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lizzybeth1986 · 2 years

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Eleanor's Kitchen

Book: The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Pairing: None. Queen Eleanor & Prince Liam (mother-son), Queen Eleanor & Joëlle Theron (platonic), Prince Liam & Kiara Theron (platonic)

Rating: PG for one cuss word.

Summary: Eleanor and Liam get a visit from Joëlle and her daughter Kiara, along with a few surprises. (Takes place a few weeks after Chapter Two. Liam is seven years old, Kiara is five)

Note: In this series, Hakim, Joëlle and Kiara's surnames are spelt Thorne. People close to Constantine call him "Kontos".

Series: Eleanor's Kitchen

Word Count: 3,532

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for Fics of the Week

Tagging @choicesmonthlychallenge for the May Challenge - Day 31 - smile | macaroons | "This isn't goodbye"

Chapter 3: Djaj M'qualli bi Zeitoun

Today is one of those rare days when Liam finds both himself and his mother in a bad mood, near-identical pouts jutting out from their lips.

He suspects Mum's has something to do with a phone call today from Duchess Joëlle Thorne, instructing her strictly not to cook, because this time she wants to be the one bringing food. Mum had practically forgotten she was Duchess Joëlle's Queen and got on the verge of pleading, several times. But the other woman, miles away on holiday in France, would not budge.

I think I know where Kiara gets her stubbornness from, Liam thinks to himself - remembering his sometimes-playmate who always drove hard bargains during their "toy trade wars" and beat him, Drake (and Maxwell whenever his father Duke Barthelemy brought him over to the palace from Ramsford) in raucous games of football.

He almost-smiles at the memory of the three of them stomping off the palace grounds after yet another defeat, but the sudden flash of memory of a recent state dinner abroad, sitting next to his older brother, makes him scowl again.

Seven tagines. Seven alone this year, and Liam has lost count of how many people have fed him tagine over the past year. And each one with such a lovely, glowing, expectant look on their faces that he hasn't had the heart to tell them that he's hated tagines ever since that first tongue-numbing bite (Mum would later wonder if the cinnamon might have been a little much on that dish, but then brushed the idea off, being the Biggest Cinnamon Lover Ever) at a diplomat's house in Fez last March. Some of the dishes had ingredients he loved (apricots. shrimp. meatballs) and things he would never touch (prunes), but that first awful experience haunted him every time he took a forkful, making him dread even the possibility of going somewhere where it could be served.

"You could just say no," Leo had once said, smirking. That little shit, Liam had murmured a phrase he'd picked up from his own brother under his breath, knowing his parents would take offence at the last word, and Leo at the second. It would be so easy. He could go tell Mum right now and she'd make sure everyone - palace chefs, Heads of State, everyone - stopped bringing him tagine, court protocol and social embarrassment be damned. After all, she's now grown suspicious enough to ask. But he can't.

This is a game the brothers have been playing ever since Liam turned four: you never let the other side know they're winning. Not unless you wanted to everyone to think you'll forever be the little baby around here, always crying to your mother.

He will never admit to Leo how much he hates it, and he will never admit to himself that over the last few months he's begun to hate it a little less. So now, whenever the tagine gets laid out on the dinner table, warm in its brightly-patterned pot alongside a bowl of jewelled couscous, Liam defiantly stabs the meat, staring his older brother straight in the eye as he forks it into his mouth. You lose!

Mum is still flicking her thumb over the other fingers on her hand now, lost in her own thoughts. It takes her a couple seconds before she speaks. "Joëlle loves the Cordonian Ruby, Kiara likes puff pastry. I could make them chaussons aux pommes to take home!" she says in a low, triumphant whisper.

Liam stares at his mother in confusion. "I thought Auntie Jöelle said no cooking."

Mum shrugs her shoulders in a rare show of childlike glee. "What's she going to do, fly a plane back to stop me?" she says, and Liam can tell she's already keeping a mental note of the ingredients, "By the time she gets here, we'll make her a dessert she can't refuse."

For a split-second when Auntie Joëlle and her daughter arrive, Mum seems to search for something behind them, then at their faces, with a rapidly dimming smile. But the look is so fleeting Liam wonders if he'd imagined it.

"Where's Uncle Hakim, Mum?"

Mum's hands involuntarily tighten on his shoulders at the question, it is a smiling Auntie Joëlle who answers. "He's in a meeting with your father, Prince Liam."

Mum greets little Kiara with a warm hug, before moving back and admiring her hair. Kiara's half-ponytail zigzags in waves along her shoulders, her heart-shaped face framed on either side by thin long braids studded with tiny butterfly clips. A very tiny topknot adorns the top of her head, and Liam can see small braids covering it too. She looks very pretty and very proud of her mother.

"Now you're just showing off, Jo," Liam can hear Mum whisper, chuckling. "You've really outdone yourself this time. And that dress!"

"Butterflies and ladybugs," Auntie Joëlle grins, waving her free hand in the general direction of Kiara's bright red frock, dotted with tiny ladybugs. "Her latest passions."

"My cousin Céleste saw this in a magazine and asked her maman to do it," Kiara whispers to Liam, fingering a green butterfly on her braid as they walk towards the table, "so I asked mine. Maman got all the clips from back home too."

"Lots of butterflies come to our garden but you won't see a lot of them now," Liam whispers back, "ask Auntie Joëlle to bring you in the morning next time, Drake and I play everyday there."

Kiara gifts him a wide, sunny smile, showing off the gap from her first fallen baby tooth. "Okay!" Liam is amazed at her confidence; he was only a year older than she is now when his first milk tooth fell, and he couldn't open his mouth in front of anyone for weeks.

"I've been hearing from several people that this is Prince Liam's favourite," Auntie Joëlle says, and Liam's heart sinks to his stomach as she opens one of the parcels of food she brought with her.

Of course!, Liam mentally kicks himself for forgetting, I should have known! Uncle Hakim is half-Moroccan!

The thick gravy is an inviting deep golden brown, coating tender, browned pieces of chicken. The pickled lemon slices glisten moistly, and the entire room is filled with scents of citrus and caramelized onions. If only this wasn't -

"- tagine?" Liam says, realizing too late, and to his horror, that he sounds just as disappointed as he feels. Somehow without Leo around and without spite to drive him, Liam can't find it in him to pretend.

"Oh," Auntie Joëlle's voice sounds soft and bemused. She looks at him blankly for a few moments, then shifts just as quickly to a cheery smile and an overly-bright tone. "Well! It's good I have backup then!"

Liam looks towards Kiara, but she's staring at the tagine instead, mouth pursed and eyes wide.

As Auntie Joëlle quickly rummages for something else, Mum moves closer to her and mouths a "sorry". "I've had a bit of a suspicion for a while, but he's always told me very strongly that he liked that dish."

"It's alright," Auntie Joëlle whispers back, taking out a small box. When she opens it Liam can already smell the citrus notes in the air intensify, but this time it's oranges. "I should have asked you first. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"You did save the day by bringing dessert," Mum says smiling, her hand on Auntie Joëlle's shoulder. Kiara is still suspiciously silent, but Liam can see a pout growing, and she looks at him like she's caught him cheating at tag.

"If there's one thing we all know for certain, Elle, it's that your youngest has the biggest sweet tooth in the palace." She laughs, then turns to Liam. "Have some meskouta, cheri. I know you like nuts and honey, so we got you an almond-orange cake, with a little honey and orange blossom water."

She lays the cake on the table, letting him admire its simple golden hue, studded with green-pink pistachios.

"Don't worry about the tagine, we can save it for the rest of the -"

Kiara finally speaks up. "Prince Liam doesn't like tagine?"

Her voice is pitched high and drips of disappointment. He's heard Auntie Joëlle tell Mum and Leo about Kiara's growing love for the dish since last year, but she's always been the kind that took opinions she didn't agree with with a shrug, before moving on to something else. Except, it seems, when it comes to playing tag. And tagine.

"How can you not like tagine!" Kiara turns to her mother, aghast. "Maman, do you hear this??"

Auntie Joëlle shakes her head, looking at Kiara in a mixture of exhasperation and fondness. "Oh, you're just being dramatic now, ma fée. Not everyone has to like it!"

Kiara's raises her chin and scowls in defiance. "Well I think that's just a vatful of mer-"

"Language, Kiara!"

Her mother's eyes narrow dangerously at her, and Kiara freezes mid-sentence, before frowning and folding her hands on her lap.

"- mercredi," she mumbles instead, sulkily.

Mum turns to Auntie Joëlle as they leave the children to move towards her private kitchen. He can only barely hear them. "Was she about to say merde?"

"Yes. Only five years old, and already managed to pick up that kind of language. I ought to have a word with her brother...when he's back from my sister's house in Loire," she hisses, stealing an apologetic glance in Liam's direction. Ashamed at being caught eavesdropping, he turns away. "I just hope le petit prince doesn't find out what that means."

Relaxed now but still pouting, Kiara turns to Liam. Her tone is low and a little grudging, like she thinks she's being too nice. "When did you have tagine?"

"The first time was last year," Liam murmurs resentfully, his foot tapping rhythmically against the table. "I hated it. My tongue went numb."

Suddenly thoughtful, Kiara softly clicks her tongue. "My worst tagine ever tasted like that. Maman said that was because it had too much sin...sin... ugh! -" she groans in frustration, "the brown curly stick. I forget what she calls it."

Liam giggles quietly. Already he can hear Father's booming voice in his head, telling him that's not how boys laugh. But he's sure Kiara won't mind. "I think she meant cinnamon."

"Mhm. This tagine doesn't have that. Maman said you wouldn't like it."

Liam's eyes widen. "How would she know?"

"She says you always ignore the things on the dessert table that use a lot of it."

I didn't even know that. He shifts a little in his seat, uncomfortable but a little touched that Auntie Joëlle noticed something about himself that he hadn't. And the dish does look and smell lovely...and she did take the effort to make him not one, but two, dishes.

Would a tiny taste really hurt? Besides, he'd always thought he hated tomato pasta until Uncle Franci gave them tomatoes from his uncle's farm.

Liam sighs in defeat against his own thoughts. It certainly wouldn't hurt to try.

He tears a piece of very soft, very fluffy khobz, and dips a little bit of it in the sauce, letting a little bit of chicken fall like butter off the bone. He eats it slowly, gingerly, waiting in dread for that odd, tingling sensation on his tongue to hit.

It never comes. The sensations that hit his tongue make his tastebuds come alive rather than numbing them. The chicken and the gravy mesh and dissolve in his mouth as he takes one bite, then one more, then several; the hum of spices wrapping his entire body in a blanket of warmth. And underneath it all, a subtly silky sweetness, one that he decides comes from the browned bits he can spot atop the tagine.

"Daghmira, my Jiddah used to call it," Kiara finally speaks after finishing off her own meal, looking very smug. "She'd cook onions until they were dark and sweet and sticky like jam. So goooooood."

Liam's laugh comes out in a closed-mouth, satisfied hum, his mouth full and his spirits high and his tongue ready to leap out of his face from the medley of flavours it has been greeted with. Between the two of them, the tagine bowl gets empty quite soon.

The two of them make quick work of the almond-orange cake too. It's a moist, dreamy slice of heaven, dissolving easily on his tongue, the earthy, nutty bitterness of the almonds blending with a flavour that is sweet, and bright, and quite floral. Kiara's right - you can't pick out the cinnamon from the medley of subtle spices infused into the cake - the saffron, the cardamom - it's a gentle caress of that spice rather than a punch in the face. Liam used to think coconut macaroons were his favourite Moroccan dessert, but his dreamy confection of a dessert seems to be beating them hollow.

Mum and Auntie Joëlle return to empty plates and a pair of talkative children, their moods both considerably more subdued than what it was when they left. For a minute Liam feels like Mum's eyes look a little reddened, and Auntie Joëlle's smile a little weaker, a little more tired...but he quickly brushes it aside when he sees just how impressed they are with all the food their children managed to finish.

"Did Liam eat some of it too?" Joelle says, her face breaking out into a smile.

"He ate half," Kiara tells her mother, raising her chin and looking very proud of herself. Liam forgives her easily for her smugness this time - at least for the flavour of that tagine still lingering on his tongue.

"It was very nice," Liam tells his and Kiara's mothers, smiling for real, "I liked the cake too."

Mum says nothing, simply beaming, her hands clasped in a single clap. She shares an amused look with Auntie Joëlle, then gasps and leaves, almost like she's just remembered something - only to return with a little box of apple turnovers. Kiara immediately makes a beeline for the dessert, asking her mother if she can sample some right now.

"Elle?" Auntie Joëlle gives her a very pointed look, "what did I tell you before I got here today?"

Mum suppresses her laughter, gently nudging Auntie Joëlle with her shoulder. "You're the one who gave me that recipe. Of course I'm going to show off!"

Kiara, already full from the chicken and the cake, seems to have an extra stomach for desserts too, because she has already begun sinking her teeth into the crisp puff pastry. She does not forget to wipe the crumbs from her mouth delicately with a handkerchief like a good lady-in-the-making would. "Please tell Her Majesty to show off more."

When Mum (looking a little more exhausted than usual) tucks Liam into bed that night, Liam allows himself a tiny, triumphant smile. He isn't sure whether tagines will ever replace tomato pasta and fragrant fish stew for his favourite dish - he isn't even sure if he will like it that much later, or whether Auntie Joëlle's cooking was just that good - but he is sure of one thing.

When he is served his ninth tagine this year, and Leo smirks across the table in anticipation, his older brother will be in for a surprise. This time he's not going to just stab that meat with a fork, look Leo square in the eye and eat the damn tagine. He's going to fork that tender piece of meat into his mouth, look Leo square in the eye, eat the damn tagine and enjoy it.

I win!

Some time earlier....

The first thing Joëlle does when she enters Eleanor's private kitchen, is to close her eyes and breathe in deep, as if to memorize the scents of this place.

"Mon Dieu...it even smells like you."

Eleanor laughs nervously, trying hard to cover her trembling hands by busying them with the cabinets. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Cinnamon...black pepper...vanilla beans...dried roses...coffee. Can a combination of those smells ever be considered bad?"

Her laughter is a little louder, a little more genuine this time. "Far cry from our university days. When both our rooms used to smell of new books and old clothes we never wanted to throw away?"

Joëlle nods, sighing at the memories. "And then we got married."

Eleanor's smile dims. "To a Duke and a King. Who would've thought." It's hard, thinking about Hakim and Constantine now, remembering a time when the two were her and Joëlle's seniors, distant, mysterious, only visible through fleeting glimpses. And you would almost never catch a glimpse of those two apart. Every university event, every auto race, they seemed joined at the hip. Kontos would tell her later how his first month in university was also his loneliest, having been tutored all his childhood in private, and how much Hakim had cared for him, helping him with class notes and giving him company when other classmates were too intimidated to approach him.

The irony, Eleanor thinks as she runs a thumb over the rustic wooden surface of a kitchen counter, that two men so close together can look each other in the face and hardly recognize what they're seeing. For the millionth time, she wonders at the role his new friends...advisors - whatever they are, the lines are so blurred now - have to play in this, and at her own failure.

It hits her like a punch in the chest. Her guilt is suddenly so intense that Eleanor looks away, unable for a moment to face her own friend. Her mouth twists in a grimace and she presses her lips tight together, as if that attempt will stem the tears she knows are coming.

"Elle?" Joëlle says softly, "Are you crying?"

"No." Damn this voice, Eleanor thinks, hating how hard it's always been to hide the tremor in her tone.

Jo sighs. "Is this about Hakim and Kontos? Am I right in assuming you're beating yourself up over their friendship again? As if you don't have enough on your plate already?"

"I tried to talk to him before you three came here," she says, still unable to face Joëlle, "and I don't think it worked. I know it sounds like another excuse, but -"

"Excuse??" Joëlle whips around to face her, her face rife with confusion, "Ellie? Who told you that? Just where are you getting these ideas from?"

The tears now stream down her face in freeflow. "I'm trying. To help Kontos realize just how valuable Hakim is to him. To make him see what he'll lose if he gives up such a friend...such an ally...for two people who I know in my bones he can't trust. But I feel like I'm not trying hard enough."

It isn't just about saving a personal friendship they've seen from afar - both Eleanor and Joëlle know that. There is a vision of what this country can be - beyond the tribalism, beyond the suspicion and naked fear. They both know they want Cordonia that doesn't simply think about barely surviving from day to day, but feels safe enough to create. To share. To thrive. Hakim is the only Great House member far-sighted enough to understand that.

Joëlle covers Eleanor's hands in her own. "We know you've been trying, Elle. Doubting that is out of the question. I'm saying you shouldn't have to."

Eleanor looks up, incredulous, "You're... you're telling me to stop trying?"

Joëlle shakes her head, running a hand through Eleanor's hair before resting it on her right cheek. Her face is such a medley of conflicting emotions that Eleanor can't single out just one. "No, Elle. I'm saying stop holding yourself responsible for things you can't control."

She winces. "I don't understand."

"I knew you wouldn't. That's just how you are," Jo lets her hand fall, turning away, "You're trying. Hakim is trying. But ultimately the decision to honour that friendship...that lies with Kontos. And he is his own man. If he decides he doesn't want Hakim - he doesn't want us - then that's his decision, Elle." She turns around to Eleanor, worry for her old friend shining in her eyes. "I want you to be certain that when..."

Eleanor winces.

"...if nothing works out, you will know you gave this your all. And we both know you didn't need to. Neither Hakim nor I will love you any less."

Speechless, Eleanor can do nothing but hug Joëlle, sobbing weakly on her shoulder.

"Promise me," Joëlle whispers to her before they leave the kitchen, even though they're the only ones in the room, "Promise me that the compassion you show everyone else... you'll at least start showing a fraction of that to yourself."

Eleanor opens her mouth to argue this, then closes it. "I'll... I'll try."

Hakim comes out of his talk with Constantine, not too long after Joëlle and Kiara are done with their meal. Eleanor can tell, from the bleakness in his eyes and the strained lines around his mouth, that it didn't go well. Still, he doesn't hesitate to smile at her and Liam when he's about to leave, and she's comforted by the small gesture.

It's a comfort she doesn't yet believe she deserves...but it settles her heart a little, nonetheless.

She serves the rest of the tagine that night, beaming as Liam eats it with genuine enthusiasm, frowning at the thought of Leo (he's out late and avoiding his father...again), and looking back innocently when Kontos asks her, his face giving away nothing, whether this dish came straight from the Thorne house.

"Yes," Eleanor replies, "yes, it did."

A corner of his mouth goes up the tiniest bit. "I can tell," he replies, taking more bites and refusing to say any more, pointedly not seeing the small smile on his wife's face, "Good tagine. Good tagine."

Recipes:

Classic Moroccan Chicken with Preserved Lemons, Olives and Daghmira (Onion Sauce) from the Taste of Maroc blog.

Recipe for Meskouta from the book The World Cookbook: The Greatest Recipes from Around the World.

Translations:

French:

Chaussons aux pommes - French-style apple turnovers

Chéri/Chérie - Darling

Ma fée - My fairy

Merde - Shit

Mercredi - Wednesday. But in this context, Kiara is using it to cover up the above cuss word

Le Petit Prince - literally, the Little Prince, also a reference to a book of the same name.

Mon Dieu - My God

Darija/Arabic:

Djaj M'qualli bi Zeitoun - Usually used to refer to a chicken tagine with preserved lemons and olives, made in a traditional tagine clay pot. Djaj means chicken, m'qualli is a cooking technique that involves frying, and zeitoun means olives.

Meskouta - A traditional Moroccan cake, often served for teatime, featuring a range of ingredients. It's usually made in bundt shape. The popular ones used almonds or yoghurt in their base for the batter, and the most popular flavourings are lemon, orange/orange blossom, or vanilla.

Khobz - A type of bread

Daghmira - Sauce made of caramelized onions. In tagine it's used as a topping.

Jiddah - Grandmother. Kiara is using this to refer to her paternal grandmother, and Hakim's mother.

Reference hairstyle for kid!Kiara in this chapter:

#choices fanfic #king liam #prince liam #eleanor rys #joelle theron #kiara theron #the royal romance #the royal heir #series: eleanor's kitchen #choicesmonthlychallenge #cfwc fics of the week

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dc-fandom-events · 1 year

Note

Do the Rare Pair Challenges not count as events anymore? I'm asking because they aren't in the calendar.

The Rare Pair Challenges are on-going, multi-year-spanning events that feature on our main blog page. To avoid doubling up, they have been placed there rather than on the calendar, since they don't conform to a single year/date.

To our knowledge, they're still active, and you can find the character-specific challenges here:

Bruce Wayne

Damian Wayne

Dick Grayson

Duke Thomas

Jason Todd

Kon-El/Conner Kent

Roy Harper

Slade Wilson

Stephanie Brown

Tim Drake

#ask

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dcu-rarepair · 2 years

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All Gifts have been Revealed! Thank you for all your amazing work, and all the effort you put into your Gifts. This Exchange wouldn't be the same without you!

Don't forget to @dcu-rarepair when promoting your works, so that we can reblog your Gifts here. We’re also on Twitter and Discord.

We will be pairing up with the Rarepair Family Challenges to promote all the Released works. Be sure to check out the Jason, Dick, Slade, Tim, Damian, Duke, Bruce, Steph and Roy Rare Pair Challenges, and don’t forget that you can add your works to their Collections too!

If you’re the first in a new rarepair tag, you can also send an ask with your AO3 username and the rarepair tag to a Rare Pair Challenge blog to be added to their Hall of Fame.

Make sure you take the time to leave your Giftor a lovely comment. Everyone works very hard to create some truly wonderful fics and art; be sure to let them know how much their thoughtfulness means to you!

#announcement #dcu rarepair exchange

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yuusaris · 2 years

Note

For the character ask game, gimme that Bakura and that Otogi ✌

Under a Read-More

I will be referring to Yami Bakura for this one, for TKB, that'll cost y'all another ask - cuz I can't do for Yami B. I can't. I can write any Yami B ship if asked/prompted, for sure, I can chat and headcanon for it, but any ship he's in that's not tender is Not My Bag. I'm not proud of it. It feels shallow and mean and narrow-minded. But I can't.

I have said it before, I will say it again, he belongs to that boy Ryou. Ryou Bakura can date whoever he wants. Ryou Bakura can be shipped with almost anybody and it works and is good and I like it. Yami Bakura cannot. That's Ryou's bride. That's his boy girlfriend. That's Ryou's pet malewife. I can do the BROTP tho - I think the saddest part is Malik is the closest thing he would have to a friend, and I don't even think they'd be good friends. I think a tamed Yami B could probably get along with Yuugi (The Great Equalizer), and I think he would also... acknowledge. If not respect. Honda's guts. Like it, I dunno - but he'd mention it as a factor for Honda over Jou. That's what I can offer y'all. I'm sorry.

DUKE DEVLIN ON THE OTHER HAND-

My NOTP for them - OtogixJou. There's just no real spark there, it feels like kaijou with less steps. Also not a big fan of him with Serenity or Honda, the whole love triangle feels really dull for me in it's potential. Otogi in the manga has this really sincere and soft core wrapped in eyeliner and wit and Otogi in the anime is just not as engaging with Jou as Kaiba can be. I can see the sparks, it just doesn't have any kindling for me.

My BROTP for them - Yuugi or Atem or both. They have his respect, they have his back, and they both saw him through his low point (Manga and anime respectively). In general, it is very difficult to not like Yuugi - he's kind of Disgustingly Impossible To Hate when you're in a room with him for more than 30 minutes - Atem does have a very reassuring presence to him, and they both would love any game he made. Any game that's not Duel Monsters is a whole new world, it's the same kind of love they'd have with Ryou. It works. They're besties. Otogi would definitely hang out with Atem or Yuugi or both, either on their own or with friends, and if balls hit the wall, they'd be the first person he'd talk to. [But also, Otogi being friends with Malik and then Ishizu and Rishid becoming secondhand family as a result and suddenly, he has this very wise mother bird found family sister and a SUPER empathetic Rishid who understands the things Malik cannot, and this is not a Bromance anymore, is it?]

My OTP for them - MaixOtogi. They're flawless for each other. Give it about five years and it's perfect. Their issues perfectly balance with the others strengths, they've got similar values, and they challenge each other in ways that other people really don't. Not in a super intense way, but they're both good at the push-and-pull and on the same page about it. And that's hot shit.

My second choice pairing for them - Might be MalikxOtogi, I think I talked myself into that just now egfsfdsf

My fluffy pairing for them - Honestly both the ones I mentioned, they're both cute as shit. [I actually wrote some lightly nsfw stuff for MaixOtogi, it's right here].

My angsty pairing for them - AtemxOtogi. Anything with Atem is angsty if only because he leaves, but also this is a boy raised entirely on the idea he was destined for the Puzzle. That's gotta be complicated.

My favorite poly ship for them - I very rarely polyship.... just because that's a three-way dynamic and those are harder ones to pull off. Don't have one here, sadly.

My weirdest pairing for them - Again I think... I think the two I mentioned are - well, they're not weird, just rarepairs. IDK if I'd call that weird tho.

#me flavored soup #ask game #at the end of the day Ryou Bakura can be with anyone #ygo DM is his HArem #and Yami Bakura is his dragon Maid

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withthekeyisking-writer · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Duke Thomas/Slade Wilson Characters: Slade Wilson, Duke Thomas Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Pirates, Slade Wilson is a Pirate, Pirate Duke Thomas, Minor Character Death, Death Threats, Rope Bondage, Non-Sexual Bondage, Implied Sexual Content, BAMF Duke Thomas, sucks for him that Slade likes BAMFs, No editing we die like mne Series: Part 9 of Slade Rare Pair Challenge, Part 2 of Duke Rare Pair Challenge Summary:

Two of the most infamous pirates to sail the seas are Slade Wilson and Bruce Wayne, and Slade has had enough of being tied for first place.

With Wayne dead at the end of his sword, the only thing left to do is test the mettle of the rest of his crew. And the man's first mate Duke might be...useful.

@duke-rarepairs @slade-rarepairs

#fanfic #slade rare pair challenge #duke rare pair challenge #slade wilson #duke thomas #sladeduke

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writers-blogck · 3 years

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The Beginning of the End 『RE8 Lords x Reader』

Warning(s): This will be a bit different than the game itself. One of the main big differences is the timeline. The game occurs in a day (or a couple of days) but this will last longer overall. Ethan will be in the village for one month (approximately). This is to allow for more story development. The plot will be the same so heavy spoilers for the rest of the game! This is going to contain major spoilers for the game! . This is going to be the beginning of a collection of one-shots surrounding the Resident Evil 8 - Village universe. The stories may follow a Harem-type trope where multiple people are interested in the reader.

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥ 　♡　♥　♡　♥　 There is a tiny hint to sexual assault, but nothing in detail, and nothing happens

Title: The Beginning of the End Description: Nothing will ever be the same when an outsider comes into the Village and Mother Miranda begins to hatch a plan. Pairing: RE8 Lords x Reader Fandom: Resident Evil - Village Word Count: 3,057

Current Chapter: One Previous Chapter: None Next Chapter: A Mother and her Children Story Index‎

Yellow paint stained your hands as you slipped back out of the castle, using the fog as a way to hide your form. The dumb lycans would attack anything they saw moving and you didn't feel like becoming their newest plaything today. The jacket you wore jingled softly as you deftly moved from stone to stone. The pockets were no longer bulging with ammunition or chemical solutions. No, most of your treasures had been scattered around Castle Dimitrescu. Though, there may be a trinket or two you had taken from the noble house.

The Duke had told you of a man of Winter who had come to the village in search of his infant daughter. While the larger man couldn't go out and provide help other than offering his services, he could send you out in his stead. That was how you ended up with huge cans of yellow paint scattering your room. The color was a small indication for Ethan, the man of Winter, to attempt to help him in his travels. Hopefully, the other lords wouldn't notice the painted areas and ruin the items meant for the father.

You didn't need a map while on your travels as you had the entire area memorized like the back of your hand. Something that the Duke liked just as much as buying treasures was getting information. With the skill you had with slipping through the shadows, it was easy to hear little secrets not meant for your ears.

How long had you known the Duke? It was hard to say. One day, when you were a child, you woke up in a caravan unbefitting of the man's size who was driving it. At first, he was scary due to his immense size, in comparison to your child body. He explained that he found you abandoned in a cornfield and took you in. You would never be able to fully thank the Duke for everything he had done for you but you could try. Like Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters, the Duke had you. It was almost as if you were a gift to the man...

Any memories of your time before the Duke were gone, including those of your family, if you had one. The past didn't matter to you though as all you had was the future. Living in the Village was enough proof that the future was what truly mattered.

There were the rare occasions where you meet and were in the presence of one of the lords, at least when they knew you were there. It was more likely for you to hide somewhere in their domains and eavesdrop for any new information. Information and your skills at hiding were what kept you alive. You shivered at the thought of what would have happened if any of the lords found you when you were sneaking around their homes. When it started, the Duke had no idea but as you grew, he began to use your skills to his benefit.

One of the easiest domains to sneak in was also the one that you hated the most. Lord Moreau wasn't very observant so sneaking around and going unseen near him wasn't a challenging task. Yet, the air was sticky and it was impossible to leave his area without soaked shoes. The only good thing about the place other than the ease of hiding was the forgiveness of the Lord himself.

Lord Moreau wasn't the smartest cookie and it was easy to use his emotions to get yourself out of trouble. If you flutter your eyelashes and offer a quivering lip, the man would send you home with nothing but a warning. The man seemed to have a small soft spot for you, even having called you beautiful at times. The creepiest thing in his area was when you found a picture of yourself in the fish man's cabin. The edges of the picture had branches, hinting that the one who took the picture had been hiding in the bushes...You still didn't know how he got the picture.

You would admit that you had let your guard down in his domain more than the others because you knew the consequences of being found were significantly less. Without meaning to, Lord Moreau was the one you had spent the most time with. You had even watched a movie with him at one point because he had caught you stuck in the mud, boots sinking deep.

Lady Dimitrescu had the best area to be in. A warm castle, bright lights that filled the room with a nice glow, and the elegance that only Lady Dimitrescu had. The only bad thing about her area was...well, her.

The huge lady knew of your existence as she had met you during a meeting with the Duke multiple times. She had watched you grow right before her eyes. This did not give her a soft spot for you and while you would be able to leave the castle if you were caught, you would still be leaving with fewer fingers than you had started with. The daughters were different. All three of them enjoyed your presence due to you being closer in age to them and all had protected you at some point from their mother. They could easily distract their mother and allow you enough time to escape.

Lady Beneviento and The Honourable Angie didn't have too bad of a domain. The area itself was nice, save for the fog that made it difficult to see. The biggest issue with their home was the presence of all of those flowers. The one time you had gone, you began to hear whispers of your name being called from somewhere deep in the house. Now you make sure to wear some sort of protective gear if you ever need to go in their area.

And then there was Lord Heisenberg. You would be lying if you said he wasn't the most handsome man you had ever seen but that wasn't a hard thing to beat when the competitors were Lord Moreau, the Duke, and all of the terrifying lycans that littered the expanse that was your home. There were the village men but you saw them even less than any of the lords. After whatever Mother Miranda had done to the villagers, as the Duke said, there wasn't much of a debate. The man with the scruffy beard and honey-rich voice was the Adonis among men in your world.

Yet just like the Factory that you rarely traveled into, the man himself was intimidating. With the other three lords, you could at least have an idea of what they would do to you in any given situation. Lord Heisenberg was hardly predictable. One moment he may be laughing while the next, he would be standing over the smashed corpse of a Lycan with his hammer slung over his shoulder. It was scary...

The Duke had kept you hidden from the others as much as he could. He had been upset when he learned about your sneaking-around adventures but he wasn't able to do anything to keep you from doing it save for chaining you to the wagon itself. In the end, he would allow you to continue your adventures, acting as if he knew something you didn't about yourself.

How long had it been since that day? It was hard to tell when you lived in the Village. It ran on a different time than the outside world, something you only knew about from storybooks shelved in the Dimitrescu library. This life was the one that you had only ever known. You asked Duke about the outside world but he rarely told you stories. There was one about a fellow merchant but even that story had been brief.

Lost in your own thoughts, you hadn't noticed the lycan eating some dead thing to the left of you. Even with your soft footfalls, the creature noticed your presence, looking up with chunks of dead raven dripping out of its mouth. Fresh food, that would surely be better than this cold carcass. A cold hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking with a surprising amount of strength, pulling your legs from under you. Stars danced in your vision as your head hit the ground, the world spinning around you.

This wouldn't be the first time you had to deal with the lycans. Most of the time, they knew not to bother you because of your connections with the Duke but monsters are still monsters, they don't follow rules all the time. There were the few rebels who went out of control. They were more likely to be in the Village due to being farther from a lord to control them. That was one benefit of being near a lord, the lycans tended to keep their space. Were they afraid of the lords themselves?

Chipped nails dug into your skin, pinpricks of blood springing from the cuts. With the pain in your legs and the ringing still in your ears, it was even harder to desperately locate the knife you kept in one of your pockets. Your free leg moved to kick the creature in the face which only made it tighten its grip even more. A small scream was ripped from your lips as you bit down on your lower lip to muffle the sound. One of these things was enough.

"Get the fuck off of me...!" You half-whispered, half-shouted at the thing. You couldn't even tell if it was a boy or a girl or something in between. At this point in its life, it was just a monster. No personality, no family, just the violent thoughts controlling them. Violence and hunger were all they know.

A small thud could be heard as you turned your one pocket inside out, your knife tumbling to hit the cracked concrete. A thick hand moved to grasp at your thigh, drool spilling onto your writing body. The best-case scenario in this situation was that the thing would only eat you. You had heard stories from the Dimitrescu daughters of the horrors these things were capable of. While it was hard to tell by their appearance, the creatures still had biological and sexual organs...There was no way for you to know if these were just stories or if there was any type of truth behind them.

Your fingers felt the cold metal of the blade, clumsily trying to find the handle as stars continued to cloud your vision. Was this going to be how you died? Should you scream for help or would that only attract more of them? It wasn't like there were a lot of people who could help you...This really was it. Hot tears streamed down your face as you made a final attempt as wriggling away to get your bearings.

You weren't ready to die.

A sharp pain covered your fingers and palm as the blade shot out of your hand. Before you could tell what was happening, the knife was flung back into the creature, pushing deeper and deeper into the eye socket until the handle was barely visible. As the brain of the lycan was pierced, it allowed you enough time to push yourself away. A burning sensation lingered on your leg. You just hoped it wouldn't get infected.

"Now is that any way to treat a guest? You know the rules." As soon as the condescending drawl filled the air, you knew who was here. You couldn't help but wonder if this meant you were in better hands or not. At least the lycans weren't smart. It would have been quick, hopefully, with them. This man liked to play with his food.

Green eyes that were hidden by circular glasses ran over your figure struggling to stand. The man offered no type of help as he instead brought the knife back to his hand.

"Small weapon to go exploring with, hm? A little thing like you doesn't have a nice gun to use? It isn't like you can't afford it, I know enough about you to know that. Maybe guns are just too much for your weak body to handle. The recoil knock you on your ass?" He made this sound as if the situation were funny and the two of you were close friends. The hint of a patronizing tone was clear in his words.

"That's none of your business." Pushing yourself off of the ground, you moved to stand with most of your weight on your uninjured leg. You would need to clean and wrap the wound when you got back to the Duke. He wouldn't be happy about the recent events. He was going to make you stay near him for at least the next week. You hated being trapped with him, there wasn't enough to do!

Your clothes were covered in dirt and you wondered if you had any twigs in your hair. When you fell, you heard something glass shatter and could now feel liquid seeping through one of the pockets of your jacket. Hopefully, it was something medical and not something used to make explosives. That was the last thing you needed.

"Well, I think it is considering I just saved you. Can't you be grateful, you little brat?" A growl escaped his lips causing a chill to run down your back. This was what you were afraid of, you didn't want to make him angry. He didn't have his hammer on him at the moment but with a flick of his wrist, he could have it come flying through the air.

Gulping, you were about to apologize when the man's posture changed once again. His shoulders relaxed and a lazy grin returned to his lips. As quickly as he had gotten angry, he just as quickly became calm again. You made a mental note to be careful of your words. All you had to do was get through this and head back home. You could do that...You were surprised when you wished you were dealing with Lord Moreau instead. That was a first.

"I know who you are, you're Daddy's little owlet. I'm surprised the Duke let you out of his sight. He has been making it hard to even see you. It ain't fair to keep something like you all for himself. You need a real man in your life, and I'm not talking about Mister.Gills."

"You are disgusting...!" As you took a step back, you folded your arms over your chest in defiance. Even when you knew you were treading on eggshells, you couldn't help but spit back your own remarks. It was hard to tell whether the man was finding it amusing or if he was slowly getting angrier and angrier. You didn't know what might happen if he decided to deal with you. The idea of becoming one of his experiments made your skin crawl.

With a quick nod, you turned your back to the man, stepping over the lycan to continue your trip back home. The Duke would already be wondering where you were and the longer you waited, the more worried he would become. You weren't excited about the chiding you were about to get.

"What are you doin'? You planning on leaving? I wouldn't do that. You see, that little guy there let all the lycans in the area know about your pretty scent and I doubt they will treat you kindly. Can't you hear them already? I think they're hungry, they may even fight each other for a bite of that sweet flesh."

"Then..." You slowly turned around, arms falling to your sides, "Are you going to escort me home?"

"Now, I don't know about home but I sure can take you somewhere." A piece of metal, probably some type of scrap, hit you in your shoulder blades, causing you to stumble forward, losing your footing on the dead body still littering the ground. Before you could fall again, a strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into a warm chest. A deep chuckle rumbled through the man's chest, causing a strange sensation to run through you. It was almost like a shiver but different...Warmth rushed to your cheeks as you were righted to your feet once again.

"Where...Where are you taking me? To your factory?" You wanted to slap yourself with how soft and timid your voice sounded next to his own. You never felt this small. Even when dealing with Lady Dimitrescu, you had never felt this small. It was like you were a small child again...

"No, no, not yet anyway. I've been tasked with bringing you to a meeting, isn't that fun? Turns out the Duke isn't the only one who has his eyes on you and you haven't been as sneaky as you thought. At least, not to the Mother, she seems to know quite a bit about you."

The blood in your ran cold as you realized what he was implying. He was going to take you to the church, to the meeting of the Lords. That had to be it, what else could it be? One person you had never met was the Mother, the Duke having told you many stories of the woman. She was dangerous and wasn't someone you wanted to mess with. The villagers had worshiped the woman but you knew the truth. She may give gifts but each gift came with a curse. As the Duke says, nothing is given for free.

"I think Mother Miranda is gonna be real pleased with you, Doll."

The man began to walk away, eyes trained on the road in front of him. He wasn't holding you in any way and for a moment, you wondered if you could escape back to the wagon. But, you knew better. All that would do was leave you injured and you would still be forced to see the Mother. What she wanted, she got. Compared to Mother, the lords were as weak as children. The stories of her powers were both terrifying and awe-inspiring at the same time... Yet, you would have been content living your entire life without seeing them up close?

Were you walking right into the gates of Hell willingly?

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army-author · 3 years

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jungkook scenario | the alchemy of amor

❝ jungkook is the arrogant son of the duke. you’re a humble alchemist just trying to make a living. unfortunately for you, jungkook seems to have taken a strange interest in you. when a dangerous wager involving a love potion spirals out of control, you find yourself flung into the deep end of emotion, and it becomes difficult to decipher genuine attraction from magical aftereffect... ❞

➝ prompt: i’m a witch who’s been experimenting with love-potion formulas, but there’s been a bit of a mix-up, and now the love-potion has somehow ended up in your hands, and you’re drinking it, and - no, please stop!

➝ pairing: jungkook x female reader

➝ genre: fluff, fantasy au, enemies to lovers

➝ requested by anon | 15.5k words

➝ warnings: profanity, mild injury, implied smut, some characters express misogynist sentiments

➝ author’s note: i hope you enjoy it! i had a lot of fun writing it. as you can see from the word count, i got a bit carried away. i can’t help it, i love enemies to lovers!

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

You are not wont to pray, but in circumstances such as this, with your life unravelling before you in tattered ribbons, your mind recalls the goddess you so often forget. Watching in horror, your supplications come thick and fast, as Jeon Jungkook downs the phial of rose-gold potion, and with it, swallows the hours of work you had invested into those shimmering contents.

Normally, you would not be so perturbed by the wasting of a potion, even one as rare as Impetus Amor. Ingredients can always be re-bought, potions can always be re-brewed. But something about Jungkook’s cocky expression as he sets down the vial, and raises a brow at you, overwhelms you with the heat of irrational fury.

“Mighty goddess above, what is wrong with you?” you spit venom more potent than your potions. “You know very well how long that took to brew!”

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough.” He smacks his lips together, “Looks like the potion doesn’t work anyway. And on top of that, it tastes bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

How does he know what dried roses and soap taste like?

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you retort through gritted teeth.

You know that the potion does work. After all the work you invested - collecting rose-petals, gold shavings, and pegasus feathers, all to be brewed on a blue moon, and then carefully distilled – there was no way that the batch of Impetus Amor was unsuccessful. But every alchemist worth their gold knows that the finicky love potion takes a few minutes to take effect after ingestion.

Which means that in a few minutes Jeon Jungkook, the man you hate most, will involuntarily fall in love with you.

How could I let this happen? You cast your mind over the unfortunate events that had led you to this low point, while you stifle a scream.

✽ ✽ ✽

[Several days ago]

It starts when one of your customers steps into your potions shop, in the town of Sientha, with a peculiar order.

She wears a red hood that covers most of her face, and clutches a purse tightly in her gloved hand. Glancing furtively around the shop, she walks over to your counter, and slips a note between the demijohns and ampuls that crowd the area where you work.

Upon unfolding her note, your eyes widen. The note reads: ‘One vial of Impetus Amor’. You focus your eyes on the client, who keeps her head down. You can just make out shapely lips and a dainty chin below the lowered hood.

“I know it’s a difficult potion to make,” she says in a hushed tone, “But I’m willing to pay whatever you need for it.”

You study her intently. Below the cloak, you can see an expensive dress, and jewellery sparkling at her neck. It’s clear that she has the means to pay. In most circumstances, you would object to the use of Impetus Amor, but it is not your responsibility to tell your customers how to use your potions. You simply get on with brewing, and ask no questions. That’s how you make a living. This case wouldn’t be any different.

“Okay,” you say, “I must warn you that it will take quite a while to make, and most of the ingredients are quite rare, so the wait may be long.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

You nod, leaning against the counter, as you tally up how much the potion will cost in ingredients and labour. When you finally name your price, the woman is silent for a moment, contemplating, before she nods, and rummages in her purse. She takes out a small brown sack, heavy with coin, which she places in front of you. Counting up the money, you nod in satisfaction. “You’re in luck. There’s a blue moon soon, and the potion should be ready not long after. Roughly five weeks,” you advise, “Come by to collect it when you’re able.”

Satisfied, the woman leaves the shop, while you gape at the sack of coins on your counter top. You hadn’t had that much money to your name in a long time.

Impetus Amor – the potion is infamously difficult to create, but you’re ready for a challenge. Spinning around to the shelf of tomes behind you, you scour the tittles until you find the one you need. You pull the tome down from its shelf, holding your breath as a fog of dust descents around you. So it begins.

✽ ✽ ✽

The first mistake you make is accepting the request from the mysterious woman who came into your shop.

Your second mistake is letting Jungkook into your shop. Or letting Jungkook anywhere near you at all.

Jungkook is the only son of the duke of Braewyth, the duchy you reside in - a hobbyist alchemist and your tormentor in his spare time. When he had first barged into your potion shop, and declared that he wanted to learn the art of alchemy, you were led to the conclusion that he was a pretentious prick. This suspicion proved to be correct, as after a few lessons from you – out of the goodness of your heart, and the impossibility of saying ‘No’ to the heir of the duchy – Jungkook believed himself to be better than you with your fifteen years of experience. He was now convinced that the two of you were rivals, and you were convinced that he was a pain in the arse.

As you work on crushing down dried rose petals for your new project, Jungkook barges into your shop once more. He doesn’t seem to know of any other way to make an entrance into your tiny business. He leans over the counter, his eyes burning on your skin as you work.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Preparing ingredients for Impetus Amor.”

His nose wrinkles as he leans back on the counter, crossing his arms over his overcoat, embroidered with the emblem of the duchy, a snow white stag on a blue shield. “Ah, the potion of love,” he muses, “I’ve heard that one’s incredibly difficult to make.”

“I know,” you grimace, as you continue to grind rose petals to a fine red dust in your stone mortar. “What of it, Mr. Jeon?”

The duke’s son gives an impartial shrug. “I’m merely stating that it’s a laborious potion to perfect. I’m surprised you’re attempting it.”

You bite down on your cheek to stop yourself from speaking indecently to Braewyth’s heir. “My customers respect me, and know that I’ll carry out any requests with the utmost care,” you cut back with thinly veiled anger.

Jungkook leans back lazily, his elbow brushing dangerously close to a decanter filled with Verum Serum, a silver truth potion you’ve been working on. “Well then, my little apothecary, why don’t we make a wager?”

You raise an eyebrow, setting down your mortar, and waiting for him to continue.

“I’m willing to bet that you won’t be able to finish the potion,” Jungkook says, “In fact, if you finish it, and it works, I’ll pay you in gold.” He grins.

“And if I can’t?” you enquire. It’s an unlikely option, but you need to know what you are dealing with. You find it difficult to refuse the offer of money, especially if it’s a loss for Jungkook, but you’re wary of the consequences on the (very low) chance that you are unsuccessful.

“Don’t worry,” Jungkook raises a hand, “I know you can’t pay much gold.” Your cheeks heat up. “But if you lose, then I demand a kiss from you.”

Biting down a retort, you take a deep breath, and remind yourself that it is unacceptable to call the son of the duke a ‘Bastard’, no matter how much you want to. Instead, with your fists balling, you reply, “Very well, Mr. Jeon. But please be prepared to lose.”

His eyes glitter under your gaze, “Okay.”

You know that there is no way you can lose. Still, the very thought of admitting defeat and letting him kiss you has your blood boiling as it churns through your heart. You ought to show more respect to the son of the duke - to most a kiss from him would be an honour - but your find respect hard to muster when he does nothing but flirt with the ladies about the town of Sientha, strutting arrogantly down the streets with a different girl handing off his arm each night.

It’s Jungkook’s loss for certain. You’ll make sure of that.

✽ ✽ ✽

Despite your confidence, Jungkook does everything he can to get in your way.

The next morning you raise yourself early from your bed to head into the mountains in search of pegasus feathers. Jungkook catches you on your walk between your shop and the stables, with your satchel slung across your back, and a grenadine-coloured cloak covering your riding boots and trousers. He saunters across the cobbled street to greet you. “Look at you. Out and about. It’s not often I see you step out of the comforts of your shop.”

“Perhaps if you were up earlier, it wouldn’t be such an irregular occurrence for you,” you chide, as you make for the bridge to the east, leading out of Sientha, “I often go out in the morning to track down ingredients.”

“My apologies that I don’t know your schedule by heart, little alchemist,” Jungkook ripostes, keeping pace with you, short steps for his longer legs, “I’ll have you know that I have many duties that keep me in the Braewyth manor until later in the day.”

Uninterested, you reach the stables where your ebony mare waits, whickering in recognition when you reach her stall. You begin saddling up, annoyed by the presence of Jungkook behind you, which you try to ignore – but like a fly buzzing around an empty room, it gets too irritating too quickly. “Are you planning on following me around all day like a cur in heat?” you ask, and Jungkook smirks, clearly amused to have scratched at some deep seated vexation inside you.

“That’s no way to talk to me, little alchemist,” he reminds you, waggling a taunting finger.

You sigh, adjusting the bridle on your mare. “Please excuse me, my good sir,” you lace your voice with sarcasm, “It wan’t my intention to offend. I was simply surprised to see someone like you showing an interest in my humble activities.” You offer him a sickly sweet smile, before hoisting yourself up into your saddle.

Ignoring your mockery, Jungkook looks up at you from under your dark lashes, “Well, where are you headed today?”

You bite down on your instinctual reply, thinking better of telling him it’s none of his business. “I’m going to the mouth of the River Waye. It’s rumoured that a pegasus has nested there, and I need its feathers.”

“For the Impetus Amor?” Jungkook’s eyes gleam.

You bow your head in a nod.

“Excellent. I’d love to come with you,” Jungkook sates, “I’ve never seen a real pegasus.”

As you open your mouth, ready to deny him, he interrupts, “You offered to tutor me on alchemy after all. Ingredient collection is a vital part of the hobby.”

I never offered to tutor you, you simply thrust your cumbersome presence upon me. Before you can say any of this out loud, Jungkook is calling for one of the stable hands to saddle up one of their horses. “Mr. Jeon, need I remind you that this hobby is a source of income for some,” you’re left to respond, somewhat hopelessly, as Jungkook stares up at you in your saddle.

Your mare shifts restless, unsure why she’s still cooped in her stable.

“If it’s such a burden to earn a livelihood, then I’m sure you could find some kind husband who’d be more than happy to take care of you,” Jungkook responds, “With looks like yours, you’d never have to work another day in your life.”

Your blood boils in frustration. You bite down on your lip, watching in cold silence as the stable hand brings a chestnut stallion over to Jungkook, handing him the reins. Your horse senses your unease, and with a prick of your heels in her side, she’s all too happy to trot out of the stable and into the harsh sunshine of the winter morning.

Jungkook follows behind, his stallion’s horseshoes clacking on the cobblestones.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Jeon,” you say, controlling your tone as best you can, “I’m perfectly content making a living for myself, and am in no need of a husband.”

“And what of it?” Jungkook spurs on his horse, overtaking you as you reach the bridge out of Sientha, where the town guards immediately part, recognising the duchy crest on Jungkook’s overcoat.

As you follow over the bridge, Jungkook casts a look over his shoulder at you, “You wish to spend your whole life brewing potions, and die an old maid?”

“I know of worse fates,” you say, “I would rather live as a lowly alchemist than the chattel of some rich cretin such as yourself.”

Jungkook falls into silence, face frosty, and you wonder if your pushed things too far.

As you continue down the road, the quality of the surface worsens, with more potholes appearing the further you travel from Sientha. Fallen mute, you and Jungkook pass fields, appearing empty after the harvests of autumn.

It’s a long way to the mouth of the River Waye, which lies in the valley between two mountains, Mount Cantre and Ayn Blanch. The two peaks rise above you in the distance. As you branch off the main road onto a dirt track, you allow your mare to break into a gallop, and Jungkook urges his horse on to keep up with yours. You cast a glance over to him as he keeps stride beside you, his jaw set and his brows furrowed over dark eyes. With your gaze fixed, you almost miss the shouting, until the ruckus is directly behind you. Snapping your neck around, you see a group of Braewyth soldiers approaching on horseback. You pull on your mare’s reigns, attempting to bring her to a halt, but the soldiers are already upon you, passing by on the narrow track. Your skittish mare rears as the soldiers rush past, and you find your view turned upside down. Thrown from the saddle, you land on your rear in a soft pile of moss. You’re lucky to have nothing but your pride bruised.

Jungkook brings his horse to a halt next to you, and leaps down from his saddle, catching your spooked mare’s reigns, before she makes to bolt. Soothing the black horse with hushed murmurs, Jungkook leads her to a nearby tree, where he ties the reigns to a low hanging branch. “Are you alright?” he turns his attention back to you.

You wince, and take his hand, allowing him to pull you up. “Yes, I’m okay. Just a little shaken.”

“Good.” His voice is gruff, “Those bloody soldiers. I wonder if they realise who they just overtook. I’ve a mind to report them to my father.”

“Don’t bother,” you dust down your cape, “Everyone knows the Braewyth soldiers are bloated with pride after the last success in war.”

Jungkook snorts. “That war was three years ago. Their only responsibility now is to protect the people of the duchy, and they can’t even do that!” He heaves a sigh, eyes cast to the sky, where the harsh sun shines down from an empty winter sky. “No matter, we’re wasting time here. If you’re sure you’re alright, then we should crack on.”

You walk over to untie your mare, who has now calmed down and is happily grazing on some grass by the side of the road. Hoisting yourself into your saddle, you edge her on with a soft nudge of your heels. Ahead of you, Jungkook has already mounted his ride, patting the neck of his stallion. You’re almost in a mind to apologise to Jungkook for calling him a “cretin” earlier, but you bite back the words, pride getting in the way.

You continue the journey in silence. The path is long, and as your altitude increases, the temperature plummets. Shivering, you pull your cloak closer around you. Your mare huffs out puffs of warm breath as she trots down the winding track, weaving between the smaller hills that spread towards the Braewyth mountains. Further ahead, Jungkook is hunched down in his saddle, looking cold, but staying stubbornly silent.

At last, you come to the edge of the valley, and begin to follow the track next to the shallow section of the River Waye. The banks are padded with moss, and you spot the sleek shining bodies of carp flickering in the crystalline water.

Slowing your mare, you slip off your mount, and tie her to a barren tree at the edge of the water. Ahead of you, Jungkook, having noticed you have stopped, dismounts as well. “Are we there?” he asks.

You nod, putting a finger to your lips. With a hushed voice, you respond: “Nearly. But we need to proceed on foot. Pegasus are incredibly skittish. We’ll be quieter without the horses.”

Passing Jungkook, you follow the winding path next to the Waye, stepping on the spongy moss to silence your footsteps. The two mountains rise up on either side of you – on the left, Ayn Blanche, its peak capped with snow, and on the right, Mount Cantre, sitting squat in Ayn Blanche’s shadow. The valley in between is adorned with scree; clumps of heather dot the otherwise drab landscape.

You slow to a stop when your sharp eyes catch sight of what you were hoping for – hoof prints and loose white hairs caught on a bramble. Leaning down, you pick up a strand of hair, running your fingers over it. Course and thick, there’s no denying it. The hair from a pegasus’ mane.

“There’s a pegasus somewhere around here,” you inform Jungkook in a hushed tone, pointing out the hoof prints to him.

Staying silent, oddly obedient, Jungkook nods, eyes scanning the area.

Carefully, you make your way along the trail of hoof prints. Ahead of you, you spot an opening on the steep flank of Ayn Blanche, a few meters from the base. It appears to be the perfect spot for a pegasus nest, tucked away from the wind that normally sweeps through the valley. Walking to the base, you search for a good foothold, and begin to hoist yourself up the craggy slope to the opening.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Jungkook breaks his unofficial vow of silence.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you huff, “I’m getting up to the pegasus’ nest.”

“Isn’t that dangerous work for… well...” Jungkook trails off. Probably for the best.

“I’ve climbed my fair share of rock faces,” you assure him, “Alchemy isn’t just about sitting daintily at a table stirring tiny beakers and keeping one’s hands soft and free of callouses.”

“But won’t the pegasus be angered if you enter its nest?” Jungkook worries from below.

As you stretch to reach for a rock that juts out above you, you grunt, “You know, Mr. Jeon, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were concerned for my wellbeing.”

You’re disappointed that you cannot look down to see the pout that is so evident in his voice as he retorts, “Well it wouldn’t look good if I were to go out with a young maiden, and return back with her maimed. People might talk.”

“People will always talk, regardless,” you say, pulling yourself up to the ledge at the front of the opening. “Don’t fear, Pegasus are only aggressive to those they deem to have a wicked soul. Which means I’ll be fine. But you might need to watch out.”

Before Jungkook can shoot back a reply, you turn your attention to the opening that houses the nest. The space is large, big enough for a pegasus. Peering in, you see that the nest is empty of any life, but the small cave is filled with exactly what you need – feathers caught on the rocky outcroppings. Pulling out a bottle from your satchel, you scoop up a few feathers, and preserved them in your glass. The feathers sparkle slightly in the sunshine that throws slanted rays into the cave. Satisfied with your find, you get ready to climb back down.

Just then, you hear a shout, and peer down to see Jungkook waving his hands at you from the bottom of the steep rock face. He gesticulates wildly, pointing downstream. You look in that direction, a spot the white shape of a pegasus, just before it plummets down with a splash into the Waye.

Quickly, you scramble down the rocks, and sprint to the river, where you see the water running red. An arrow is sticking from the flank of the pegasus, which raises its head above the water, straining to get up, before it flops down again. Horrified, you scan the area, trying to figure out where the arrow was fired from. It doesn’t take you long. Two poachers approach, a net swinging from their hands.

“Oi, get away from that creature,” one of them shouts upon spotting you.

“What are you going to do with it?” you ask, moving your body to block the pegasus.

“We’re going to make a fortune peddling off it’s body parts to alchemists,” the shorter of the two informs you, “Those occultists pay a hefty price for hair and feathers you know, not to mention a fresh heart, or a vial of blood.”

You grit your teeth, standing up straighter, “It’s a negative stereotype that alchemists use blood and hearts in their potions. And the hair and feathers are only useful if they’ve come from a living creature. You’re wasting your time if you think you’ll make money killing and harvesting this animal.”

The taller one laughs – an ugly sound that sends a shudder through you. “And what would you know about alchemy, wench? If I have questions about my cooking, or my laundry I’ll come to you. So how about you keep your mouth shut on things you know nothing about?”

Stifling your rage, your bite back, “I’m not letting you near this creature. Not one step further.”

“Oh, well, aren’t you just a darling bloody saint. Protecting the innocent fauna of the land. I don’t remember asking for a sermon on the morality of killing dumb animals.” Your eye catches the movement of the taller man’s hand to the hilt of his sword. “Now, I would suggest you get out of the way, before I make you get out of the way.”

You size the two men up, and swallow. You have a small dagger on your hip, usually used for cutting plant shoots. Not much use against two swords. Still, you bring your hand to your hip in anticipation, unwilling to back down.

“I order you to stop!”

You glance towards the source of the voice. Jungkook is standing behind you with his rapier raised, his stance indicating years of training in fencing. With two calculated blows he could puncture the stomachs of both poachers. The two men blanche.

Nonetheless, the shorter of the two poachers blusters on, “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you two gentlemen that pegasus are considered an endangered species, and it’s a criminal offence to poach them, punishable by a good flogging in Sientha square.”

The shorter poacher swallows, his hand wavering.

The taller of the two is only all the more incited. “I don’t give a fuck. You’re not a king. Not even a prince. Just some lesser noble with a silver spoon shoved up your arse. What are you going to do, report me? We’re out in the middle of fuck-knows where, and you’re outnumbered, two to one.” He raises his sword.

“Actually, it’s two against two,” you correct him, unsheathing your dagger.

“Well that seems fair then, doesn’t it,” Jungkook purrs, “Fine, I suppose I’ll just have to punish you myself, seeing as we’re in the middle of “fuck-knows where”, as you so eloquently put it.”

The shorter of the two gulps audibly, and then turns tail and begins running in the opposite direction, slipping over the mossy rocks by the Waye’s bank.

A wiser man would have retreated, but it appears that the taller poacher is somewhat lacking in cognitive ability. With a roar, he lunges at Jungkook, who easily pirouettes out of reach, leaving the lanky man to swipe at thin air. Growling, the man rights himself, and launches at Jungkook, but the duke’s son easily parries the blow with his blade, a metallic clang echoing in the valley. The poacher stumbles back, grimacing. Seeing that he has underestimated the “lesser noble”, the poacher makes a grab for you instead.

You attempt to duck out of the way, but slip on the wet rocks, and feel a clammy hand grab around your wrist, pulling you into the hard body of the poacher. Up close, he smells of onions and beer. You struggle against him, but upon feeling cold steel at your throat, you freeze.

“Not another move,” the poacher growls, “Or this wench gets it.”

You glance at Jungkook, who stands poised, with rapier raised. An expression of fear flashes across his face, like a fleeting cloud on a sunny day, passing so fast, you could convince yourself you imagined it.

The poacher’s plot could have worked out for him, had he not underestimated your strength.

As he leers at Jungkook, you grasp at the advantage of surprise. With a sudden twist, like a striking viper, your hand – still holding the dagger - snaps up, and strikes the man on the side of the head with the hard wooden hilt. The man crumples with a screech.

You leap away. At the exact same instant, Jungkook jumps forward. You turn to see the son of the duke standing over the poacher, his rapier raised to the tall man’s stubbly throat. The poacher whimpers, with one hand clutching his face where you struck him. A trickle of blood trails down the wrinkles of his face.

“Now listen carefully,” Jungkook says, his voice low and dangerous, “I could kill you right here. But I’m choosing to spare you. I would suggest you get off your sorry arse, get up, and run away. Take your possessions, your wife and children – if you have any – and flee this duchy. Because know that you are a wanted man while you remain in the borders of Braewyth. I know your face, and soon ever guard in our troops will know it too. The punishment for poaching endangered creatures is flogging. The punishment for an attempt on the heir of the duchy’s life is the gallows. There will not be mercy the second time. Do I make myself clear?”

The man nods, slowly and carefully, his throat strained below the point of Jungkook’s rapier.

Jungkook lifts the blade. “Go.”

The poacher does not need any more prodding. Scrambling to his feet, he flees, glancing behind him every so often, as if he is scared that Jungkook will change his mind and follow after him.

Jungkook breathes a sigh, sheathing his rapier. The sweat on his neck is the only indication that he was at all shaken by the encounter. Your return your dagger to the holster on your hip, and turn your attention to the pegasus which still lies in the shallow portion of the river, breathing heavily. You carefully walk over, and inspect the damage.

There’s one arrow lodged in its side, but from the other gashes on its white coat, it appears that several other arrows hit, but subsequently fell out, leaving the creature to bleed from multiple open wounds. The pegasus lets out a distressed whinny as you approach, and makes an attempt to get up. Its legs shake, and it collapses back with a splash, too weak to run away. It has already lost a lot of blood.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you murmur, “I’m not going to hurt you.” You know the creature can’t understand you, but you hope your tone is at least soothing. The pegasus thrashes in the shallow water, but realising it is too weak to move, it resolves itself to its fate, and lays its head down.

You crouch next to it, ignoring the cold water that soaks into your boots and riding trousers. Carefully, you pull a bottle from your satchel, and uncork it. You are thankful that you often carry first aid potions around. Wafting the bottle under the pegasus’ nose, you watch as it inhales the scent of your soothing potion and relaxes. With the creature sedated, you pull the arrow from the skin, and apply pressure to staunch the flow of blood that follows. Hunting in your satchel, you pull out a second potion, filled with healing balm. Pouring the thick green liquid onto your palms, you begin massaging it onto the pegasus’ open wounds. The smell of lavender and sage emanates from the balm, covering up the bitter metallic smell of blood.

Straightening up, you back away from the pegasus. The creature tentatively stands up, taking a few hesitant steps forward. Strengthened and emboldened, the pegasus canters forward with a whicker, its large wings ruffling as it takes flight.

“What did you give it?” Jungkook asks, watching the pegasus soar towards its nest.

“A simple Salutare Decoction,” you tell him, “Made to soothe and heal wounds, and-”

“And restore vitality. Yes, I know the one,” Jungkook interrupts, “I’ve never seen it used in practice.”

You flash him a cocky smile. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re impressed by my talents, Mr. Jeon.”

The heir of the duchy grimaces, “I’ll be impressed if you can actually make the Impetus Amor.”

“Oh, you of little faith. Are you allergic to admiring anyone who isn’t yourself?”

“Don’t get too arrogant, little alchemist.” Jungkook tramps back to his horse, his back a silhouette of irritation with shoulders hunched and head lowered. “Don’t forget who saved you from those poachers, you ungrateful wench.”

You snort, walking back to your mare, “Some help you were when I had a blade held to my throat...”

“If you had been alone, you would have been slashed to ribbons,” Jungkook parries, hoisting himself into his saddle. With a dig of his heels, his stallion canters forward before you can get another word in.

By the time you’ve swung yourself into your saddle, Jungkook is far ahead, and you know there’s no way your mare can catch up with Jungkook’s brawny stallion.

Clucking at your ebony horse, you encourage her into a trot, muttering insults that Jungkook will never hear while you weave down the path back to Sientha.

✽ ✽ ✽

With the necessary ingredients, you’re finally able to start work on the Impetus Amor once you return to your shop. There’s no sign of Jungkook as you work throughout the rest of the day, and of that you are glad.

If you never see his cocky face again, it’ll be too soon for you. Yet, as you crush down thin sheets of gold into fine dust, his visage clouds your vision. Even as you watch the pegasus feathers steep in rose water, the shimmering sheen slowing leeching from the feather into the liquid, you cannot shake his sure smile and steadfast gaze from your clouded thoughts.

Dazed, you extract the feather from the liquid, leaving behind the opalescent rose water. The ingredients are ready. You simply have to wait. The next blue moon will be soon – a lucky coincidence.

Your luck is sure to run out eventually.

✽ ✽ ✽

On the night of the blue moon, once your shop is closed for the evening, you begin to prepare for the brewing of the potion. You start by getting your ingredients together, setting them up in a semicircle around your caldron. While you may have no control over your own life, you can easily command ingredients to do your bidding, controlling the brewing process and modifying as you go. The whole process is a soothing ritual for you.

At least it would be, if it weren’t for an irksome knocking coming from your door.

Sighing, you leave your ingredients by the caldron, and go to the door. You slide back the wooden latch, and outside you see -

“Jungkook?”

He stands, illuminated in a halo from the lanterns outside.

You wrinkle your nose. “What do you want?”

“Is that any way to greet the heir of the duchy?”

Rolling your eyes, you open the door to him, “Mr. Jeon, what an honour to see you at the threshold of my humble shop. Please make yourself at home. Is that any better?”

“A little,” Jungkook steps inside your shop.

You’re already seething, and he hasn’t even been in your presence for more than a minute. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“I needed your expertise on something,” Jungkook says, sauntering over to your counter, and leaning against it.

You snort. “I find it hard to believe you think anyone besides yourself has any expertise.”

“Your words sting, little alchemist,” his eyes drag across the supplies lined on the shelves of your shop, before finally coming to rest on you. “I came here for some advice. Yes, yes, take time to gloat if it makes you feel better.” He waves a dismissive hand.

The gloating wouldn’t feel so good with his dark eyes piercing yours. You swallow, and stay silent.

“I need a potion to help me stay awake,” Jungkook admits.

You raise your brows. “It’s not healthy to stay awake for long periods of time, Mr. Jeon.”

“Well of course. It’s a one-off, naturally,” he shrugs at your concerns, “I’m just a little tied up you see. I promised a lovely lady that I’d take her dancing this evening, but I also have a commitment to the duchy, and that means being in attendance at an early morning meeting tomorrow. I was quite hoping to spend some quality time with the lady tonight, if you understand my meaning.”

“Are you sure it’s not an aphrodisiac you’re after instead?” you quip.

Jungkook raises his brows in feigned surprise. “What do you take me for? Some kind of cad?”

“Are you not a cad?” You examine him skeptically, “I see you around town with a different lady each day. What conclusions am I supposed to draw?”

“Well, perhaps you’re not so wrong,” Jungkook grins, “Just don’t tell the ladies that.”

“Don’t worry. They’re all too posh to speak to me, let alone believe my accusations that Jeon Jungkook is a good for nothing bounder who only cares about the delicacies that hide beneath their petticoats and pantaloons.”

“Can you help with the potion or not?” Jungkook has grown bored of your jokes.

Stepping behind your counter, you begin to rummage around the shelves. “Luckily for you, Vigil Concoction only takes a few minutes to brew.” You grab a jar of rhodiola rosea, along with a fine iron powder, and the scales of a mermaid. Crushing the aquamarine scales to a fine dust, you mix the ingredients together with a drop of lime juice. Jungkook watches, fascinated, as you pour the ingredients into a clean caldron, and bring the concoction to a boil. The smell of brine mixed with lime cuts through the air.

Jungkook's eyes wander over to the ingredients set aside for the Impetus Amor. “I see you’re finally going to be brewing it tonight,” he nods at the ingredients.

“Yes, I was about to before you interrupted,” you say, stirring the Vigil Concoction.

“So if it’s brewed tonight, it should be ready in a few days, correct?”

You sigh, and affirm, “Correct.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just have to wait until then to see if you were actually successful.”

You wince. You had been hoping that Jungkook would forget your wager. Instead of continuing that train of thought, you change the subject. “If you don’t mind me asking, why not cancel your plans with this maiden, and attend the meeting. Any lady would be more than willing to change her plans for you.”

Jungkook sighs, “Actually, meeting with her was my father’s idea.”

You pause stirring the concoction to eye Jungkook with curiosity. “I didn’t take the duke to be the type to encourage copulation with fair damsels.”

“Wether I have sexual relations with the women does not matter,” Jungkook blushes, “My father is insistent that I find a wife.”

You splutter, and his dark eyes flash.

“Did I say something that amused you?”

“No, sorry,” you focus your attention on the potion, “It’s simply difficult to imagine you settling down with a woman.”

“What can I say. Most of the women I meet are a bore. Perfectly satisfactory in the bedroom, but useless outside of it. I struggle to hold a conversation with any of them. I need a lady with more substance if I am to wed her, not just bed her.”

“It must be such a chore being forced to spend time with all those beautiful women,” you tease, decanting the potion into a vial and corking it. Handing it across the counter to Jungkook, you warn, “Wait until it cools down before you consume it.” Your hand brushes against his as he takes the vial.

“Listen,” his voice is quieter, and despite yourself, you find you are trapped in his gaze, “I do not want you to think less of me for this conversation. When I find the right lady, I’ll settle down. I won’t be a cad. I..” he trails off, pocketing the vial. “I… well. Thank you for your help.”

You nod, unsure how to interpret his words. Taking on a professional tone, you say, “The concoction will work for about twelve hours, and will keep you alert and sleepless in that time. Once the twelve hours are up, you may find yourself dozing off quickly, so do be mindful of that.”

“Thank you.” With that, Jungkook leaves your shop. You stand in your empty store, thrown off by the unexpected distraction he caused.

Shaking your head from your hazy thoughts, you get back to the business of brewing Impetus Amor. You sit down in front of the cauldron, with enough ingredients to make several batches. You carefully measure each ingredient out, pouring them into the caldron’s black maw, while the light from the blue moon shines in through the shop window. You murmur a few words as smoke begins to rise from the caldron. The words come from an ancient civilisation, now long dead. The accent is strange and heavy on your tongue. It is the words that are the most demanding part. One wrong inflection, one stutter, and the potion’s strength will wane, or even fade completely. You’ve practiced each phrase thoroughly, just to be safe. As you stir, the liquid in the potion changes from pale translucent to an opaque pearlescent pink. A success. Working quickly, you pour the mixture into an alembic to distill.

Now all that’s left to do is wait.

✽ ✽ ✽

The days pass quicker than you expect, with nothing much to note, apart from the weekend, when a young lady wanders into your shop with a tear stained face, asking for a potion to mend a broken heart. You could have sworn you had seen the lady with her arm strung through Jungkook’s the previous day. You do not comment as you hand her a bottle of Cor Integro.

At last, the Impetus Amor is ready, and right on cue, so is Jungkook. He walks into the shop as you are bottling the love potion.

“Is that it?” His eyes flash over the contents of the glass bottle.

You nod.

“May I?” He holds out a hand, and you hesitate, before relinquishing the bottle to him.

And so concludes the list of bad decisions you made concerning Impetus Amor.

He holds it up to the light, inspecting intently. “Well, it certainly looks convincing. But I suppose we won’t actually know if it works unless we test it.”

The bad feeling forming in your stomach has arrived too late to warn you. Jungkook is already pulling out the cork, and downing the contents of the bottle.

This is how you end up with Jungkook, the one man you cannot stand, drinking your love potion. The first person he looks at will be the one he falls for. He’s looking at you.

Oh goddess above, please not this. Anything but this.

“Mighty gods above, what is wrong with you? You know very well how long that took to brew!” Your attempt to restrain your tone is unsuccessful. Anger pours freely from your words.

Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, “Tough. Looks like the potion doesn’t even work anyway. And on top of that, it tasted bad. Like dried roses and soap.”

“It wasn’t intended for you,” you remind him. “In one hour, it will begin to take effect, and you will be reduced to a fawning dolt, drooling over my every move.”

“That will only happen if the potion actually works. Which it may not.” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow at you, so sure of himself it makes you want to scream. “I cannot have you selling snake oil to the people of Braewyth.”

You are physically trembling with anger. “That potion is incredibly expensive. You’ll have to pay for it.”

“Fret not, you’ll get your money… if it works.” He swivels around, and is about to make for the door, but you dash in from of him, blocking off his means of escape. “I won’t allow you to leave,” you say, “You’ll make a complete fool of yourself if you’re free to roam the streets under the influence of a love potion.”

Jungkook blinks – innocent – and then laughs, “Come now. It won’t be that bad.”

“Yes. Yes, it will be that bad,” you insist, “I’m keeping you here until I can cure you. The last thing we want is for you to cause a scandal.”

Jungkook’s Adam’s apple bobs, finally realising that you’re being serious. “What will the potion do to me?”

“You should have asked before you drank the potion.”

“Perhaps,” he concedes, “It might not work. We still don’t know.” His eyes are wide, like a deer that’s spotted a hunter with an arrow aimed at its heart. “What will it do?”

“It will make you fall in love with me,” you say, “Of course. On top of that, it will cause you great physical pain any time you are not close to me. It will make you desperate for physical contact.”

Jungkook swallows thickly. “Well… let’s… uh… hope you got it wrong then, hmm?”

You frown. “I’ve half a mind to throw you out into the street to make a complete fool of yourself, screaming your love for all bystanders to hear.”

“Surely you’ve got a cure,” Jungkook pleads.

You grit your teeth. “You can’t expect me to simply fix every problem with a magical potion, Mr. Jeon. Alchemy doesn’t always work like that.”

“I’m sorry!” Jungkook blurts, “There, I said it. I’m sorry! I know I’ve cocked up. And I know I take your abilities for granted. I underestimate you all the time. I’m sorry, alright? But you have had it out for me from the moment you met me. You hated me before you even knew me. I don’t know why, but I’m sorry for that too. Now can you please stop piling on the blame and help me?” He holds up his hands, plaintive, “Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

Your shoulders slump. You want to be angry. All you feel is pity.

“Aright, Jungkook,” you concede, “I’ll help you.”

“Thank you,” his voice is soft.

You set the sign on your shop door to ‘Closed’, and bolt it. Then, you move across to your shelf of books. You know that one of these tomes must contain an antidote for a love potion. It’s not something you’ve made before, and you cannot remember which volume it is in, but you know it must be there. You scan the indexes, the pile of rejected tomes towering taller as you search through each book for any help it may provide.

Meanwhile, Jungkook sits on a stool by the counter, fidgeting awkwardly.

At last, in your copy of Payne and Nash’s Antidotes for Advanced Alchemy, you find a potion called Aphrodite’s Cure – an antidote for love potions and aphrodisiacs.

Your finger mechanically runs down the list, checking off each one.

Extract from a siren’s tongue

Sap from a cherry tree

Crushed topaz

You have all those items in your shop. If you believed in the goddess, you would be praising her now. Your finger stops, hovering over the brewing time, spelled out in black ink. Two hours.

“Well, Jungkook...” The duke’s son looks up at the sound of your voice. “I’ve found a cure I can brew, but it will take two hours.”

Jungkook’s hopeful expression falls. “Well, I suppose I can bear being in love with a pain in the arse like you for two hours. Even if you are… the most… the most... beautiful maiden I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leaps up from his stool.

Your heart pounds, animalistic instincts telling you to run far away.

Still you remain frozen to the spot, while Jungkook makes his way around the counter to grab at you, pulling you close. Your chest presses against his, while his hands grip your waist.

“You’re gorgeous,” Jungkook murmurs, “Forgive me for not telling you earlier.”

Your curse silently, caught in Jungkook’s ardent gaze. Your potion had worked wonders... unfortunately. “Does this drivel normally work on the maidens you woo?” you ask, pushing him away.

He winces as you part. “Please, my dear, it hurts when you force us apart.”

You remember the side effect of Impetus Amor embodies itself as physical pain when a couple is not close to one another. Despite your disdain for Jungkook, you feel a pang of pity for him. “Okay,’ you say, “You may stay near my side. But you can’t get in my way while I work on an antidote for you.”

“But I don’t want to be cured,” Jungkook retorts, “I’m in love with you, and it feels wonderful. I never realised how good it would feel to experience true love. You truly wish to part me from this happiness?”

“Yes. You asked for this. Remember that.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “My past self did not know what he was talking about. I wish to stay by your side, forever..”

“No matter what I do,” you say, “The effects will wear off in a week. I’m merely expediting the process to save you the embarrassment that will follow.”

Firmly, you move away from Jungkook, fetching a bottle of siren’s tongue extract from the top shelf behind your counter, before you dig out your crushed topaz and cherry tree sap from a cupboard. You sit down in front of your caldron and let Jungkook take a seat beside you. His hand comes to rest on your knee. You startle at his touch.

“You said I could stay close to you,” he says, “Sorry, is this too much?”

You shrug. “Do what you need to. Just don’t get in my way.” As you pour the potions into the caldron and begin stirring over a low flame, you try to ignore the heat in your body, shooting up from the spot on your leg where Jungkook’s palm rests. The ingredients begin to bubble in the caldron. You watch carefully, smelling the steam that rises, hoping to discern clues on the quality of the brew. When the scent of caramel begins to waft from the caldron, you remove it from the heat, and allow it to sit for a few minutes before you transfer it to a flask where if will sit for two hours, allowing the ingredients to cool and fully incorporate into Aphrodite’s Cure.

“Well, Jungkook, now we wait.”

He huffs, “I already told you, I don’t want to be cured.”

“Tough,” you tell him. “Eventually you will be, whether you like it or not. Then you’ll be on your own to deal with the shame that follows. I’m not helping you with that.”

He bristles. “I don’t find being in love with you shameful. Not at all. After all, you’re strong-willed, and intelligent, not to mention beautiful! You have more wit and personality than most other women I have wooed. If I were to be embarrassed at the idea of loving you, I ought to cringe at the idea of having bedded the other women.”

“Well, you shan’t be ‘bedding’ me,” you say, “You can’t get between my legs just by flashing me a favourable look.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “You wound me, my dear. You truly believe I only have carnal pleasures on my mind. Do not worry. I know you need respect and commitment before you would allow a man to crawl between the sheets with you.”

You feel your cheeks burning with a blush. “Let me guess – you wish to be the man who will show me that respect and commitment, and will crawl between the sheets with me?”

“Listen,” Jungkook diverges from your pointed question, “I know I need time to prove myself to you. I haven’t shown you my best side while I’ve been around you. I can only ask that you forgive me, and let me show you how much better I can be.”

“I’m used to the way you treat me.” You move away from Jungkook, but he grabs onto you, hands desperate.

“Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I just need to get on with work. You may have forced me to close my shop, but that doesn’t mean I can sit and twiddle my thumbs for two hours until you’re cured.”

“But I want to sit here with you,” Jungkook whines. The potion doesn’t seem to have just struck him down with love, but also to have turned him into a pouty brat with the attitude of a spoiled toddler.

Give me strength. “Let me guess,” you say, “You want to hold me, and kiss me? Am I right?”

Jungkook’s face turns red. “You shame me my dear, for it seems you have been reading my thoughts. Forgive me, but how can I help but dream of such things, when you are so comely.”

You try not to roll your eyes. Men under the influence of Impetus Amor are intolerable.

You catch a hold of his hand, which is grabbing your right wrist, and wrench him off you. “Jungkook, I am refusing you for your own good.”

“I do not believe that to be true,” Jungkook says as you pry yourself from him, and begin to scour your shelves for any bottles that appear to be running low. The duke’s son follows you around like a lovesick puppy while you pull out a piece of parchment and begin walking along the shelves taking note of vials and containers that are running empty, so you can get fresh ingredients at the next opportunity. Your hands need to be busy. You feel hapless otherwise.

“I truly believe,” Jungkook pipes up behind you, “That even when this potion wears off, I will still be in love with you. I believe that I have been in love with you for a while.”

You snort a laugh, “You truly do amuse me, Jungkook.”

“Is it so hard to believe I could fall for you?”

You spin around to face Jungkook. He is much closer than you anticipated. A gasp breaks your lips.

“Listen, little alchemist,” his eyes bore into yours, as you step back, your spine pressing against the shelf behind you, “I’ve been trying to fight these feelings, for I know my father would not approve of a woman who is not noble-born, yet I still find myself drawn to you. I wander aimlessly to your shop, just to catch a glimpse of you, just to feel the warmth of your company. And you would scoff at this?”

Your mouth goes dry, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. The words are difficult to get past your teeth. “You’re lying. It’s just the potion talking.”

“Why would I lie?” Jungkook’s eyes are troubled, “I’ve been falling slowly, ever since I met you. I tried to push off the feelings by treating you harshly. I tried to forget them in the arms of another lover. But still… I always find myself coming back to you.” He lifts a hand, fingers gentle against your cheek. You shiver at his touch. “It’s always you, little alchemist.”

Your lips curl in amusement. “You almost convinced me Jungkook. You speak so earnestly…” You take his hand in your own, pull it away from your face, and let it drop to his side.

His eyes cloud over. “Being unable to touch you, it hurts me physically, you know.”

“I know.” A shard of sympathy embeds in your chest. “It won’t last long though, I promise. I’ll cure you soon.”

“While we wait,” Jungkook’s eyes are dark, “Could you spare me one kiss? Just to ease the pain?”

“Jungkook,” your hand goes to his chest, rising up to rest on his shoulder, “The potion worked. You lost the wager. You were only to get a kiss if you won.”

“Please,” the word falls soft from his mouth.

You stand transfixed, stuck between your shelf of potions, and Jungkook’s body. His face is mere inches from your own. A dreadful curiosity sweeps over you, one that you know you should ignore. Yet, Jungkook is here before you, eyes urgent, and you are tired of fighting him.

“One kiss,” you murmur, “That’s all I’ll allow.”

His hands find purchase on your waist as he moves closer. Your eyelids flutter shut as his breath fans your cheeks, smelling of rose and gold dust. His lips are warm as they settle on your own, mapping out your mouth. You fall captive to the sensation, and suddenly, you understand the appeal that draws countless women to Jungkook’s side. He may be a pain in the arse, but he is wonderfully skilled when it comes to kissing.

Pressed against the shelf, you give in to the affections from a man you were sure you hated. You promise yourself, as his lips part from yours, that you will wipe this feeling from your memory. Yet, even as Jungkook draws back, the ghost of his warmth haunts you.

Lost for words, you blink in the dim light of your shop, suddenly too bright after the dark of closed eyelids. Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes fixed on you. You struggle, unsure what to say. Instead of saying anything, you simply return to the chores you had assigned yourself, mechanically checking off ingredients on your piece of parchment.

At the counter, Jungkook is suspiciously silent. After a long pause, he finally asks, “What will happen to me when the effects of the potion are cured?”

You turn back to him. “You will forget most of this. It will all feel hazy, like a dream. And you’ll feel a little unwell. Headaches are normal after such strong potions take effect. Some people also suffer nausea, but that depends on one’s constitution. You’ll only suffer for an hour or so, then it should wear off.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Jungkook says gently.

You swallow, understanding, “Your feelings will depart. Whatever you are feeling for me now will be replaced with your genuine feelings, so you’ll go back to hating me I suspect.”

Jungkook’s face falls, “I don’t hate you.”

“Well then you’ll go back to mild indifference,” you say, turning back to your shelf to continue working, while Jungkook sits down at the counter, silent.

The hours drag on, with Jungkook’s eyes following your every move. Occasionally, he expresses a desire for physical contact to stop the pain. When he does so, you return to his side, and gently press your palm to his. The action seems to be enough for him.

At last, the hour glass has run through twice, and the potion is ready. You carefully decant it into a vial, and set it in front of Jungkook.

He catches your gaze, “I… I don’t want this.”

“Jungkook, please,” you press your hand to his one last time, “You need to. No matter what, the Impetus Amor will wear off. I’ll still be here when you’re cured.”

His face firms into an expression your don’t recognise, and with a resolute, swift motion, he tips the contents of the vial into his mouth in one go, swallowing with a groan. “You did not warn me that it would taste repulsive.”

“You were already reluctant to take it.”

Jungkook groans again, lowering his head so that his forehead rests on the wooden counter top, “By the goddess, I feel like death. Do you have a potion for a headache?”

“Not one caused by the after effects of Impetus Amor,” you say, “But I do have herbal tea.”

“Yes please.”

Glad to have a task to distract you, you busy yourself with boiling the water and fetching tea leaves.

From his spot at the counter, Jungkook moans, “I embarrassed myself greatly, didn’t I?”

Watching a pleasing golden red spread out from the tea leaves into the boiled water, you reply, “That depends on what you deem to be embarrassing.”

Jungkook grimaces as he lifts his head slightly, then, upon reconsideration, lowers his head again. The colour has drained from his face.

“I imagine you were acting the way you normally would around any fair lady you intended to woo. You were fine. Quite respectful, actually.”

“Please, I don’t wish to remember,” Jungkook moves his head so that his cheek now rests on the counter.

You pass a cup of fresh tea across to him, ‘That should make you feel a little better,” you say.

“I owe you a ‘thank you’,” Jungkook raises his head to blow on the steam rising from the tea cup, “And an apology as well, I fancy.”

You pause, not expecting to hear those words from him.

“I’ve been an arse,” Jungkook says.

“It’s not often you and I agree on something, Jungkook.”

He laughs wryly. “Well, I can’t deny it, can I? I wasted your time and energy today, and for that, I am sorry. From, Jeon Jungkook, son of the duke of Braewyth, to you, master alchemist and potions-brewer extraordinaire, as my equal, please accept my sincere apologies, and my humble gratitude.” He bows his head.

You are unsure how to react, throat tight. All you can muster is an insincere chuckle, and a feeble “No need to be so formal... If you really want to apologise you can give me the gold you promised since it would appear I won this wager.”

“Oh, right!” Jungkook digs in his pockets.

Suddenly, strangely, you feel unsure of yourself. “Listen, I was just joking. I don’t need the money. Really...”

“Nonsense,” Jungkook dumps a sack of coin on the table. “It’s yours, fair and square.” He grins at you and takes a sip of his tea. “This brew really seems to be helping.” As he downs the rest f the cup, you busy your hands with the bottles on your shelf, straightening them so they stand in a tidy row. Jungkook glances through the window of your shop, where the sky above the roofs of the town is turning gold with the setting of the sun. “I’d better head off,” he says, “My father arranged a ball for the eligible women of Braewyth to attend, and he’s hoping I’ll meet someone there. And by someone, I mean specifically Lady Antille from the province of Armestice.” He grimaces. “I’ve heard she’s a dreadful bore. Not to mention there’ll be lots of business men at the dance, hoping to make a good impression, and get funding from my father’s treasury. So overall, I have a very pleasant evening ahead of me.”

“Do you think you’ll ever find a woman you’re happy with?” you ask.

Jungkook wavers on the question, “I’m… not sure. I think I’m cursed by the fact that most noble women are not at all appealing to me.”

You shrug, “It’s all just a pantomime isn’t it? Performing the proper etiquette. Perhaps once the women have a chance to drop the pretence of politeness, you’ll get to know them for who they truly are, and you’ll realise they aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Perhaps,” he looks unconvinced, “But I doubt I’ll have the time for that. My father is hoping I’ll drop down to one knee and propose as soon as I lock eyes with the right woman.”

“Maybe Lady Antille will be the lucky one,” you say.

“The longer this goes on, the more I worry my father will simply pick a lady for me, and force me to marry.”

“I hope not.”

He nods, “Yes. So do I.” He turns for the door.

“Enjoy your evening, Jungkook.”

He pauses at the door, and turns back to look at you, with a gentle smile. “You’ve started calling me Jungkook instead of Mr. Jeon,” he notes.

“Oh, sorry,” your hand springs to your mouth, “Is it improper?”

“A little bit improper,” He smiles, “I like it.”

“Goodbye, Jungkook.”

“Goodbye...” He looks into your eyes, sunshine bathing him from the windows, and your name is soft on his lips. Not ‘little alchemist’. Not ‘wench’. Not ‘my dear’. Just your name. A warmth spreads from your stomach through the rest of your body.

You smile as he closes the door behind him, leaving you alone with the smell of herbal tea filling the shop.

✽ ✽ ✽

As darkness descends on your shop, the sun sinking lower, a lady enters. You recognise the red hood, lowered over her eyes and nose.

“Good evening,” you welcome her as you would all other customers.

Rather than greeting you, she simply asks, “Is the Impetus Amor ready?” Her tone is hushed, despite being the sole customer in your store.

Thankful that you had the foresight to create more than one batch of the potion, you fetch it from your cupboard and place the vial on the counter top in front of her. The potion shines, pearlescent in the fading sunshine.

The lady pushes back a blonde lock from her face, and her shapely lips smile below her hood. “Wonderful. Thank you.” She tales the vial, and places it into her purse. You notice her splendid gown beneath the folds of her red cloak. Only a rich lady could afford such a potion. And such expensive silk. You sigh, despite yourself.

The lady tosses another pouch of gold onto the counter top. “I trust that you will not tell anyone of this exchange.”

You pause, wondering what she means. “All my customer’s orders are confidential,” you assure her.

She nods, satisfied, and swivels on her heel, exiting the shop. As she leaves, she bumps into an older lady who is making her way into your shop. You recognise the older lady, Myrrh, who is one of your regulars. The younger lady’s red hood slips down as she passes Myrrh, revealing a head of golden curls.

“Oh, sorry dear,” Myrrh says.

The golden haired lady bows her head, quickly pulling up her hood again. “Think nothing of it.” With that, she slips into the darkening evening.

Myrrh approaches your counter, while you retrieve her order from the shelf behind you – Fons Iuventae, for aches and pains afflicting old joints. “Well, I never realised you got such fancy clientele in your store, dear,” Myrrh observes, as she counts out her silver coins for you.

You smile, “Her appearance here surprised me as much as it did you, Myrrh.”

The older lady chuckles, ‘Imagine! Lady Antille, in this shop! The store will be the talk of the town soon, I’m sure.”

“Lady Antille?”

Myrrh gives you a strange look as she hands her coins across to you. “You didn’t recognise the Lady of Armestice?”

You shake your head.

“Ah, well now you know,” Myrrh says, “Imagine, me bumping into her like that.” She takes her bottle of Fons Iuventae and heads for the door. You follow behind her, and flip over your store sign to ‘Closed’ once she leaves. The last dregs of sunlight seep through the window. With the shop shut for the night, you go and sit behind the counter, thoughts running at a thousand miles a minute. You know that you should not concern yourself with your customer’s potion usage. After all, you simply provide. You are not responsible for the actions that follow. Yet, you cannot help but have your suspicions.

Before you realise what you are doing, you pick up a vial of Aphrodite’s Cure from yoru counter. Your body leads you to the door, grabbing your satchel, and your cloak, pulling it around you before you step out onto the cobbled street. Your feet lead you to the stable, where you quickly saddle up your mare, and spur her into the dark of night.

The road that leads out of Sientha winds down towards the large mansion where the duke of Braewyth resides. Everyone in Braewyth is familiar with the sugar white house that stands tall, behind a maze of rose bushes. As you ride towards the mansion, rain begins to pelt down, stinging at your cheeks. You continue regardless, pressing your heels into your mare’s side, encouraging her on. You push her harder than you’ve pushed her before, hurtling down the road at a frantic gallop. The mare’s breathing is hard, foam flies from her mouth. Dirt flies from her hooves, kicking up the mud washed onto the road.

Ahead of you, past the sheets of rain, you spot the lights of the Braewyth mansion. Reigning in your mare, you stop her a few paces before the gate, and tie her by one of the trees. She’s breathing heavily, and you give her a reassuring pat before you make for the gates.

A guard, who was leaning lazily against the gate, stands to attention when you approach, raising his spear. “Halt.”

“Please,” you hold up your hands to him, showing that you are unarmed, “I wish to speak with Jeon Jungkook.”

The guard squints at you through the rain. “And who might you be?”

You hesitate. “I’m his alchemy tutor.” Technically not a lie.

“I wasn’t told you would be arriving,” the guard says, “Do you have an invitation to the ball that you can show me?” He sweeps a skeptical gaze over your trousers, flecked with mud, and your fur hood, soaked with rain.

“Please, it’s urgent,” you say.

In the gloom, you see the guard raise his eyebrows.

You wrack your brain, “I have a potion for Jeon Jungkook. He asked me to deliver it to him personally before the ball began.”

“He never told me of this plan.”

Just then, by the mercy of the universe – or perhaps the goddess – Jungkook appears at the other side of the gate.

“Ah, Mr. Jeon,” the guard smiles at you gleefully, hoping to have caught you in a lie, “Have you met this wench before?”

Jungkook walks up to the gate, “Of course. Let her in at once.”

The guard’s mouth hangs open for a slit second, before he quickly corrects his expression, and bows to the heir of Braewyth. “Yes. Right away!” He opens the gate, and scurries to get out of your way.

You hurry over the threshold, and begin walking with Jungkook towards the Braewyth mansion.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asks, once you are out of earshot of the guard.

“What about you?” you say, “Do you make it a habit to walk around the garden while it’s tipping it down with rain?”

“I needed some fresh air, and I heard a commotion from the gate,” Jungkook explains, “But I really think you’re the one who ought to be explaining yourself.”

“I...” you’re unsure where to begin, “Has Lady Antille arrived yet?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook says, “Now, will you please stop answering my question with more questions.”

“Sorry,” you swallow, suddenly realising how silly your reasoning will sound.

Jungkook waits, while you remain silent, walking down the path through the rose bushes.

You take a deep breath, “This may sound mad, but I have reason to believe that Lady Antille plans to use Impetus Amor on your tonight.”

Jungkook’s expression turns frosty. “You’re not jesting?”

You nod. “I could be wrong. But the lady who purchased Impetus Amor was Antille. I did not recognise her at first. I suppose it could merely be coincidence, and she is using it for someone else, but I wanted to warn you, just in case.”

Jungkook is grave. “I suppose it would make sense. After all, a marriage into the Braewyth duchy would be beneficial for the province of Armestice. The province is too small to defend itself, so would be willing to seek the protection of a more powerful duchy.” He turns his eyes to you. “Will you be able to stay here with me tonight? I must be in attendance at the ball, and avoiding Lady Antille there is out of the question. If she does try anything, will you be ready to help me?”

You nod, “I have the cure in my satchel, just in case.”

Jungkook nods, taking your hand, and leading you up the marble steps to the mansion door. “Alright, if you’re staying, then you need to get changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“I do not mean to offend, but your trousers won’t be acceptable attire for the ball.”

You swallow as you step into the house. The hallways are greater – both wider and taller - than you had anticipated, with lush white carpets that your feet sink into. You wince at the mud trailed in by your boots.

“Whyn!” Jungkook calls, and a flushed looking maid appears on cue, bowing before him.

“Yes, Mr. Jeon?”

“Can you help my lady friend? She needs to be cleaned up, and needs more appropriate attire for the ball.”

“Of course, Mr. Jeon.”

Before you can even get a word in, you are being herded down the corridor by Whyn, who appears overly eager to do Jungkook’s bidding. You’re pushed into the bathroom, and the last you see of Jungkook is his smile as Whyn closes the door on him.

The bathroom is lavish, tiled with white marble. Ornate sculptures depicting gryphons stand at each corner of the room. Steps lead down to a pool of warm water, from which steam rises, smelling of lavendar. A statue of a stag stands proudly at the centre of the water, with a beautiful woman depicted standing beside him, naked. She holds an urn above the pool, and water pours from the urn into the large bath.

Without any warning, or any chance to protest, Whyn strips you down, and pushes you to the water’s edge. “Quickly, m’am,” she urges, “The ball will be starting soon.”

Grumbling, you step down into the water. However, it’s impossible to continue complaining as the warmth envelops you, easing all the aches in your body. You sink down with a sigh, dipping your head under, and letting your hair become fully soaked.

However relaxing the bathing experience is, you know you need to get back to Jungkook quickly, so after a quick once over with soap, you reluctantly leave the embrace of the sweet smelling water.

Whyn is ready and waiting with a warm towel. She starts drying you off, and you complain that you can dry yourself, but she shushes you stubbornly. “Please, ma’m, let me do my job!”

Once your hair and body are towelled dry, Whyn helps you into the ornate dress she has picked for you. You’ve never worn a dress this fancy before, and until this point, you never understood why ladies needed maids to help them get dressed. Now, as Whyn scurries around you, lacing up your corset, and adjusting your petticoat, you understand. The dress has so many buttons, clasps, and ribbons, that it would take an eternity to dress yourself.

The maid finally helps you pull back your hair, pinning it off your face, so it curls elegantly to frame your cheeks. She steps back to admire her handiwork, allowing you to take in your full reflection in the mirror beside the bath. It’s surprising what a maid’s touch can do. You barely recognise yourself. A regal lady stares back at you from the mirror in a shimmering sapphire-coloured dress, with golden stitching around the bodice, detailing embroidered roses.

“Is it alright, m’am?” Whyn asks, “If you don’t like it, I can find another dress.”

“No, thank you, Whyn,” you smile at her, “It’s perfect.”

The girl flushes and bows her head.

You find your original clothes folded neatly in the corner of the room. You rummage in your satchel, and find your vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, tucking it under your corset for safe-keeping. You turn back to Whyn. “I’m ready.”

The maid leads you out of the bathroom down a snaking maze of corridors, until you reach a set of grand mahogany doors. She pushes the doors open for you, and indicates that you should go in.

You whisper your thanks to her again, and then walk into the ballroom. Inside, the dancing has not yet started, and the room is filled with groups of people, conversing with one another. You spot Jungkook at the far corner, by a set of wide windows that look out onto the garden, which is illuminated by lanterns. You walk over, and a smile erupts on Jungkook’s face as soon as he spots you. He steps forward to greet you.

“Whyn has done a fine job,” he says, casting an admiring glance over you.

You feel you face heat up, unsure how to respond.

“If anyone asks,” Jungkook continues, in a low voice, linking his arm through yours and leading you along the ballroom floor, “You are my personal friend. You needn’t give any more information than that.”

You nod, glancing around nervously, “Has Antille arrived?”

“I haven’t seen her yet,” Jungkook says. “I truly hope your fears are unjustified. But if they’re true, I want you by my side, okay?”

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on wandering off alone.” Looking around the room, you notice many of the people staring at you. “Why are they looking at us?”

“Well, you are walking arm in arm with the heir of Braewyth, who’s rumoured to be in the market for a wife. People are going to be gossiping about our betrothal as we speak.”

You blush at the thought, allowing Jungkook to lead you around the room, stopping every so often to speak with groups of important sounding people.

Every so often, the door will open and someone will announce the name of the eligible young lady who has entered. The lady will smile and curtsey, and then everyone will go on about their business.

You find yourself stuck in an arduous conversion with an old noble, named Lord Chaperlet, about the effects of increased wheat tax, when the doors to the ballroom open once more, and the announcer cries, “Presenting to you, the Lady of Armestice, the honourable Antille.”

You raise onto your tiptoes to catch a glance at the lady over the heads of the crowd that has gathered.

She’s wearing a gold dress that trails across the floor like spilled champagne , her hair curled perfectly around her face. Lord Chaperlet stops wittering on about wheat tax to stare at the young Lady. “Antille truly is a beauty, is she not?” He winks at Jungkook, who gives a diplomatic chuckle, and says, “Now, now, Lord Chaperlet, what would your wife say if she overheard you?”

The older man gives a hearty laugh. Jungkook’s arm remains interlocked with yours, and shows no sign of budging. You swallow your nerves as Lady Antille approaches.

The lady pauses momentarily upon seeing you by Jungkook’s side, and a flash of ice glazes her gaze before she corrects her expression to a polite smile, and makes her way forward.

“Jeon Jungkook,” she coos, “How are you? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You look as handsome as your portraits portray you.”

Jungkook gives a courteous smile, “I’m wonderful thank you.” He takes the hand she proffers him, kissing her fingers, as is the custom when greeting noble women. “And how are you?”

“Fantastic,” Antille smiles, “Although the coach journey here was frightful! The rain was atrocious. Hence my late arrival, you see.”

“Fashionably late, I would say,” Jungkook replies, and Antille giggles behind her white-gloved hand.

You are out of your depth, silently observing this display of courtly manners.

Antille finally glances your way, in the manner one might glance across at an old dog scratching its fleas in the corner. “And who is this?”

You swallow. You may look different in your gown, but you know she has recognised you from your potions store.

Jungkook answers in your silence. “This is my personal friend.” His arm is still slung through yours. His reassuring fingers squeeze you.

“Is that so?” Antille worries her crimson bottom lip with her teeth for a second, her gaze lingering on you, sizing you up.

It’s a relief when Whyn passes with a tray of glasses filled with champagne, moving between you and Antille. “Would you like a drink?” The maid keeps her head bowed.

Antille takes a glass, and hands it to Jungkook, before taking one for herself, “Might as well enjoy oneself.” She raises her glass to Jungkook.

Jungkook brings the glass to his lips. A flash of worry sparks in your head – the only reason you are here is to stop Jungkook from ingesting any potion. Yet, Antille seems happy to drink the champagne...

Instinctively, your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s arm.

A vague scent of rose water and crushed gold floats towards you.

Jungkook glances at you, confused, before understanding floods into his eyes.

Wracking your brain for a good excuse to leave, your hand springs to your neck, feigning surprise. “Oh, I’ve just noticed! My necklace is gone. I was wearing it when I arrived here, but now it’s gone.”

Jungkook picks up on your cue. “Perhaps it fell off in the hallway by the entrance when you took off your cloak. I’ll help you search.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Antille chimes in. “Your friend can manage by herself. After all, everyone in this ballroom is here to speak with you personally, Jungkook. People might talk if you were to leave.”

Seeing Jungkook struggling, you begin sniffing, forcing your eyes to water. “The necklace belonged to my late mother. I can’t believe I was so careless...”

Jungkook hands you a handkerchief so you can dab at your fake tears, and before Antille can say anything else, he escorts you out of the room.

Once the doors of the the ballroom close behind you, you give up your act, following Jungkook down the twisting hallways.

“This is bad,” he mutters, “I should have been more careful. And after your warned me as well!” His hand is firm on your wrist, leading you up a set of stairs, before he slips into a room and quickly bolts the door shut behind him.

You find yourself in a lavish bathroom, this one different from the one you bathed in. Cherub angels are carved into the white frosting-coloured ceiling.

“You need to stay calm,” you tell Jungkook. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jungkook grimaces, “Don’t you understand? That glass came from Whyn’s tray. Antille must have specifically asked her to spike the glass that she would then give me.”

“Maybe Whyn didn’t know what it was,” you suggest.

“Even if she didn’t, a maid shouldn’t put anything into a drink they serve. She’ll loose her job. It’s a shame, I liked her.”

“That’s not the main issue right now,” you remind him, rummaging in the folds of your dress for the vial of Aphrodite’s Cure, “You need to take this.” You hold up the glass to him.

Jungkook smiles, “I’m glad you’re so reliable.”

“I do my best.”

Jungkook makes to take the vial from you, but you pull back, “Wait. You need to take the antidote after the potion actually kicks in.”

“How will I know when that is?” Jungkook asks.

“Even if you don’t notice, I will,” you say, “You’ll start talking gibberish about how in love you are. And you’ll feel a sudden rush of emotion for the first person you looked at after you drank the potion… which was me, I think.”

“Right, of course. A rush of emotions.” He presses his lips together. “Perhaps, for the sake of clarity, I should confess something in that case...”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“The trouble is,” Jungkook continues “I believe I have already developed feelings for you.”

When you open your mouth, he holds up a hand to stop you. “Before you say anything – no, the potion hasn’t kicked in yet. I’ve felt this way for a while. I just didn’t know how to deal with these feelings, so I’ve repressed them.”

Your heart rises in a flurry of childish giddiness. You don’t know where the feelings come from, but are surprised to find that you desperately hope he is telling the truth. “Perhaps we should wait until you take the antidote, and then we’ll talk about this...”

His eyes glaze over, strange and distant, “My dear, these feelings will remain unwavering, I promise.”

You press the potion into his hands. “Drink,” you command.

He nods, uncorking the vial, and tipping the contents into his mouth. “Goddess, that tastes vile,” he groans. He sucks a breath through his teeth. With his head lowered, he takes a few seconds to recover, before he murmurs, “Thank you.”

You remain silent, not sure what to say. Your mind is still racing over Jungkook’s earlier confession. He said it wasn’t the potion causing the words to fall from his mouth. Yet, you cannot be sure. A part of you is unexpectedly sad at the though that his profession of love was simply the potion speaking.

Somehow, despite your determination to hate him, you are surprised to find that you love him.

Jungkook raises his head, eyes fixed on yours, “Without you I would have made a complete fool of myself. Not to mention, I probably would have ended up betrothed to Antille, which...” he blows out a sigh. “Let’s not dwell on that. Thank you for all your help. I know I’ve treated you poorly in the past, but you’ve still helped me regardless. That’s the sign of a good person.”

You bite down on your cheek, “Jungkook?”

“Yes?”

“What you said...” Once you start, the words keep spilling, “Before the potion kicked in. About being in love with me. Did you mean that?”

“Sorry, it was improper of me to simply dump that upon you all of a sudden,” Jungkook says, “I suppose I should have kept that to myself. I’ve tried to ignore these feelings, since my father would not approve of someone who is not noble-born. I tried to push the feelings away by treating you brusquely, by distracting myself with other women, but none of it worked.”

“So you mean?”

His gaze is inescapable, “I love you.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Jungkook chuckles, but his tone is earnest, “Sorry, you look like a startled deer. I know it’s improper to confess without suitable courtship first, but our relationship has always been a little unconventional. Spending my time with you, I was fascinated by you. And that fascination turned into something I’ve never felt before. I’ve never been so open or honest with anyone else. You’ve seen the worst parts of me, and you’ve stuck around despite all that.” His cheeks colour, “I truly am just rambling now, please feel free to tell me to shut up.”

You’re still waiting for the part where Jungkook suddenly says, “It’s merely a jape!” His face is serious.

“Jungkook, I… I don’t know what to say...”

“Then don’t say anything, you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to, I just… the words evade me...” you bite your lip, “Your confession certainly came as a surprise, although not an unwelcome one...”

Jungkook’s eyes shine.

“I’m very happy,” you say, “I would be lying if I said I do not have similar feelings for you. I never thought it would be okay to fall in love with a noble, so I never allowed myself the liberty of even thinking...” You hesitate, “Is it really okay for me to love you?”

Jungkook nods, “Nothing would make me happier.”

“But your father?”

“It’s okay. We’ll make it work. The tradition of nobles courting nobles is ver old-fashioned anyway. I never liked it. Eventually, my father will accept whom I choose. And I choose you.”

He takes your hand, delicately bringing your fingers to his lips. The action is so simple, so gentle – a far cry from the kiss you had shared earlier – yet it feels so strangely intimate with his eyes drinking you in, while his warm mouth caresses your skin.

His lips work their way up to your wrist, then your forearm, then your shoulder, then your cheek, then grazing the side of your mouth. You let him kiss you properly, melting into his warmth, while the carved cherubs smile down at you from above.

Parting, Jungkook sighs, “I wish I could enjoy this without the after effects of Impetus Amor... My head’s killing me...”

You smile, “Don’t worry. There’ll be time for all of this later. I’m not planning on leaving your side.” You hold his hand tight in your own. “For now, let’s go to the kitchen, and see if we can find some herbal tea for you.”

✽ ✽ ✽

After a cup of strong tea, Jungkook has perked up, ready to return to the ballroom. He holds your hand in his own as you make your way down to the main hallway. You can hear string instruments harmonising to a waltz from the ballroom. The dancing seems to have started in your absence.

“I hope you’ll dance with me tonight,” Jungkook says.

“Won’t people talk if they see us together?” you ask.

“Let them,” Jungkook says. “I’ll announce our relationship when you feel ready, and not a second before.”

You smile, “In that case, I’d love to dance with you.”

As you enter the ballroom, Antille glances over at the two of you and blanches. Jungkook lets go of your hand, and walks over to her, asking if she is willing to speak with him.

Antille looks around, as if considering her escape routes, but agrees to go with Jungkook – with obvious reluctance. Jungkook draws her to the edge of the room, away from the dancing couples that glide around the ballroom floor. Where the two of them stand, you can hear their conversation well, although they are tucked away from the rest of the ball guests.

“Antille,” Jungkook says, “I know what you have attempted to do.”

Antille glowers, “Attempted to do? What are you talking about?”

Jungkook continues, “I have enough proof to have you publicly disgraced, but I am willing to let you leave with your dignity intact, so long as you never set foot in this house again.”

“Threaten me all you want,” Antille hisses, “But know that you have made an enemy of Armestice today.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a frown, “That’s not a game you want to play, Lady Antille, believe me. The duchy of Braewyth is not one to be messed with.”

Antille is pale. Her eyes fall to you, and anger flashes vividly in her irises. “I thought I made it clear that my purchase was to be kept a secret.”

Jungkook steps closer to you, “Don’t, Antille,” he warns, “Your quarrel isn’t with her.”

The lady, visibly flustered, turns on her heel towards the door. You watch as she leaves the room.

Jungkook turns his attention to you. “Please don’t worry about her. I know what Armestice is capable of, and it isn’t much. Her threats are simply to stir up fear, but she won’t act on them.”

You smile as he threads his fingers through yours, “Now, would you do me the honour of dancing with me?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

You are aware of the eyes boring into you from all sides as you step onto the dance floor with Jungkook, but in that instant, you don’t care. Jungkook is beside you, his eyes on your face, and a smile on his lips.

For now, that’s enough.

✽ ✽ ✽

It’s a cold morning, but the early spring sunshine is shining stubbornly despite the chill as you walk back to your shop. You have a basket of fresh herbs in your hand, picked from the mountain side.

As you turn the corner onto your street, a smile breaks across your face, recognising a familiar figure standing by your door.

You run over to Jungkook, setting down your basket of herbs, so you can freely fling both arms around him.

He grins, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Good morning.”

You unlock the shop door, and let him enter. It’s still an hour until your shop will open for business.

“How has your morning been so far?” you ask Jungkook, throwing off your cloak, and hanging it by the door.

“Good,” Jungkook says, “The new maid prepared a wonderful breakfast. Eggs and bacon and fresh bread.”

“Sounds much better than the oatmeal I had,” you say.

“Once our relationship is officially made public, you can move into the mansion with me,” Jungkook says, “Then you can have all the eggs and bacon and fresh bread you want.”

You begin sorting the freshly picked herbs into piles on the counter, while Jungkook runs an eye over the potions you have sitting out from brewing last night.

“That will be nice,” you say, “Although I will miss this old shop.”

“I’m sure we can set up a room in the mansion where you can have a workshop to continue brewing potions. People would pay well for potions brewed by the heir of Braewyth’s wife.”

You blush at the word ‘wife’, a thrill travelling through you.

Jungkook eyes some of your older equipment, “We can even get you some new tools. Some of these seem a little… rusty.”

“They’ve served me well, I’ll have you know.”

“Just a suggestion.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

You grin at him, “So what did you want from me this morning? We could continue your alchemy lessons… or...”

Jungkook moves around the counter to be by your side. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer. “Well I had a few plans of my own.”

Your fingers curl through his charcoal hair. “I’m listening.”

Jungkook ducks his head down, his breath ghosting against your ear as he whispers his plan with words that make you blush scarlet. Desire pools inside you as his lips trace a path down your neck to your collar bone, “Don’t think you’re getting out of your alchemy lesson later.”

“Yes, m’am,” he grins, taking your hand in his own.

You let him lead you from your shop up the creaky stairs to your living quarters. You are happy to forget all responsibilities for the next hour, completely lost in Jungkook. You never believed a love potion could lead to true love – yet here you are, completely enveloped in Jungkook, overwhelmed by feeling. You don’t believe in the goddess but you thank her now, thank her that she decided to ruin your life by thrusting Jungkook into it.

The man you hated more than anything in the world has now become the man you love more than anything, and you couldn’t be happier for it.

- THE END -

➝ author’s note: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it.

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rebrandedbard · 3 years

Text

A little drabble exchange for @theamazingbard that accidentally became more of a ficlet. Threw in a little hispanic nursery rhyme since I don’t know if we have them in english for making pain go away. I tried googling but it was unhelpful.

TW: Descriptions of blood, drinking it, gross stuff like that. Canon-typical wounds. References to drinking and inebriation.

WC: 2617

Lips Black as the Rose

Featuring highervampire!Jaskier as he tries to figure himself out after being turned. A bit of spice in there. Am I picking and choosing parts of the lore as I see fit? Yes. Is it very sexy of me to do so? One hundred percent. Will I beta this before posting? Oh absolutely not, you know the drill. ‘No beta, we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments’ is my go-to Ao3 tag for a reason.

Under no circumstances would Jaskier ever cause harm to another living thing, but the world did not reciprocate that exact philosophy. He’d been chased and held at the business end of many a sword, dagger, lance, and—on several unfortunately memorable occasions—a startling variety of available flatware. Things were rougher after meeting Geralt and having his usual human pursuers overshadowed by the threat of monsters.

Where once a spoon in the hands of a rabid duke would seem a most threatening opponent, Jaskier now found himself on the run from a more literal array of rabid beasts, and he could quote the running speeds the prove that having an extra pair of legs did indeed give certain monsters a leg up, so to speak, on the competition. But then, having no legs at all could prove a better advantage, and such creatures as those often had the additional advantage of long, venomous teeth.

Suffice to say, it was a difficult thing to be a lover in a world of fighters. Particularly when one falls into the company of another presumed lover, only to discover that their invitation to dinner was, in truth, an invitation to be dinner.

A vampire. Young, wine drunk, and foolish, Jaskier allowed himself to be led into the vampire’s den. It had been many years ago, he no longer remembered the details. He only remembered a sharp pain on his shoulder, followed by a woozy numbness, and he awoke in a strange bed, in an inn he did not check into, with his reflection missing from the mirror. He’d run away from home shortly after, fearing a bloodlust that was never to come.

It was a strange thing, being a vampire. After months of research, Jaskier came to no conclusions as to what it meant to be one exactly. He experimented with the content of old myths, touching silver very cautiously, taking delicate bites of foods prepared with garlic. He could cross a river just as well as any man. All in all, there was not much wrong with him, and he wondered what all the fuss was about. Well, there was a bit of fuss in that he could no longer be sure of his appearance, and he’d become more vain than ever, relying on the opinions of others to assure him that he looked presentable. This was a particular bother where Geralt was concerned, for he rarely paid compliments—if ever—and was not inclined to offer opinions concerning such trifling things as fashion or appearances.

Jaskier felt sure that Geralt would have noticed right away, but when their paths crossed again, Geralt seemed entirely ignorant of Jaskier’s dramatic change in biology. Running his tongue over his teeth, he could find no fangs. People complimented him on his eyes, still cooing over how bright and blue they were; and he’d been so afraid they’d turned a ghastly red as in the stories. From what he could tell, he appeared human. He had no violent urges to drain the blood from red-cheeked virgins, nor had he transformed into a bat and flown into the night. Sunlight only burned his skin as much as it had before, though it might have been harder on his eyes. He found himself squinting more in the afternoon, and it was unpleasant hot at times.

All in all, he was relatively normal.

“Such beauty ought to be preserved evermore.” That was what the vampire had told him that night. A great favor, immortality, but he wished he might have been offered a list of instructions to go with it. Figuring things out on his own was exasperating. And though he was not quite compelled to drink blood, there were times when he was … drawn. By curiosity.

When Geralt returned from a hunt, his flesh torn and body bleeding, Jaskier found it challenging to tend his wounds. Many times, he’d almost given into temptation. It did not help that he’d wanted to know the taste of Geralt’s skin long before the transformation. Now, there was an intoxicating layer to the fantasy, and the smell of Geralt’s blood made him hazy, like the bouquet of a strong wine. Or more realistically, the cloud of bitter vodka. If it had been a particularly nasty fight, Jaskier was sure he could taste Geralt’s blood by the smell alone, so powerful it made his nose wrinkle. He could get drunk on the fumes, and it was not always so pleasant.

He never dared try. There were too many things to consider. For a start, there was no telling what the blood of a witcher would do to him—and that was before factoring potions into the equation. Having never fed of blood, Jaskier did not know how his instincts would react, and he was sure he had some animal instinct to him now. He might drain Geralt dry in a matter of minutes, or the taste of blood might make him go insane and start tearing at his surroundings like a mad beast! Or, simplest and frightening of all, Geralt might kill him. So Jaskier kept his secret, never giving in to his curiosity.

But one day, he’d slipped.

“Fuck,” Geralt grunted. He clenched his hand and a sharp smell pervaded the air. In sharpening his sword, his hand had slipped. He’d cut the meat of his palm, just above his wrist.

Jaskier was up at once, Geralt’s bag in hand, ready to wrap the wound. He was very quick these days in getting things bundled up as soon as possible. Once the wounds were wrapped, the smell was not as pronounced. He fished out a strip of cloth and had it round Geralt’s hand in a matter of moments, working efficiently with good practice.

Geralt smiled ruefully. “A clean wound, at least. Should stitch itself up by morning.” He chuckled and inspected the wound, his eyes flicking over to Jaskier. “Haven’t done that since I was a child sharpening my first dagger,” he said.

“Did you cut yourself often in training?” Jaskier asked.

“No, not so often. We didn’t waste wrappings on such small scrapes either.”

There was a distracting shadow of red seeping through the cloth. Jaskier scoffed. “So you let it bleed into the open air, did you?”

“We were less inclined to coddle than humans.”

“Coddle?” Jaskier said, raising an offended hand to his chest. “My dear, a dressing is hardly evidence of coddling. If I wished to coddle you, I’d kiss it better and sing a little chant.”

Geralt presented his hand to Jaskier, smirking humorously. “Then do it. I’ve never heard of humans having such power as to kiss wounds better. Would save me a lot of trouble.”

“Erm … ” Jaskier flushed, considering the proffered wound. He nearly made a joke about lacking such power, being no longer human, but he bit it back. To cover his hesitation, he took Geralt’s hand and gently sang the rhyme his nurse used to calm him after a scraped elbow or knee. His tongue rolled musically as he rubbed the dressing carefully. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana.” Then he bent his head down to kiss the place.

“I don’t see what frogs’ tails have to do with my hand,” Geralt joked.

But Jaskier did not hear him. Instead, he felt oddly fixed in place, a metallic tang on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and licked at his bottom lip to chase the memory of the taste. As he did, his tongue scraped the end of a long, pointed tooth. He stumbled back unsteadily, muttered his excuses, and fled to the safety of his bedroll across camp. There he sat, writing nonsense in his notebook as though struck by sudden inspiration.

He’d tasted Geralt’s blood. And now he wanted more.

The next few hunts were blessedly without injury. Jaskier found he was able to breathe again. It twisted his gut whenever Geralt went off to fulfill a contract, and his conscience was at odds with this new obsession. He wanted Geralt to come back whole and unharmed. But he wanted some cut, some smallest scrape upon which to lathe his tongue. When he thought of it, he felt a stirring in his gums, and touching the place, he found the fangs had grown in again. It took concentration to hide them again. He took to smiling with his mouth closed after the first incident, and he developed a habit of biting his lips.

When they came to a larger town, Jaskier went straight to the butcher. To quell his growing need, he bought fresh meat, sneaking a sip from the blood dish beneath the draining sheep’s carcass while the butcher’s back was turned. It had the strangest effect on him. Within minutes of leaving the butcher’s shop, he felt light-headed. He felt drunk, in short, and he wobbled his way to the inn, a giggle in his throat.

For dinner, he asked the potmaid to send the loin to the cook and surprised Geralt with it: a small treat to celebrate his recent hunting success. In truth, he wanted nothing to do with it, festering in the shame of his lie. The loin had merely been an excuse: something to keep the butcher busy while he drank his curiosity like some writhing leech dredged up from the water.

It made him drunk. He made note of it in his book and swore that would be the end of things. This odd affair made it easy to forget, his stomach turning in guilt and disgust at the thought of repeating the act. He was fine and healthy without blood, therefore there was no need to partake. He could go the rest of his life perfectly happy never drinking another drop. Until the day it fell from Geralt’s lip.

Jaskier stared at it from across the room. Geralt had just returned from a fight, his eyes and blood black with potion. His armour was scratched up, covered in foulness from monsters unknown, but he was alive and whole, hardly bruised. Jaskier tried to focus on the smell of the guts dripping from his armour. It was still as disgusting as ever, even with vampiric senses to influence his opinion. The wretched blood was still unappetizing. But above it, he smelled a strange scent: sweet, a touch of iron. And there, shining on Geralt’s lip, the wet glisten of blood.

He swallowed hard as Geralt wiped the cut on the back of his hand. The blood smudged along his chin, all the more enticing. His knuckles turned white on the sheet of his bed as he held himself in place. Ordinarily, he would be up on his feet to help coax Geralt out of his armour by now, but he did not trust himself to be so close.

Geralt shed his shoulder pads, looking at Jaskier from the corner of his eye. “It’s a bit slippery,” he said. He inclined his head, beckoning Jaskier over. That was their way. They did not ask things from one another. It was simple routine, and the brief lapse was something awkward to acknowledge.

What excuses could he provide? Jaskier stood on trembling legs and made his way, biting his own lip to hide the fangs he felt beginning to grow. His fingers were clumsy as he fumbled with the clasps, far too close to Geralt’s face. His breath caught, watching a bead of dark blood roll down his lip, over his chin. His lip was stained black.

Geralt had always had nice lips, Jaskier felt. He was always reminded torturously of this fact when he helped Geralt out of his armour. How could one undress such a man without indulging in the fantasy of what came after, even a little? But oh, it was a dangerous line of thought. Now he was bewitched by his senses, his focus single-mindedly drawn to that point on Geralt’s lip. To kiss him now, to lick the blood from his lip—it would be divine. He felt his heart beat faster at the prospect, his hands stalling to unbuckle Geralt’s breastplate as he stared. Just one taste. One kiss was all he wanted.

A hand pressed against his chest, stopping him short. Jaskier startled out of his unconscious reverie and looked at Geralt in horror. He hadn’t—! Had he? His attention flicked between Geralt’s eyes and his lip, and to his relief, the blood remained untouched.

“Not just now,” Geralt said, voice rumbling in his chest. “The potions might paralyze you—at least for a day. Anything lesser would die from a drink of it. It turns my blood to poison.”

Jaskier blinked, edging back. “I … don’t understand your meaning,” he feigned.

Geralt followed him, stepping forward. He raised a hand, caressing Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the best at keeping secrets. I noticed some time ago you stopped aging, and there’s no shadow at your feet, even on the brightest afternoon.”

He swiped his thumb over Jaskier’s bottom lip. Jaskier gasped, his lips parting, and Geralt pushed in. Then, his thumb was pushing Jaskier’s top lip away, revealing a glistening fang. He nodded, satisfied, and stepped back once more.

“You’re a vampire,” Geralt said. “And not a common one either. My medallion doesn’t react to you at all.” He chuckled and added, “As if you could be common by any measure.”

Jaskier turned away, picking up one of Geralt’s shoulder pads. He clutched it to his chest, whether for protection or for comfort he could not say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was afraid to tell you … afraid what you might say. What you … might do.”

A warm hand smoothed down his arm comfortingly. There was a teasing quality to Geralt’s voice when he spoke. A hand wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, making him nearly jump in surprise.

“In regards to what: the knowledge that you’re a vampire, or the knowledge that you want to kiss me?” Geralt asked, words hot against Jaskier’s neck.

Jaskier shivered, the adrenaline of his fear quickly turning to something sweeter. “Both,” he sighed. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to understand Geralt’s intent.

“You cannot drink of me tonight,” Geralt whispered, “but I can satisfy that other hunger, if you only have the discipline to keep your teeth to yourself.”

“What are you saying, Geralt?” The way Geralt’s hand slipped lower and lower down his front, Jaskier thought he knew. Even so …

Geralt chuckled, nose pressing to the back of Jaskier’s neck. “I’m saying I’m tired of the way you look at me like a man starving and refuse to do something about it. It’s gotten worse. It was bad enough before, waiting for you to make your move, but since your turning, it’s insufferable. I feel like the centerpiece of a banquet, waiting to be devoured.”

“You said I couldn’t kiss you,” Jaskier said, breath coming up short as he felt himself pressed back against a firm chest, a second hand coming up to tug at the edge of his chemise. “I have no discipline whatsoever. And you know that.”

“Well then.”

Jaskier dropped the plate of armour as he was pushed backward. He fell, his knees caught by the edge of the bed. Arms caged him on either side, and above him. Geralt smiled, a drop of blood falling onto the sheets below. He pressed his thumb to Jaskier’s mouth once more, something ravenous in his eyes.

“Well then,” he repeated. “Looks like I’ll have to devour you instead.”

#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #vampire!jaskier #highervampire!jaskier #showing off a bit of my culture there with the little rhyme #mexican / irish blended household baby!#sadly though I learned the rhyme from spanish classes instead of from my family lmao #such is life #lips black as the rose fic #persie's tag #I TOLD you I'd leave things unfulfilled #suffer

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