#concoction

Once upon a time...

In a village nestled at the edge of a vast forest where the trees whispered secrets and the owls carried gossip, lived a witch. Not a scary, wart-covered, green-skinned, curse-slinging hag—but a bumbling, bright-eyed novice with a penchant for breaking teacups, mixing up ingredients, and making questionable choices.

And oh, was this the most questionable choice of them all.

You'd been up all night brewing a love potion. A real, honest-to-gods, heart-goofying, swoon-inducing love potion. Why, you may ask? Because you were madly, hopelessly, irredeemably in love with Dazai Osamu.

Dazai Osamu.

The walking sonnet of trouble. A prominent member of the Kingsguard. A flirt with the smile of a fallen angel and the morals to match. His armor shined with an arrogance only someone that gorgeous could wear without getting punched. He was adored. Feared. Respected. Probably kissed on both cheeks by the King himself. And you, the village's self-proclaimed potion specialist, had fallen head over heels for him like a sack of undercooked bread rolls. One could continue waxing subpar poetry of the man, as any righteous fangirl would, but it would never be enough to capture him in all his greatness.

Which brings us, again, to the present.

Tirelessly, you work through the process of creating the potion, muttering incantations and double-checking your ingredient list like your life depended on it (technically, it did. Love potions were technically banned in the kingdom and every kingdom neighboring it, and were very frowned upon ever ethically-conscious coven in the realm, not only because of the danger it could put others in, but the danger it could put yourself in).

Oh well.

After setting a little water cauldron on the fireplace, you ground a small bouquet of wildflowers. The first step of this potion was always the easiest. Then came the rest. Throwing the ground wildflowers into the cauldron, you carefully placed the bundle of Love-In-Idleness flowers on your cutting board.

The flowers had an apt name. They bloomed in gardens where love prospered, and were often used at weddings to symbolize the wonderful union between two souls (or something along the lines of that). The flowers, when grinded had an aphrodisiac effect, but by themselves, they were completely harmless. They would simply make your day brighter, make you see the world through rosy-tinted glasses, and feel lovely. This is why Love-In-Idleness were often used in mood-boosters. But there was another, far more dangerous use for the flowers.

When boiled separately with rosehip oil, the eyes of a song thrush, one flower of datura, the aphrodisiac factor multiplies into something powerful. Something that would immediately enrapture an individual by fumes alone.

That's why you had to gear up when working with this particular concoction. With the three layers of handkerchiefs wrapped around your head, you magicked another cauldron, smaller in size to the one boiling water and wildflowers, and fill it a quarter of the way with rosehip oil. You allowed the oil to boil to a burn and add in the flowers with a quick murmur of a prayer to the gods of romantic desperation.

At last, the concoction was ready.

The color is a ridiculous shade of pink - almost offensively so. You bottled it quickly and hid it behind a curtain of lavender hanging above your shelves. The plan was simple: mix the potion into a batch of cookies, wait for Dazai's next visit to restock his wound salves, bandages, and tea bags, and offer him a sweet treat that would (hopefully) make him fall in love with you.

Quite simple.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊°｡⋆𓋼𓍊☆𓍊𓋼⋆｡°𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓆏𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊°｡⋆𓋼𓍊☆𓍊𓋼⋆｡°𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Morning came, and you felt horrible.

What on Earth were you thinking? Creating a love potion?? You could get kicked out of your coven, for Gaia's sake!

You looked around your room, trying to find the source of your damnation, and lo and behold, sat the petulant bottle next to your wardrobe. It hadn't even been finished halfway.

Just goes to show how much of a lightweight you are.

Shuddering as your brain recollected every cringe-worthy memory from the previous night, you tried to get ahold of your bearings as you bathed. There was no point in recoiling over the past (regardless of how painful it was). You still had to open the shop and work on Mrs. Sage's medication for the week.

The bell above your shop door jingled with all the subtlety of a panicked goose.

You jumped, nearly elbowing your second cauldron off the fire as you spun around - face half-covered in soot, wild hair pinned back with two mismatched potion labels, and hands still slick with whatever oil you had doused them in.

"Yoo-hoo, witchling~" came the all-too-familiar voice. There, leaning casually against the doorframe like he hadn't just barged into your humble disaster of a workplace unannounced, was him. With equal parts flirtation and amusement, he asked, "I do hope I'm not interrupting some great magical rite or...mid-battle with a rogue fire spirit?"

You blinked at him. "I'm just making a tonic. Nothing cursed. Yet."

"Mm. Comforting." He strolled in like he owned the place, his Kingsguard cloak fluttering behind him with dramatic flair, boots trailing a small constellation of dirt, and what may very well have been monster guts. "Came to check in after a minor skirmish at the border. Just the usual - goblins with attitude and halitosis so strong it should be criminal.

"Please tell me you washed your hands after defeating them." "Washing hands is for people who don't have naturally immune skin," You frowned at that. "Besides," he added, reaching up to casually tug off one of his gloves with his teeth (he definitely did that on purpose), "I saved a kingdom today. That deserves a cookie."

You laughed at that, partly because of course, he demands a cookie as repayment for saving a kingdom, but partly also out of anxiety. The cookies from last night still lay fresh in your mind.

Something crept up your throat. No way he knows you made those cookies. He doesn't know. He couldn't know."

But your gaze drifted, traitorous and panicked, to the side counter.

To the cookies.

The ones you'd baked just last night, while too drunk to stand up straight. The ones you'd laced with that love potion you hadn't even meant to finish. The ones you fully intended to destroy when you sobered up the next morning and somehow forgot to.

The ones that were still sitting out on the tray like innocent little agents of (your) destruction.

"Are those cookies?" Dazai asked, hand already reaching for one.

"WAIT—"

He had already taken a giant bite out of the cookie in his hand before you could sprint around the counter to tackle him. He inspected it with an almost reverent hum. "You've been hiding your talents. I never knew you were suck a good baker."

"I'm not!" You blurted. "That was an accident!"

"An accidental cookie?" He asked, eyes lighting up with interest.

You froze, absolutely, completely, and irrevocably horrified, as he continued to eat the damned cookie.

"Oh, that's good," he said with a pleased sigh, crumbs falling across his shirt like stardust. "Soft middle, crispy edges, faintly floral aftertaste. What is that?"

"Disaster," You said, still watching him like he was going to spontaneously combust. "It tastes like disaster. Spelled with a capital D."

Dazai blinked. "Really? I'd say it's pretty decadent. Not bad at all. Maybe a hint of rose? Or honey?"

"I don't know," You said, voice raising an octave. "I was drunk when I made them."

He snorted. "The best chefs are~"

You pointed at him with a trembling finger. "You should never just eat random food in a witch's place! Especially not something just...lying around. What if it had rat bones in it?"

"Does it?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Now I'm disappointed it doesn't," He said as he licked the crumbs off his fingers. Licked them. "So, what does this particular cookie do? Will I grow wings? Turn into a flower? Speak in tongues?"

You stared. "Probably nothing."

"You sound suspicious."

"You sound far too cheerful for someone who might've just consumed accidental dark magic!"

He shrugged one shoulder, unbothered as always, and wandered over to your overcrowded bookshelf like he hadn't just eaten a love spell. "I once ate a mystery fruit from the swamp of eternal confusion. Couldn't remember my name for three days. Honestly, best vacation I've ever had."

You groaned and slumped against the counter, clutching your mortar and pestle like a life raft.

"How are you feeling?" You asked, once your heart slowed enough to form sentences again. "Physically, emotionally, romantically?"

Dazai turned, hand resting casually on a tome titled Plants That Might Kill You, but Probably Won't. "Romantically?"

You coughed. "Hypothetically."

"Well," He said, strolling back toward you, "Physically, like I got punched by a goblin. Emotionally? Fulfilled. Content. Possibly peckish. Romantically?" He grinned, leaning far too close. "Still madly in love with danger." You tried very hard not to slap your entire soul out of your own body. No effects. That was good. Very good.

Dazai reached for another cookie, but you smacked his hand away. "That's enough baked goods for you. They aren't for you anyways."

He laughed, easy and bright, and leaned his elbows on the counter. "Come on, just one more! I'm willing to risk sprouting antlers."

"You're enough of a walking hazard as is," You muttered. "Go home. Apply the salve. Sleep off the battle bruises. And for the love of the Moon Mother, do not eat anything in my shop ever again without my explicit consent."

"As you command, my terrifyingly charming apothecary," he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "Should I expect another batch tomorrow?"

You chucked a sprig of dried chamomile at him.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊°｡⋆𓋼𓍊☆𓍊𓋼⋆｡°𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓆏𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊°｡⋆𓋼𓍊☆𓍊𓋼⋆｡°𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

You had made a mistake.

A huge one.

One you weren't sure any god would forgive you for, much less man.

It wasn't one of those minor "oops-I-used-mint-instead-of-mugwort" kind of mistakes. No, this was a catastrophic, soul-shattering, reputation-obliterating mistake.

Because there he was.

Standing in the middle of the town square. Shirt unbuttoned at the the top like those men from the covers of your scandalous romance novels. Windswept hair. That signature glint in his eye.

And worst of all?

He saw you.

"There she is!" Dazai called off the top of his lungs, arms dramatically thrown open like he was greeting the sunrise and not just...you, with your basket of vegetables and a growing sense of doom. "My sun! My stars! My reason for existing!"

You stopped dead in your tracks.

Several market-goers turned.

A child dropped her stick of candied plums.

"Nope," you muttered, turning on your heel. "Absolutely not. I don't know that man."

But before you could vanish into the crowd, Dazai was already in front of you - teleporting via charm (probably) - because of course he was.

"You wound me," He said, placing his hand over his heart as though you'd stabbed him there. "To see you and not be greeted with the warmth of your smile? My day, once so full of joy, lies in ruins."

You squinted at him. "Did you memorize that last night?"

"No, I just feel everything very deeply now," He said solemnly. "Ever since yesterday, it's like I've awakened to a new kind of love. A purer kind. One that transcends reason. Like Petrarch and his Laura!"

Oh sweet marmot and wine. "Don't you dare bring Petrarch into this-"

He grinned. "'Love found me all disarmed, and found the way I was clear to reach my heart down through the eyes, I which have become the halls and doors of tears.'"

Someone behind you gasped.

You turned to find a cluster of women - all very pretty, very well-dressed - glaring at you with the intensity of a thousand enchanted, white-hot daggers.

You sheepishly grinned at them. "I have no idea what's happening."

"Oh, she plays coy!" Dazai declared. "But I see the truth. Beneath her modest exterior lies a fiery soul who has ensnared my heart like a siren of legend. Do you know what I wrote this morning?"

"Please don't-"

"A poem. Just for you."

"Dazai-"

"'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" He began, loud enough to wake the dead. "'Thou art more lovely and more temperate-"

"Stop," You hissed, grabbing his arm. "You're making a scene."

He smiled beatifically. "Let the world witness my love!"

"No! Let the world not! Please! I'm begging you-"

"'Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date-"

You slapped a hand over his mouth.

People were staring.

Vendors paused mid-sale. A cabbage rolled out of someone's basket. A bard in the corner actually stopped playing to watch.

And Dazai, the love-sick fool he was (no thanks to you), just smiled with his eyes as if this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You leaned in and hissed, "You're under a spell, you idiot! A love potion! I told you not to eat that cookie!"

He pulled your hand away gently and, with every bit of seriousness he could muster, said, "If this is magic, then let me be enchanted forever."

You made a noise not unlike a dying frog and buried your face in your hands.

"Okay. Okay. I need to fix this. Quietly. Before someone starts drawing more attention to the fact that the most eligible bachelor in town is loudly declaring eternal devotion to a witch who once accidentally made her teapot sentient."

"Your teapot was a delight," Dazai whispered. "It sang me a lullaby."

"It also bit someone!"

"And yet you - you would never harm me," He said, brushing a strand of hair from your face with devastating gentleness. "Even if you brewed a thousand potions, I know none would match the spell you've cast upon my soul.

If only you knew you confounded heartthrob.

"I can't believe this is happening in the fish aisle."

The fishmonger gave you a thumbs up.

And the fangirls were still staring. No, seething. One of them had unsheathed a fan. A bloody fan. Another clutched a bouquet of hydrangeas that had seen better days.

You positively had to end this.

"Alright!" You said, louder than intended. "Fine! You want to be romantic? Great. I love that for you. Just...just come with me. Somewhere private. Where you can quote all the sonnets you want and I won't spontaneously combust from secondhand (and firsthand) embarrassment!"

Dazai tilted his head. "Are you...inviting me on a secret rendezvous?"

I'm inviting you on a picnic."

"A romantic picnic?"

"Sure! Yes! Romantic! Whatever gets you to stop reciting Shakespeare in the middle of the produce section."

Dazai lit up like you'd proposed marriage (yes, that was a fantasy you had entertained at some point in your life).

"I shall bring wine and strawberries," He said. "And a blanket embroidered with your initials."

You blinked. "You don't have a blanket like that."

"I'll have one made." He said, already pulling out a small notepad and jotting something down under the heading Love Errands. "Do you prefer roses or lilies? I must know what to scatter at your feet when we arrive."

Goddesses above kill you now.

Not only had the potion worked - it had overachieved.

"Just meet me tomorrow at the glade near the cliff. Noon. Bring food. Not poetry."

"No promises~" Dazai said, kissing your hand like the (sometimes) chivalrous knight he was, and then spun on his heel and strolled away like this was just an average Tuesday.

You stood there in a stunned silence, surrounded by stares, candied plum, cabbage, and very crushed dignity.

"...He's going to wear a flower crown, isn't he?" You muttered to yourself.

The fishmonger nodded. "That's a man in love."

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊°｡⋆𓋼𓍊☆𓍊𓋼⋆｡°𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓆏𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊°｡⋆𓋼𓍊☆𓍊𓋼⋆｡°𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

You didn't sleep much the night before.

How could you? You'd spent the better part of your night pacing the creaky floorboards of your cottage, staring with horror at the rapidly emptying cookie tin, and asking yourself the age-old question: Why must you be so stupid?

And now, you stood in the glade you'd invited him to, basket tucked under your arm as you fiddled with the cloth covering your anti-love potion cookies.

What if he never goes back to normal?

The late afternoon sun painted the fields in golden hues, and the breeze smelled faintly of lavender and trouble. You'd picked this spot deliberately - far enough away from town that no townsfolk could witness your shame but close enough that you could make a quick getaway if Dazai decided to wax poetic about your honey-kissed eyes again.

You sat on the grass, carefully setting down the cookie basket, waiting, like a trap baited with confectionery. You straightened, brushed imaginary crumbs off your dress, looked around at the different flora that surrounded you and pondered which ones you could (and should) harvest, and—

"Dearest light of my life, bringer of rainbows to my otherwise sepia-toned existence," a familiar voice crooned behind you.

You turned, and immediately regretted doing so.

Dazai stood at the edge of the clearing, looking irritatingly dashing as always, holding...the aforementioned blanket.

He waved it at you proudly, like a toddler showing their mother the flowers they picked for them. "I embroidered this myself! For our picnic. Look! It says 'D + Y/N = True Love 4ever.' The four is for emphasis."

You squinted at the surprisingly good needlework. "Did you actually embroider that?"

He stepped closer, flashing that smile that had probably brought entire armies to their knees. "I had a very talented old woman do it for me while I recited Shakespeare in the background. She said it added to the ambiance."

Of course he did.

You didn't protest when he laid it down, carefully brushing past any bumps in the material, nor when he dramatically positioned himself atop it with all the theatrical flair of a noble prince preparing to duel for his beloved's hand. Instead, you busied yourself with the basket and retrieved the cookies - the very ones you'd spent hours preparing using the best counter-potion recipe you had (and double-checked thrice). These weren't cursed. These were the cure.

Hopefully.

Dazai sat up as you handed him one.

"Oh, my darling witch of wonders," He said, pressing the cookie gently to his chest as if it were the relic of a sacred saint. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Also, you make excellent baked goods."

You stared at him. "Please just eat the cookie."

"Your wish is my command," he said, taking a bite with theatrical slowness as if he were savoring not the actual flavor but the experience of annoying you to death.

"Do you feel okay?" You asked almost immediately, your voice tight.

He chewed. Thought. Swallowed.

"Yeah."

You tried not to let the hopeful bubble rise too high in your chest. "Would you say that you still have...very strong feelings for me?"

He looked at you, and then - without warning - planted a dramatic kiss on your hand.

Your soul exited your body.

"I would say," He said with the gall of someone who'd clearly been unbothered for his entire life, "That being near you is like drowning in a sea of roses while choirs of doves sing above my head."

You blinked.

He reached for another cookie.

You blinked again.

And just as he was about to take a bit, he paused, looked at the cookie, and casually added, "Anywho, let's give the anti-love potion a few minutes to take effect."

"Okay," you said with multiple tiny nods, still watching him anxiously.

Then realization hit you like a frying pan to the face."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?" You screeched, nearly upsetting the cookie plate.

Dazai choked on a laugh (and a cookie). "Oh good, there you are. I was starting to worry the love potion had zapped all the fire out of you."

"You knew!?" You all but threw the rest of the cookies at him, outraged. "You knew this entire time!?"

He gave you a complacent smile, brushing crumbs from his lips. "You left your journal open on your worktable, right next to a page titled Potion of Enraptured Desire (Do Not Make While Drunk). Not exactly subtle. "Besides, with all the questions you asked me after I had the first cookie, it couldn't have been more obvious."

You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "So you've just been...what? Faking it? Messing with me this entire time?"

Dazai grinned, leaning back on his elbows like a smug cat under the sun. "I thought it was a fun little bit. You should've seen your face in the market yesterday. Priceless."

You clutched your chest, mortified. "Do you know how many of your fangirls I had to dodge after that?"

"I got slapped with a daikon," He said fondly. "The old grocer's daughter is surprisingly strong."

"And you weren't ever under the influence of the potion?"

He tilted his head. "Who said that?"

You blinked again. "Wait. What?"

He reached for your hand again, but this time with a gentle sincerity that made your stomach twist in the most annoying (and satisfying) way.

"I wasn't faking it," He said, brushing his lips across your knuckles. "Not all of it, anyways. I may have exaggerated for dramatic effect-"

"You mean the sonnet quoting and the needlepoint?"

"I never needed a potion to fall for you, you know."

You blinked. Then squinted. Then blinked again.

"Is this another bit?" You asked cautiously.

Dazai shook his head. "You make potions and cookies, you talk to frogs, you wear three scarves at once and call it 'fashionable layering.' You're chaotic and impulsive and once you tried to reheat tea with a spell and exploded your own kettle."

"That only happened once," You muttered, looking off to the side.

"And yet," He said, shifting closer, "I think about you more than I should. I come to your shop even when I have no real reason to. I eat your cookies even when they're probably cursed." "They're occasionally cursed." You mumbled.

He reached for your cheek, brushing a thumb gently along your face. "You're not like anyone I've met." You almost rolled your eyes, love potion, or no, he still had cringy lines left in him. "And that's...a good thing."

Despite the cheesy line, your heart did a series of complicated flips, stumbles, and quite possibly a cartwheel. You narrowed your eyes at him. "So you're saying that you like me for real?"

"I'm saying," Dazai said, leaning in closer, "that no amount of anti-love potion is going to fix the mess you've made of me. That I love you."

You snorted. "You're still obnoxious."

"And you still like me anyway," He whispered.

He kissed you then, sweet and slow, the kind of kiss that made you forget where you were and what your name was and how many cookies you'd accidentally poisoned that week.

And when you pulled away, dazed and breathless and very aware of the embroidered blanket beneath you, he grinned and said:

"And they all lived happily ever after."

You groaned. "I'm putting another potion in your tea."

"I hope it's one that makes me fall for you even harder."

You shoved a cookie in his mouth.

He winked anyway.

And they truly lived happily ever after.

Author's Note: I had SO much fun writing this. I have had this idea lying around (and the draft) for literal years. I wanted to reference Shakespeare and Petrarch because they were famous for their sonnets, and I wanted Dazai to recite them like a lovesick fool. I also wanted to reference the first Descendents movie, because I realized like halfway through the fic that what's happening with Reader and Dazai is basically what happened with Mal and Ben, so here we are!

See you in the next fic!