what’s up Witch Hatters 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i have procured only the finest brushbuddy scenes and turned them into gifs to honor how utterly amazing the anime adaptation has been!!!
YALL pls spread my children the brushbuddies deserve to be set FREE!!!!!
⟢ tags: fluff, qifrey and reader make dumplings, olly is away on work, apprentices being apprentices, kissing in front of the sink
⟢ a/n: can you tell i'm hungry 😐 (but i also wrote this to make up for whatever misbehaviour was 😫 i hope i haven't forgotten how to write fluff!)
The atelier's kitchen feels different, at night. Far removed from the usual chatter of dishes and voices, the fire burns low in the hearth, leaving only the soft glow from the phantasmal fireball lamp on the table. More hushed and still, a quiet ghost of its bustling self in the daytime—but it's not a bad thing.
Especially not when he's in it.
"Have the girls gone to bed already?" Qifrey looks up from the kitchen counter when you finally emerge from the stairs. You'd sent the girls to their beds right after dinner—it'd been a long day out in Kahln, with shopping errands, a sudden sunshower that had sent everyone running for cover, and far too many distractions along the way. But what had really stirred up the evening was the book Tetia had found in a corner bookstore: a romance novel with a battered pink cover, secondhand, and a title so flowery Qifrey had raised an eyebrow at you the moment he saw it. Tetia had firmly refused to sleep unless someone read it to her, and even Agott had lingered at the doorway with the other two girls, despite her insistence about having "no care for silly, sappy lovesick tales".
"It took quite some time." Between light threats, repeated goodnights, and one overly dramatic reading of the first page, bedtime had turned into a battle of attrition you hadn't agreed to participate in. "But they agreed to sleep after I promised you'd read the rest to them tomorrow night."
Qifrey lets out a soft laugh, turning to glance over this shoulder as you round the table to stand by him at the counter. The soft blue of his visible eye catches in the firelight, your figure faintly reflected in the surface of his glasses.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"You committed my efforts without first seeking my agreement?"
"It was easy when you weren't there to defend yourself," you reply lightly, leaning in to inspect the vegetables beneath his knife. They're a little limp, colours dulled and beginning to brown at the tops. "Besides, Coco is very excited to hear you do all the voices. You wouldn't say no to her."
"Both that child and you severely overestimate my talent and willingness," Qifrey huffs, though you can see him fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. "Still, as a reward for successfully getting those little terrors to sleep… would you like some dumplings for supper?"
It's almost embarrassing how quickly the fatigue leaves your body. "Dumplings!"
Qifrey laughs quietly at your immediate enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. I'm making some now." He sweeps the chopped vegetables into a bowl with practiced ease, and only then do you notice the rest of the ingredients spread across the counter beside him: minced flying shrimp and meat, a little dish of carefully measured seasonings, and a neat stack of dumpling wrappers lightly dusted with flour. So that's what he'd been doing the entire time you were upstairs battling the girls into bed. "I was taking stock of the kitchen earlier and realised these vegetables needed to be used soon. But I haven't wrapped them yet, so you may have to wa—"
"—do them with you," you finish for him, already reaching for the wrappers before Qifrey can protest. "Double the hands make for half the work, don't they?"
Qifrey just sighs. He knows better than the argue by now. The sound is touched with quiet amusement despite the air of resignation he tries to maintain—helplessly fond, in all of its indulgences.
The two of you stand at the kitchen counter to wrap the dumplings. Quiet nights like these are often your favourite—not that you don't enjoy the company of the girls—but moments like these are made all the more precious in their rarity. Little stretches of time where it is only you and Qifrey, where he can simply be himself and not the witch or the master, the two of you sharing in the stillness of the sleeping atelier together.
Your hips bump together every now and then in the cramped space between the counter and kitchen table, and your fingers brush with murmured apologies neither of you truly mean when you reach for the same wrapper more than once. You watch Qifrey's hands while you work; long fingers pleating the dumplings shut with practiced ease, each one cradled lightly in the cup of his palm before being placed in neat rows upon the tray. There is something strangely tender about the motion—careful and familiar in the same way he handles all fragile things.
The same way he handles your heart.
By the time you finish wrapping the dumplings, the water on the stove has come to a rolling boil. Qifrey lowers a handful carefully into the pot while you gather the rest, sliding them neatly into the cold box to keep for another day.
When you turn back, Qifrey is already holding a single bowl in his hands, waiting for you. Steam curls upward lazily from the broth.
You glance up at him. "You're not having any?"
"Hm?" Qifrey hums lightly as he sets the dumplings down on the table. "I assumed we could just share. It'd be less to clean up."
The easy casualness of his words makes something warm unfurl quietly in your chest.
The two of you eat the dumplings at the kitchen table, shoulders brushing every so often as you pass the spoon between you. The dumpling skins turn almost translucent in the broth, pieces of shrimp glowing a faint pink under the lamplight like small crystals. Qifrey nudges the bowl slightly closer when he notices you slowing down, waiting patiently for you to take the next one before reaching for his own. Between bites, the bowl slowly empties until there is nothing but broth, and then, even that too, is gone.
"I'll do the dishes," you say as you gather the bowl and spoon, already beginning to rise from your seat. The quicker you get it done, the sooner you can return to his side. Qifrey's brow furrows behind his glasses.
"It was my suggestion to cook, so I should—"
"Qifrey." Your hands slip over his shoulders before he can stand, fingers idly combing through the soft hair at his nape as he peers up at you. "You already stayed up late last night preparing snacks for us and Olly's lunchbox. Let me."
He tries, regardless. "But—"
"Qifrey, dear," you interrupt, voice dropping into something unbearably sweet. You can already see the first signs of impending embarrassment creeping across his face. "My love, my moon and stars, the apple of my eye, the keeper of my heart, won't you please let me have the honour of—"
"Oh, stop it." Qifrey pulls away from you halfheartedly, one hand coming up to cover part of his face as though it might hide the warmth gathering there. His voice is exasperated, but weakly so—far too flustered to carry any real force behind it. "Do as you like."
You think you want to kiss him, then. Desperately, a little. But experience has taught you the moment your lips touch his, neither of you will accomplish anything you intend—so instead, you settle for a light peck to his cheek before carrying the bowl over to the basin. Warm water laps softly against your hands as you scrub at the porcelain, the quiet clink of dishes filling the kitchen.
Even so, you can still feel Qifrey's gaze lingering on your back. A few quiet moments later, there's the soft scrape of chair legs against the kitchen floor, and you barely have time to glance over your shoulder before his arms are slipping around your waist from behind, warm and loose. He folds himself against your back with a quiet sigh.
"I missed you," he murmurs into the crook of your neck.
"I was with you the entire day."
"Not like this."
Qifrey's lips find your neck first, trailing warm kisses along your skin unhurriedly in a way that makes your breath catch. Your head tilts back instinctively to give him more room, and you feel the gentle nip of teeth against the sensitive underside of your jaw before he finally turns you just enough to kiss you properly.
It starts off slow—soft, familiar in a way only Qifrey can be around you; careful without restraint, gentle without hesitation. Your breaths mingle warm and wet in the spaces between each kiss as your mouths part and meet again, his glasses nudging lightly against your cheekbone as he leans closer. To your dismay, your hands remain suspended awkwardly over the sink, dripping wet and a little soapy. You want to touch him properly, to turn fully into his arms, card your fingers through his hair, and tug just enough to earn that quiet little sound he always tries and fails to swallow.
Instead, you make a helpless noise against his mouth and Qifrey laughs softly into the kiss, like he already knows what you're thinking. He's leaning in again when—
There's a sudden creak from the staircase. The two of you freeze instantly, Qifrey's fingertips still gently cradling your jaw. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of whispering—poorly hushed, at that—followed by the muffled shuffling of feet retreating back up several steps in frantic succession.
You and Qifrey slowly turn to look at each other.
“…Were they spying on us?” you whisper, more amused than anything.
“I am choosing,” Qifrey says with an immense attempt at dignity, despite the lingering flush across his face, “to believe they merely came downstairs for water.”
Another loud whisper drifts from the stairwell.
“I told you they were kissing—”
"—really just like in the book—"
"—can we go back to bed now—"
“Shh!”
The last one is definitely Agott. You bite down hard on your laughter, glancing up at the man behind you. Qifrey closes his eye with the exhaustion of a man enduring profound and arduous trials, one hand coming up to rub briefly at his temple before he leans in to steal one last kiss.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs against your mouth, “I'm teaching my apprentices the concept of privacy.”
at this point no one can tell me agott doesn’t have a crush on coco bc it just keeps getting louder and louder. your honour that is a baby gay if i ever saw one
