between her parted lips.

He reaches toward her and reverently strokes her breast. She lifts her chest toward his hand, pressing her budded nipple toward his palm, and still her eyes stay on his face, waiting and watchful for his next move.

His fingers roll across her nipple, tugging the tender bud until she whimpers softly with need. He strokes her other breast, then slides his hands along her ribs. Blackwall’s hands are brutish and blunt, but Arya’s skin is soft and smooth as the silk he was expecting to find beneath her dressing down. With every breathless second, every tender stroke of his hands, she arches toward him more, and Blackwall watches the hallowed waves of her hips with an aching appreciation.

She bites her lips and twists her hips, and his gaze falls between her legs again. Her lower lips are slick and shining, glittering in the candlelight like an offering to entice his humble mouth, and Blackwall takes his cue.

He slides down to kneel on the lowest step of the dais. Reverently he places his palms on her thighs, then bows his head over Arya’s perfectly presented form and kisses the heavenly heat between her thighs.

The plumpness of her folds against his lips… Maker’s balls, he’s unworthy, and he always has been. But Arya has offered herself to him night after night and month after month, and he’s powerless to do anything but accept her precious gift.

She gasps and rests her hand on his hair, and her soft caress is like a benediction. He kisses her again, deep soft kisses that worship her heated flesh. He savours her nectar on his lips like the blessing that it is, then devotes himself to her pleasure, lapping deeply and carefully until her flavour anoints his tongue.

Arya bows her back and spreads her legs as he worships her with his mouth. The sharpness of her breath is rising, and her fingers are tightening in his hair, and with every sign of her rising need, he presses forth with the fervency of his devotion. His kisses are his offerings and his tongue on her flesh is a heated prayer. He has no need for gods, for the Maker or His bride. All that Blackwall needs is splayed before him, his lover’s flesh beneath his hands and the privilege of her pleasure on his tongue.

Here in Andraste’s chapel, kneeling at the Herald’s perfect elven feet and chasing the pleasure that lives between her legs, Blackwall has never felt so close to the divine.

She presses her fist to her mouth to muffle her cry of rapture, and Blackwall holds her hips as she shudders beneath his mouth. He eases her down with gentle kisses and careful little licks, and when her body grows still and lax, he places one last light kiss below her navel.

She strokes his beard, and he lifts his face to look at her. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are red, and she’s the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

He sits back on his knees and offers her his hand. “May I take you to bed, my lady?” he asks.

That cheeky little dimpled smile flashes across her lips. “Always so polite, Ser Blackwall,” she purrs, then her face grows serious again. “You’re sure you’re finished here?”

He nods, then rises to his feet. He offers her his hand again, and as he pulls her to his feet, he doesn’t bother to look at the statue of Andraste.

He slides his arm around Arya’s waist. “Yes,” he whispers. “I got exactly what I needed.”

He admires her mischievous smile, then gallantly ushers her toward the door as she securely ties her robe. He opens the door to let her pass, and as she slides past him, she gently strokes his cheek.

He lets the chapel door swing shut behind them, leaving them in darkness, but Blackwall has no need for candles when he follows the glimmering light of Arya’s verdant palm.

There is only one woman he worships, and it’s the one who holds his heart.

#blackwall #thom rainier #blackwall smut #smut #blackwall/lavellan #blackwall x lavellan #blackwall/inquisitor #blackwall x inquisitor #pikapeppa writes #thank you for the prompt!

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