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silkendandelion · 15 hours

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Can I request a Gojo x male reader that owns a cafe. Reader is having an event for his cafe where if someone gets a special item in their dessert (like idk a cherry or something) he would make them a custom dessert. Gojo, who had won the competition, requested to have Olive as his dessert. (Olive and Gojo do know each other, so it's nit like Gojo is a stranger requesting this lol. If you choose this request then thank you <3

Consider it done~ And for the sake of not naming the reader, I won't be using the name Olive but the relationship can remain.

Title: Sweet Tooth

Characters: Gojo x m!reader

Contains: heated/sensual make out

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Full request below the cut

All characters are 18+

MINORS, FEM ALIGNED, AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DNI

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"Congratulations! You won a custom dessert!"

Behind shaded lenses, Gojo blinked in reaction to the announcement. "Hah?"

You handed him a specialized card in both hands, a small one made of easy to punch paper. "A custom dessert! It's an event I'm holding. People who order a specific item from the menu get a special dessert made just for them, free of charge! With limitations of course."

As a café owner, you liked to hold these little events on occasion, especially if you ended up with more ingredients than you sold. It was a convenient way to get rid of them without having to throw them away and wasting them. For Gojo to win one felt like a thrill, as he didn't often stop by as of late thanks to his teaching position. He luckily had some time during the day to come by for a sweet treat, especially since he promised he would at some point.

Taking the card, Gojo scanned the text.

You've won one (1) free custom dessert*! Present this card at purchase to redeem. *Limitations apply. Good for one item up to ¥800

His drink and to-go box were already on the counter as he gazed back at you. With not a lot of time left in his break, he gave you a charming smile, picking up his items after sliding the card in his pocket. "I'll definitely stop by before you close to redeem this, maybe get some extra things while I'm here."

You two gave each other a wave before Gojo stepped out.

---

As closing time approached, you tried keeping the oven on as long as you could, keeping all the necessary ingredients nearby for whenever Gojo entered the shop, but despite your efforts and hopeful waiting, closing hour came, and you begrudgingly turned the heat off while putting the ingredients into storage.

You were upset, yeah, but not exactly at Gojo. It wasn't the first time his job made him stay out, and it wasn't the first time he didn't show up when he said he would. You didn't want to think about all the plans that fell through on top of this, so after locking the front doors, you set yourself to nearly deep clean the café to distract yourself.

You were going to start with the back. Since that area was out of customer sight, you never really cleaned it as well as you should, but at least it was always within code. You had put your apron up on the rack when a knock rattled the backdoor in the room, nearly causing you to jump out of your skin.

You don't recall ordering any new items, as this is where deliveries would be handled commonly, but you could have simply forgotten. That being said, you opened the door, revealing a towering male with familiar white hair and cloth-shielded eyes.

"Yo, am I too late?" His voice was all too casual for his delay in presence.

Disappointment had gave way to anger, and you turned around, allowing Gojo to enter the shop, gazing around the new environment for a customer.

"You have some nerve..."

"What? I came by! I said I would!"

"You said you'd come by before closing!" Built up frustration bubbled to the surface as you started gathering your cleaning items, haphazardly pacing back and forth to grab the items that were strewn about. "Like how you said you'd come over for drinks last week, or how you wanted to catch a movie the time before that."

Gojo let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know I messed up. Things have been...crazy with the school for awhile."

"Then you should just focus on that instead of giving me hope." Water splashed from the soap filled bucket you made while talking, having slammed a rag in it after. There was an unsettling silence before Gojo spoke.

"But I'm here, right? After closing, sure. But I'm not bailing completely." He revealed the card from his pocket, still in decent condition despite the activity he typically does. "I still wanna cash in, if that's okay."

You stalled your movements, glancing at him with the revealed card before your gaze went back to the bucket, letting out a sigh.

"I...Yeah." There wasn't any point in being angry right now. You had to admit it was nice of him to come back when he said he would despite being late. He could have bailed out or gotten caught up with work like he usually did but he actually came back this time. "I'm sorry. I'm...really sorry." You straightened up, taking a nice deep breath to ground yourself for the moment. "I haven't started cleaning yet, so what would you like? I can get the stuff back out, but remember it's a ¥800 limit."

"If it's custom, what determines the price?" As Gojo spoke, he stepped over to you, rereading the text to make sure he read it all correctly.

You replied while tying your apron back on. "Size, mainly. You can take a menu item and change it how you want, and I can let you know if that will be within your range."

"Can I go off menu?"

"Well...I don't see why not, but you'd really have to know what you'd--" Your words cut off once you turned back around to face Gojo after your apron was on. He was so close to you, you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him, which contradicted the chilling feeling from the icy blue stare that now graced you. "--w-want."

"So as long as I really know what I want, I can have it, yeah?" His voice dropped to a husky tone as he leaned close, your back starting to press into the wall.

"S-Satoru--"

"Well, can I redeem the cute shop owner~?"

When his cold hand touched your heated cheek, your heart picked up in pace. It pounded in your ears, nearly drowning out all sound. You had no idea Gojo felt this way, but maybe you were just oblivious to past actions.

"I-I...um...I-I'm not exactly a dessert..."

"Are you sure? Because my sweet tooth kicks in whenever I see you~ Maybe I could have a sample first?"

Before you could respond, Gojo's lips found yours, and he was quick to help himself past them, humming from the sweet taste that coated your mouth from sampling your creations throughout the day. Soft groans left the two of you, and you found yourself gripping at Gojo's uniform sleeves, not in protest, but to keep your mind steady. Luckily for your sake, he didn't keep the kiss long, pulling away once notice you were shaking to get air. As you panted lightly, he gave you a playful smirk, licking his lips with a satisfied hum.

"Well after a sample like that, how could I not have more~?"

You didn't need to wait for him to make a move. This time, you urged in, connecting your lips once more with his. His body pressed flush against you, the silence in the air replaced with sensually charged sounds. You gripped at his clothes as his hands raked through your hair, tongues dancing with one another as you held each other close. You were emotionally charged; anger, desire, and excitement all mixing within yourself like a lumpy batter. You didn't exactly know what to feel with him, but desire seemed to be the strongest ingredient.

This sudden makeout seemed to last awhile to you, feeling like tens of minutes went by before you two finally disconnected, gazing into each other's glazed eyes while your chests heaved for air.

"M-My house later," you breathed. "Y-You better not be late this time."

"Trust me," Gojo exhaled in response. "I wouldn't miss that for anything...~"

#I’m not usually into Gojo but this was too sweet #kaisers house of desires #x reader #x male reader #x male y/n #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x male reader

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silkendandelion · 2 days

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Two Drow From Sembia

A Baldur's Gate 3 fanfiction, a story of two Tavs (ongoing, series), ao3 link

Pairings (Eventual): Tav Dayedan x Astarion (M/M), Tav Badril x Shadowheart (M/F) Genre: Fantasy, adventure, humor, drama, eventual fluff and romance Words: 3.2k

Rating Teen and Up Audiences for graphic descriptions of violence, mild blood and gore, mature language. Rating subject to change, published per chapter.

Summary: For the last 50 years, Dayedan Vernal, an Eladrin artificer from Sembia, has traveled Faerun looking for unique materials. The last 10 of those years have been beside his hired bodyguard, Badril Lightward: a drow with sun-kissed skin and black hands, who introduced himself as the Chosen of Lathander. After months of walking and multiple dead-end leads, they had only been in Baldur’s Gate for less than a day when the Nautiloid attacked.

AN: I've been sitting on this one for awhile, but I felt guilty for not posting anything in awhile (bc I'm eyeball deep in long fics), so here. Dayedan's backstory is posted as well, but it's being rewritten currently (bc it's poor quality embarrasses me terribly). The title is a joke from the groupchat, Day is constantly mistaken for a drow and he's quite chuffed about it

Likes and reblogs are, as always, welcome and please enjoy 💙

Chapter 1 (below)

~*~

Journal Updated: The Sembian Artificer

Muffled, incoherent shouting rouses the elf, barely, unable to be understood beyond the cotton in his ears. He manages to push beyond the ice-pick ache threatening to split his skull, enough to open his eyes and see Badril on the other side of the greasy, smeared glass of the mindflayer pod.

The drow’s angular face is stricken, white ponytail falling off his crown, and panic written in the pull of his frown after hours of fruitless searching for his friend. Black hands, dark and smooth as obsidian glass, swipe the sides of the pod, seeking a switch or lever.

“He—help… Badril,” Dayedan called weakly, hands pawing the glass in response. His bag is gone, he can only feel himself inside the humid, sweltering pod when Badril’s shape disappears. The beginnings of dread rise in him, bile creeping up his throat, ready to spew the next time he tried to shout. For 10 years, the darkness had kept quiet, banished by the dawn’s favorite, who was just here—

“Don’t leave me!” His fists bang on the glass, again, again, lungs wrested for breath, when—CRACK—he screams, terrified enough to halt his panting when black hands slam into the glass. Clawed, un-bloodied fingers punched clean through in ten jagged holes.

Those monstrous hands are too familiar, the pride of a warrior monk, soot-black nearly up to the elbow, so prone to be found spinning a cooking spit or picking his lute that Dayedan often forgets their divine purpose is to kill. They are the hands of his most trusted bodyguard and friend, who with frightening ease flays the entire front off the pod in one screeching, fleshy rip.

He falls with no more support into Badril’s arms and the drow grabs his jaw, turning his face back and forth to better examine his fragile state.

“Are you all right? Does your head hurt?”

“Bloody pounding,” he huffed. “How did you know?”

Badril tilted him, one thick arm tight around his waist until he could stand proper. “Then they’ve infected you already... I’m sorry, my friend.”

“Did they get you too?”

“No.”

“Then, how did you—”

He held up a wet hand—soaked with gore, Dayedan relays to his queasy stomach—silencing him before the artificer could spiral, as he was prone to do, or worse: over-analyze their situation into a stupor that neither healed him nor helped them both to escape.

“Hear me now: you were grabbed because you wandered off,” he chided with emphasis and Dayedan’s ears wilted, shoulders flinching.

“In order to follow you, I allowed myself to be captured. They could not get me into a pod.”

Dayedan watched him flick the blood off his hands, silvery and congealing as it joined the streaks running from the nearby door. Mind you, a door that hung savaged and drooping from the rest of the wall, as mangled as his pod. He recalled Badril’s words from their travels, how Lathander’s most faithful are sworn enemies of the evil, undead and soulless... Suddenly, he had only one more question.

“Are you going to put me down?”

“No,” was his simple reply.

“But I’m going to become a monster,” Dayedan insisted, yet Badril ushered him to get moving, one hand on his arm and the other pointing towards the door (the flesh ribbons), their only exit.

“You are not a monster yet, so until then you are my friend.”

As Dayedan’s headache persisted, the acuate pain flaring from what he deduced was the tadpole making itself bloody comfortable against his frontal lobe, an ache only negligibly reduced by the adrenaline of waking up on an actual, real, stinking, fucking Mindflayer ship—he had no mind to argue.

“Let’s get the hells out of here.”

~*~

“Where is it? Where IS it?” Dayedan picked through the belongings of other kidnapped victims, tossing away things he decided to be useless and absently slipping loose gold coins in his pockets.

“Don’t make so much noise,” Badril replied from where he observed the pod at the center of the room, and the transformed body inside.

“I’m allowed to panic, I think, that bag is the most valuable thing I own.”

“Your soul?” The drow said while studying the runes across the attached control panel. Surely, he wondered, one of them must be able to kill the thing. The soulless, tentacled monster scratching clawed hands down the glass, who moments ago was a human woman, and even fewer moments ago had her screams mangled as the bones in her neck twisted, tongue useless as her teeth fell from her jaw down to the feet of her coffin.

His metacarpals ached with the restraint to not rip the pod open and perform his best imitation of the transformation on the finished creature, piece by piece.

“It’s not here, come on. What are you staring at—egh.” Dayedan appeared beside his shoulder, recoiling. “Kill the thing, already.”

“To release it is a danger to you, even for a moment.”

“Then—scoot over.” He elbowed Badril but the enormous drow didn’t move until he meant to, staying close while Dayedan pulled his goggles down off his black, wavy hair. The multiple lenses lay stacked, flush in various colors of rainbow glass until he flipped them into the proper orientation with a practiced flick of his fingertips.

‘Identify,’ was the key word as he hovered his hands above the console.

“The thing about scientists is: we’re predictable. Our needs our simple, complex only to those who don’t know us, and we cannot continue our work if we are dead. Therefore, everything dangerous we make needs the capacity to be destroyed.”

His analysis allowed him to decipher the functions of the buttons on the console, a cruel smirk sliding over his lips when his hand depressed a command for ‘annihilate’, and the console hummed to life. The decontamination took mere seconds, unmaking the Mindflayer in a wash of goo that only didn’t slide out over the floor because of the pod’s tight seal. Nearby tubing glugged, slurping the remains to wherever the unlucky went. Or lucky, depending on who was asked.

“I’m sure that’s not what they intended that button for.”

“Doesn’t change how good it felt, or—ah!” Dayedan cried out, brought down by a sudden wound to his ankle, forced to lean on the console.

His attacker, an intellect devourer, stood a pace away, clicking angrily and swiping the air with it’s claws (a warning—shouldn’t warnings be given first?), feelers spread wide to give the illusion of a greater height and weight.

“You little—” Dayedan raised his foot to stomp the creature flat before Badril grabbed his good ankle and flung him away, landing on his back with a dull ‘thud’.

“Don’t hurt them!”

“EXCUSE me?” He coughed at how hard he twisted his vocal cords for that one. Nothing could have prepared him to be literally thrown by his bodyguard, or for the excuse to be Dayedan had tried to swiftly—but violently—squish the creature that bled him.

“You frightened them, I think. Using the machine, possessing a tadpole. They don’t understand you didn’t mean to attack me next.”

“Why are we psychoanalyzing the bloody thing?! I’m bleeding, that shit hurt!”

“I am sorry. I will heal you, but I couldn’t allow you to hurt my friend.”

That’s it. He must have actually died in the pod, and this was his asinine excuse for an afterlife: attempting to escape the situation that felled him, complete with Badril saying the most outrageous things with a straight face. Then again, he’s always done so—but not about aberrations, that one was new.

“Am I high? Or did you really say it’s your friend?” Dayedan said from where he lay, leaning up to watch the little brain scuttle behind Badril’s leg, nails clicking on the metal floor—and did the thing just hiss at him?

“I freed them from a damaged skull. They are grateful.” Badril knelt beside them, the tiny creature, and offered his finger for a bit of affection. The brain quivered, seemingly in delight, one of it’s feelers reaching up to coil around his first knuckle. A handshake, maybe? Or perhaps it was better to be interpreted the way a cat undulates against the ankles of a person it trusts.

‘You are our friend—you saved Us. That is our name.’

“He can’t hear you, brain. He doesn’t have a wriggler.” Dayedan tapped the side of his head.

“They can speak to you? Through the parasite?” Badril said as he reached to stroke the creature’s damp cerebellum, watching it shiver, feet tip-tapping happily, likely as close to feline excitement as they were capable.

Dayedan pulled his lips in an off-kilter pout, displeased he was beginning to find the fleshy, pointy, slimy creature adorable. Those weren’t deal-breakers, not at all, he was actually partial to less-than-fluffy and off-putting beasts with propensities for a good pet—but the only other intellect devourers on this ship had all tried to kill him. Some suspicion was warranted.

“They want to be called Us.”

“Us? So it shall be, little friend. Us.”

“Hm.” Dayedan huffed, nose in the air. “Let’s keep moving, we must be getting close to—something. Some way to drive this thing? Hopefully it has enough power to get us back to Baldur’s Gate.”

The moment Dayedan showed them his back, he allowed himself an almost-smile, hearing Badril’s encouraging “Let’s go, Us”, and the happy skittering of claws.

~*~

They didn’t have to wander far along the ship’s halls before they came to open air, with nearly one entire room of the ship eviscerated and gaping strips of fragmented flesh. Their lungs stung, suddenly smothered with the hot belches of sulfur-tinged ash rising from the Blood War beneath them.

Gods, they were in Avernus.

“Perhaps I was being optimistic,” said Dayedan.

“You?”

His tadpole twinged when he tried to roll his eyes. “We have to hope this ship can get us back to Toril in the state it’s in.”

But Badril didn’t answer him, dashing forward to meet a blur of chartreuse and the screech of the woman’s silver sword as it was blocked by the flat of his hand.

“A Githyanki? This really just gets worse.” Dayedan blanched, reflexively fingering the golden cuff on his left arm.

“You recognize the instrument of your demise? More than I should ask for—unh,” the woman staggered back, struck by the hammer in her skull of her tadpole communing with Dayedan. Memories rush passed, shared but hardly understood, except that the men before her were not actually thralls.

Yet she did not holster her sword, the arms barring her like unwavering mountain rock when she surged forward again. “I will not concede, so long as your friend remains in his stance.”

Dayedan waited behind him, ready and hardly willing to move or dim the spell circle in his palm. “You first, Githyanki warrior.”

“Dayedan, do not be obstinate,” Badril scolded him.

“He does not appear to take orders from you.” A cruel smirk slid over her speckled cheeks, teeth bared as she pushed—faltering when he did not move.

“His safety is my responsibility. Think about what that means for you.”

The streak of a red dragon near the broken maw of the ship shook the soft, unsteady floor beneath them, whipping the air into a hurricane. Their stalemate was broken by Lae’zel losing her footing, and Badril’s wide palm shooting out to protect her from toppling over the jagged edge.

“I don’t have a tadpole, so I don’t know what either of you saw, but I know we are more likely to survive together.”

Lae’zel swatted his hand away, leaving the hand un-perforated in her version of gratitude, though to her horror the drow seemed gently amused at her batting him. “On that, we agree… If your magical charge is willing to cooperate.”

“The magical charge just wants to find his bag and hopefully survive this ordeal. I care little about how we get there.” Dayedan crossed his arms.

“I’ve never fought alongside a Githyanki,” Badril smiled. Even standing in Avernus on a Nautiloid could not hinder his personality, and Lae’zel made a mortifying grunt—one she would never admit to—when his big paw shot out to shake her hand. She considered stabbing his palm anyway, her grace could only persist so long under a steadily shrinking measure of tolerance.

“Do try not to be—too pathetic about it, and don’t fall behind!” She stammered while yanking her hand back, not completely unlike a cat’s paw stuck on a bit of flannel.

“Get moving,” she huffed at both of them.

~*~

“The helm should not be far,” Lae’zel surveyed the next room for an exit, refusing to regard the pods dotted around the room with more than indifference.

“Wait.” Badril held up his palm. “Listen.”

Dayedan’s ears perked up to focus his hearing, before pointing to the pod along the wall. “There.”

“We don’t have time for stragglers—” Both elves shushed her, to her chagrin that was beginning to nudge up alongside homicidal rage.

‘Get me out of this damn thing! Please!’ A woman’s voice shouted quietly, muffled by the thick glass of the container, her fists barely making quiet thumps as she pounded with what looked like all her strength.

“I can get this open, it’ll only take a moment—” Dayedan pulled down his goggles just to be outmaneuvered by the splintering snap of glass shattering, of flesh ripped apart as Badril shredded the front of the pod off.

“Or he can do that.”

The woman inside fell into Badril’s arms, too exhausted to protest until her bearings came back to her. She stared up at him, the white hair falling free from his hair leather, the dusky brown of his skin what spoke of an under-dweller touched by the sun.

“You’re—a drow?” She smothered her embarrassment with a pissy frown, pushing at his chest to both be released and dust off the links of her armor. Dayedan appeared by Badril’s head.

“Two drow?” She scoffed, and spied Lae’zel standing off to the side, arms crossed and wearing a much pissier frown.

“A… peculiar little company,” she decided, with all the barest restraint to not say “horrendous” instead.

“Hang on, I’m not a drow!”, declared Dayedan. “Lae’zel was right, we have no time for stragglers.”

“Don’t mind those two. Are you hurt?” said Badril, faithfully sitting by her side.

“I’m all right, nothing a little healing spell can’t—” She tried to flinch away as his obsidian hands began to glow, ghosting over her knuckles until the bones stopped aching and the cuts sealed, dried blood beginning to fleck away.

“A cleric? As am I: Shadowheart.”

“Badril. Don’t mind them, really. Lae’zel and Dayedan. They’re both terrible at meeting people, even if we’ve already had this talk about needing allies to leave this realm.”

His tone spoke of scolding, as did his hard golden eyes, but both companions only gave their own “tch” and “chk” to express their reluctant acquiescence.

“Oh, and that’s Us.” He pointed to the Intellect Devourer following them, sniffing (did they have noses?) at Shadowheart’s boot, and not deterred at all by her startled gasp.

“… A most peculiar company, indeed.” She winced, wondering if perhaps being rescued had been a mistake.

~*~

Us bounced on their little clawed feet, feelers waving wildly as they shouted into the telepathic connection. ‘The helm, the helm! In here!’

“The helm is beyond that door,” Shadowheart translated.

“Then be prepared for a fight,” said Badril, more ominously than he meant to when his words were punctuated by the cracks of his knuckles in his fists.

“Oh Gods, I don’t want to fight,” Dayedan groaned, his long ears pinning back in moderate annoyance.

“By all means,” Shadowheart raised her eyebrow at him. “Do let them know, so we can sit down to tea and sandwiches instead.”

“You little—” Their imminent volatile clash became a near-miss when Badril grabbed Dayedan’s face, specifically ignoring his yelp of panic when he realized those hands had yet to be washed free of Mindflayer ooze.

“Think clearly, you foolish scientist. Your bag could be in there.”

Dayedan blinked at him. “… Oh,” he said, the wires visibly connecting in his eyes, amber bulbs on strings behind his lenses spelling “Motivation Acquired” with all the fanfare of an oath renewed.

“I’m ready.”

~*~

On the far side of the helm’s chamber, a set of controls, mounted to both the ceiling and floor, waved where the tendrils to determine their destination and speed flung about, unattached.

A lone Mindflayer noticed their entry, though they could hardly turn his back from the cambion general swinging his burning sword with the intent to cleave them in two.

“You: thralls. Leave the devil to me. Connect the transponder, so we may leave this realm.”

Lae’zel spoke to their entire little group. “Do as it says. We can deal with the ghaik once we have escaped.”

But of course, Dayedan didn’t have his ears on, instead consumed wholly by a table halfway across the room, loosely populated by various runes, a few brain jars—and his bag of holding. Badril knew to act fast, even if the ladies were unfamiliar with the peculiarities of their temporary companions.

‘Patience,’ came his ringing voice, and a single rune on his cuff began to glow, the same white glow that slid around his thumb and into his palm, materializing into a golden revolver with a silver hammer, it’s long barrel and wide grip carved with the forests of the Feywild in chased murals.

“Dayedan, don’t—” Shadowheart’s protest was cut off by Badril bodily snatching her up to dash away, only moment’s before the artificer flicked back the hammer, the pistol glowing momentarily before it fired off a volatile, exploding shot in the cambion’s face. Two more shots, two more tiny, powerful blasts, and Lae’zel was at Badril’s side to complain.

“Is he insane?!”

“No, he’s just—he’s REALLY protective of his bag, here—take her.” Badril handed off Shadowheart and the two woman scowled at each other before scrambling wide steps apart, wiping their hands on their armor.

“You idiots, do you have any idea how many man hours went into this bag? You—” Dayedan fired off one more shot, downing a stray imp as he walked over to the table to snatch his property and arrange it safely over his shoulder.

“Enough!” Badril waved to him. “We need to—” The ship lurched to one side, threatening to knock them off their feet. From across the control room, Badril could see Lae’zel on the controls, clearly unimpressed with their tactical priorities, and Shadowheart taking out her flustered frustration at being carried like a princess out on the intellect devourer beneath her boot.

The second jerk of the ship was hard enough to send them all flying to one side of the control room, and Badril reached out to snatch Dayedan to him by the strap on his precious bag.

He shouted over the alarms and crashing of the cambions into various equipment, the rest of the imps clinging their feet to the walls of the ship. “Don’t tense—!”

“Are we going to die?!” Dayedan shouted back.

He clamped a big hand over his mouth. “We’re going to crash! Don’t tense your body!”

“Mmfrr!!” He heard the artificer cry against his hand as he tucked him under his chin.

Alas, blackness and silence would come before any impact they might have expected. Soft and beguiling, like the double-edged reward of divine intervention.

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