It’s a quiet evening in your home. You’re sitting on the couch reading a book when you hear the softest humming from your bedroom. Your lover had insisted on folding and putting the laundry away, allowing you a relaxing evening, but you couldn’t ignore the allure of his saccharine voice. Marking your page with a bookmark, you stood from the couch, and made your way to your bedroom. No matter how many times you saw him like this—lost in his own little world—it never failed to make your heart punch against your chest. You didn’t recognize the song Qifrey was playing, but it didn’t matter, you were more focused on how he was feeling about it. You leaned on the doorframe, watching at the intermittent, subtle sway in his hips. He hadn’t noticed your presence yet, still humming along to the tune and folding the basket of clothes in front of him on the bed. It was a rare moment, and one you would cherish. You couldn’t help the smile that graced your face and it was as if your aura alone compelled his attention.
“Hi, darling,” He smiled, looking you up and down, “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough,” You sauntered over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and laying your head against his chest.
He chuckled, kissing the top of your head, “Would you like to dance with me?”
“What?” You lifted your head, looking up at him.
“Here,” He stepped backwards, out of your embrace—earning a small pout from you—“Take my hand,” He held his palm out for you to take.
You flattened your hand over his, gasping as he pulled you into him, his other hand making its way to your waist. He lifted your hand to his shoulder, “Relax, my love,” He chuckled.
“I don’t know how to do this,” Your cheeks burned, not comfortable at all in your dancing skills.
“I will lead, just follow me. I’ve got you,” He squeezed your hip, and you relaxed a bit in his hold, trusting that he would lead you, but worried about stepping on his toes.
He stepped once, you following in line. “There you go,” He encouraged, repeating the motion until you felt more comfortable in your movements. You smiled, looking up at him to giggle, only then to step on his foot.
“Qi! Oh, i’m sorry,” You pulled away.
He chuckled, “My love, it’s alright. I’m not made of porcelain,” He grabbed your hand once more, slotting his hand against your lower back, and pulling you flush to his chest. “How about we just sway?” He tilted his head, as if asking your permission to continue.
You nodded, laying your other palm flat against his chest, your head following soon after. He swayed back and forth, allowing the rhythm of the music to control his fluid movement. The soft patter of his heartbeat calmed your nerves, allowing you to melt into the sound. You closed your eyes, your chest squeezing at just how much you loved the man you were held against. His patience for you truly knew no bounds, he knew exactly how to calm your restless heart. And when you thought you couldn’t fall any further in love, he chest rumbled gently as he once again hummed to the tune filling the room.
You smiled, lifting your head to look up at him, only to find his gaze already fixated on you, pupils dilated with a glassy sheen over his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, hair lolling to the side and a childish grin donning his face. Your heart skipped a beat. He was so incredibly handsome. Before you had the chance to, he lifted your chin with two fingers, your toes lifting as if an invisible force pulled them up, attaching his lips to yours. Drowning out the music around you, the only thing existing in this moment being the two of you. Hopelessly and endlessly in love.
When he pulled away, neither of you said a word, falling back into rhythm with the music. You took a deep breath, fully melting into him. Maybe dancing was not so bad, or maybe you just had a good partner. Either way, you wouldn’t mind dancing with him for eternity.
Based on a comment from the wonderful @originalhideoutcloud 🥰
A/N:I am an absolutely TERRIBLE dancer, so I felt like I needed to include a bit of that lol. Last time I danced was with my uncle at a wedding, and he told me to stick to sports.
*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*
Imagining a silly one-sided rivalry between the reader and Qifrey where the reader is doing everything in their power to piss Qifrey off. Oh, he has apprentices? Why not give them a few words of my own wisdom? Educate them on topics he fails to teach them? Teach them tricky spells that are bound to start chaos and watch as Qifrey frets trying to get the situation under control. Or purposely mention details of a few tests they've made up to spur their curiosity and have them go see for themselves on their own?
All they can do is laugh and giggle to themselves when their efforts are set into motion. It's literally the reader being obsessed with watching that bratty kid from the great hall days having his peace and quiet ruined.
Little do they know, they're actually doing Qifrey a big favor (ifykyk.)
AN: I love brimhat reader. Anyway rip Qifrey, you would've hated modern situationships. this is a continuation of this fic of mine
The nights had become a ritual long before either of you admitted what they meant.
You came only after the workshop had gone dark, after Coco's room had gone quiet and Tetia's laughter had disappeared and Agott had finally stopped pretending she wasn't tired. You always slipped through the woods hidden beneath brimhat cloaks and shadow circles, arriving at Qifrey's door with all the secrecy of a criminal and all the familiarity of someone coming home. It should have felt absurd. Maybe it did, once. But somewhere between whispered conversations at midnight and stolen hours sitting beside him while candles burned low, the danger itself had become part of it. The hidden glances. The silence. The impossible thing neither of you could publicly be. You knew he looked forward to your visits. You knew because Qifrey somehow always "accidentally" stayed awake. Somehow always had tea already prepared. Somehow always smiled when he opened the door like he'd been waiting.
And maybe that was why you kept doing it. Maybe because during these hours, hidden away from everyone else, Qifrey stopped being everyone's teacher. Stopped being everyone's caretaker. Stopped smiling quite so perfectly. Around you, pieces slipped. Tiny things. The way he slumped in his chair when exhausted. The way his voice softened. The way his eyes looked older when he thought you weren't watching. You thought, foolishly, maybe, that he let you see parts of him no one else did. And perhaps that was true. But tonight something felt wrong immediately. Qifrey opened the door and smiled, yes, but it looked delayed somehow. Like he remembered to do it rather than felt it. He stepped aside to let you enter. Said hello. Asked how your journey was. Ordinary things. But he didn't look at you very long.
You noticed it for nearly an hour. The way he avoided your eyes. The way he kept fiddling with papers he wasn't reading. The way silence stretched where it usually never did. Usually Qifrey filled rooms effortlessly; words poured from him like water. Tonight they seemed dragged out one by one. And because this was you, because your relationship had become this strange thing where concern often wore the face of irritation, eventually you looked up from where you sat and said, "You're being weird." Qifrey blinked. "Am I?" "Yes." You narrowed your eyes. "You do that thing where you act normal except you become incredibly unsettling." His smile appeared instantly. Too fast. "That doesn't sound like me at all."
Normally, you would have laughed. Normally he'd lean into the joke and everything would smooth over. But tonight the smile felt thin enough to break. So you stood and crossed your arms. "Qifrey." Silence. His eyes flicked toward you. Away again. "Did something happen?" Still nothing. Just enough time for unease to begin creeping under your skin. "Qifrey." Softer this time. The room suddenly felt very small. Very quiet. Candlelight shifted over his face. And for one terrible second you thought you saw something there—something exhausted and angry and hurting—before the expression vanished. Then he said, very calmly: "How long do you think we can keep doing this?"
You stared. "Doing what?" He laughed once. Not because anything was funny. "This." His hand gestured vaguely between you. At the room. At the night. At all of it. "Sneaking through forests. Waiting until everyone's asleep. Pretending this..." He looked away. "Pretending this exists only in the dark." Silence. Your heartbeat felt suddenly too loud. Because you knew this conversation. Knew where it was heading. You had both danced around it for months. The impossible reality sitting beneath everything else: you were a brimhat. He was not. Every meeting carried risk. Every stolen night carried consequences neither of you wanted to say aloud.
You swallowed. "We've managed so far." Wrong thing. Immediately the air changed. Qifrey went very still. "Managed." He repeated it quietly. "Right." His smile appeared again—but there was something sharp underneath it now. "We're very good at managing things, aren't we?" You frowned. "Qifrey—" "No, really." He stood. Slowly. "We're excellent at pretending." His voice remained soft, but you suddenly wanted to step backward. Not because he looked frightening exactly. Worse. Because he looked upset and was trying desperately not to. "Pretending this arrangement doesn't slowly drive me insane." Silence. Your mind stalled completely. Because Qifrey didn't say things like that. He smiled through pain. Hid it. Buried it. And suddenly here it was, dropped directly between you.
You opened your mouth. Closed it. Nothing came out. No clever response. No reassurance. Just shock. And maybe Qifrey noticed because something in his expression changed all at once. Hurt flashed there—quick and ugly. "See?" he said quietly. "That's exactly it." You blinked. "What?" He took a step forward. Then another. Not threatening. Not intentionally. But suddenly you were moving back without realizing it. Your pulse stumbled. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore." Another step. "Do I wait?" His voice tightened. "Do I ask you to stay?" Another step. "Do I pretend I'm perfectly fine watching you disappear before sunrise every single time?" Your back hit the wall behind you before you realized you'd run out of space.
The silence afterward felt unbearable. Qifrey stood close—not touching, never touching—but close enough that you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. Close enough to see the uneven rise of his breathing. Close enough to notice guilt already beginning to creep into his face. And that somehow made it worse. Because Qifrey looked angry, yes—but beneath that anger was panic. Regret. Like he was hearing his own words and hating them while saying them anyway. His eyes met yours finally and for one dizzying moment neither of you spoke. The distance between you suddenly felt impossibly small. Dangerous. You could feel every heartbeat. Every breath. There was too much emotion in the room and nowhere for it to go.
Then Qifrey looked at you—and completely fell apart. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Worse. His shoulders dropped. His eyes closed briefly. And when he spoke again his voice sounded exhausted. "I don't know how to do this." Barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to want something I can't keep." Silence crashed down between you. Because suddenly the anger wasn't there anymore. Just grief. Just months of swallowed feelings finally spilling out in the ugliest way possible. His hand lifted slightly—as if he meant to reach toward you—then stopped midway. Froze. Dropped. And you stared because you didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to fix this. Didn't know how to fix him. Qifrey, who always knew exactly what to say.
For a long moment neither of you moved. Then Qifrey stepped back. Once. Twice. Like he was waking up. Like he suddenly remembered where he was standing and what he'd done. Horror crossed his face so quickly it hurt to look at. "..." He looked away first. "Sorry." Quiet. Empty. You opened your mouth immediately. Nothing came out. Because what could you say? Stay? Leave? I understand? None of it fit. None of it reached him. And somehow that was the worst part. Because for the first time since you'd known Qifrey, there was a distance between you that wasn't physical at all. And when dawn finally came, neither of you mentioned it. You simply left before sunrise like always. Like nothing had happened. Like your heart hadn't remained back in that room with him.
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My favourite animal is me silently liking all your posts like a ghost since a few weeks 👀 Now I finally say something lmao
Joke aside, could I request you to write a Qifrey x reader who's deeply scared of physical contact? Like the moment both of them would start the relationship and immediately face the problem
(I love your work, please never stop, I'm eating it everyday🥹)
touching gestures
Qifrey x reader
cw: none
AN: hey that's my favourite animal too!! Jokes aside, I noticed your account before you requested anything dw, glad to know you've decided to finally talk to me. Anyways, guys I've been going to the gym more lately and tried one of those Protein Shakes... bloody hell the first 3 sips are nice and everything after that is straight up torture
The first problem with falling in love with Qifrey was that he noticed things.
Not in the ordinary way people noticed things—he didn't just realize when someone was sad or tired or hungry. Qifrey observed people the same way a scholar studied ancient magic circles, piecing together tiny details into complete pictures. So it became painfully obvious, painfully early, that he noticed you. He noticed the way you drifted half a step away whenever someone brushed your shoulder in crowded markets. He noticed your hands curling tightly into your sleeves whenever Agott linked arms with Coco and tried to drag everyone around. He noticed how your eyes darted, just for a fraction of a second, whenever someone reached toward you unexpectedly. And because Qifrey was Qifrey, he never pointed it out. He simply adjusted himself around you as naturally as water flowing around stone.
The two of you had not intended to become anything. At least, you certainly hadn't. Qifrey had a habit of collecting people; students, strays, broken things, lonely things—and somehow you had found yourself orbiting his workshop more and more often. You'd help sort books or organize spell diagrams while he worked. Sometimes he’d speak with ridiculous theatrical flair, draping himself dramatically over chairs and complaining about paperwork as if it were a mortal curse. Other times he would go quiet, sunlight catching in his pale hair while he focused on drawing circles with such intense concentration that he looked like a different person entirely. You grew addicted to those shifts. To the softness beneath his charm. To the strange warmth of being understood without needing to explain yourself. Which was dangerous, because Qifrey looked at people like he could see every hidden fracture in them—and somehow made you feel less afraid of being cracked.
You realized you were in trouble one evening when the children had gone to sleep and rain tapped gently against the workshop windows. You sat on the floor surrounded by books while Qifrey sat beside you, reading something absurdly ancient and complicated. There had been no conversation for almost twenty minutes. No pressure to speak. No expectation. Just quiet. Then you glanced up and found him already looking at you over the edge of his book. Not smiling. Not teasing. Just staring with a softness so startling it felt like your heart tripped over itself. “You know,” he said lightly, “I think you're becoming difficult.” You blinked. “Difficult?” “Mm.” He tilted his head. “I find myself wondering where you are when you're gone.” Silence. Then: “It's very inconvenient.”
When your relationship actually started, it wasn't romantic in the way stories described. There was no sweeping confession beneath stars. No dramatic kiss. Qifrey simply sat beside you outside one morning while you watched clouds drift overhead and asked, “Would you hate it if I stayed beside you like this for a very long time?” You stared at him because what kind of question was that? And when you looked over, expecting his usual playful expression, he looked almost nervous. Qifrey. Nervous. You remembered thinking the world had briefly tilted sideways. “...No,” you answered quietly. “I don't think I'd hate that.” And his smile afterward was so bright and genuine it felt unfair.
The issue appeared almost immediately after that. Not because Qifrey crossed boundaries, he didn't, but because relationships seemed to come with invisible expectations attached. Hands finding hands. Casual touches. Leaning against shoulders. You tried not to think about it at first. Tried to ignore the twisting feeling in your chest whenever you imagined disappointing him. But Qifrey noticed. Of course he noticed. One afternoon he reached absentmindedly toward your arm while laughing at something Coco said, and you flinched so hard it looked as though you'd narrowly avoided being struck. The movement froze both of you. The room suddenly felt terribly quiet. Qifrey slowly lowered his hand. Not hurt. Not angry. Just watching you carefully.
Later, after everyone had gone inside, he found you sitting outside near the garden fence. You expected questions. Maybe concern. Instead, Qifrey sat down several feet away—not beside you, not close enough to crowd you. Just near enough. “Can I ask something?” he said softly. You nodded. He looked toward the sky rather than at you. “When people touch you...” A pause. “Does it frighten you?” The question sat there between you. Not why are you like this? Not what happened? Just that. Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “Sometimes.” You hated how small your voice sounded. “Sometimes I know it's irrational and I still can't stop it.” Silence followed. Long enough that panic started creeping in. Then Qifrey said, very simply, “Okay.” Just okay. Like he was accepting the weather. Like he wasn't asking you to justify it.
For a while afterward, things became strangely careful. Not awkward exactly—Qifrey was too skilled with people for awkwardness; but careful. He would announce himself before stepping close behind you. Ask, “Can I sit here?” even when there was plenty of room. Sometimes he held out his hand jokingly and said, “Permission request pending,” with ridiculous solemnity. It made you laugh despite yourself. He never acted frustrated. Never acted deprived. But occasionally you'd catch tiny moments: Qifrey reaching toward you absentmindedly before stopping himself. Seeing something flicker across his face before he hid it behind a smile. And guilt began creeping under your skin because you knew Qifrey was affectionate by nature. He touched shoulders, ruffled hair, draped himself over friends without thought. Around you, he folded himself smaller.
Eventually the conflict exploded in the dumbest way possible—which somehow made it hurt worse. It happened after a long, exhausting day while helping the children practice magic. Everyone had been frustrated and tired. Coco had nearly set something on fire. Agott was arguing. Tetia was laughing. Chaos. Pure chaos. By evening your nerves already felt stretched thin. Qifrey approached from behind while speaking, probably intending only to lean over your shoulder and point at something—and instinct struck before thought did. You jerked away sharply and snapped, “Can you not?” The words came out harder than intended. Sharper. Qifrey froze. Completely froze. And for the first time since you'd known him, his smile disappeared all at once.
“Right,” he said quietly. Too quietly. “Sorry.” That was it. No teasing. No recovery. He walked away before you could answer. The silence afterward felt unbearable. You found him later near the edge of the grounds beneath the trees, staring out into darkness. “I didn't mean—” you started. “I know.” His voice was gentle, but somehow that hurt more. “I know you didn't.” He finally looked at you and smiled, except it looked tired around the edges. “But I think...” He hesitated. “I think I've become so focused on not frightening you that I've started feeling afraid too.” Your chest tightened painfully. “Afraid?” “Of guessing wrong.” A laugh escaped him, small and humorless. “Of making you uncomfortable. Of becoming something you have to endure.”
You stared at him because suddenly you understood. This wasn't only your fear anymore. Somewhere along the way, Qifrey had started walking on invisible glass around you too. Slowly, carefully, terrified of breaking something. And the realization made your eyes sting. “I don't endure you,” you said immediately. “Qifrey, I don't.” He looked startled. So you kept talking before courage disappeared. “I'm scared all the time, okay? Sometimes for no reason. Sometimes even when I don't want to be. And I hate it because...” Your voice cracked slightly. “Because I want things with you. I want to be close to you. I just don't know how.” Silence followed. Wind moved softly through the trees. Then Qifrey's expression softened in a way that nearly undid you.
Very slowly, very carefully, he lowered himself to sit beside you—not touching, just close. “Then,” he said quietly, “we'll learn.” You looked at him. “Learn?” He smiled, small and warm and utterly himself again. “You're not a puzzle to solve.” A pause. “And I'm not going anywhere.” Then he held out his hand between you, palm upward, leaving a ridiculous amount of space for retreat. “No pressure.” You stared at it for several seconds. Then several more. And finally—heart pounding—you moved your hand forward and placed your fingertips lightly against his. Barely touching. Hardly anything at all. Qifrey looked down at your hands and went completely still. Not because it was dramatic. Not because it was some grand romantic moment. But because somehow, instinctively, he understood exactly what it meant: not here, fixed, cured. Just here. Trying. And for Qifrey, that had always been enough.
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AN: writing this as chill as possible as if I wasn't begging my mutual to write this scenario 🤞 @omniprescent
The stories about Brimhats were always the same: dangerous, deceptive, consumed by forbidden magic and darker paths.
You had long stopped caring. Let people whisper. Let them stare. Still, out of everyone, one person's judgment irritated you more than it should have. Qifrey. Calm, intelligent, endlessly composed Qifrey with his gentle smile and eyes that seemed to see right through people. He looked at you with caution every time your paths crossed, and you found that expression increasingly irresistible to ruin.
Your meetings became strangely frequent after the first one. Forest paths, market corners, quiet villages at dusk—it was almost ridiculous. Every time, Qifrey would stop, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly at the sight of your broad brim hat and dark cloak. Every time, you'd catch that little pause before he remembered to look annoyed. And every time, you smiled. "You know," you told him once, leaning lazily against a tree while evening light filtered through the branches, "you stare at me an awful lot."
"I absolutely do not."
"Oh? Then perhaps I've imagined it every single time."
"You have."
You grinned. "Liar."
Qifrey narrowed his eyes immediately. "You enjoy provoking people."
"No," you corrected smoothly, stepping closer. "Just you."
Silence. Wonderful, wonderful silence. Because for a split second he looked completely caught off guard before his expression hardened again. Yet despite all his irritation, despite every sharp response and sigh and glare, he never walked away first. Never. And you noticed things. The way his posture shifted when you stood too close. The way his eyes flickered away before returning. The way his patience around you seemed stretched thinner and thinner each time.
That evening beside the old river bridge, violet twilight spread across the sky while cool wind danced through the trees. Qifrey stood with his back partially turned when he heard your footsteps, and the look he gave you over his shoulder nearly made you laugh. Immediate irritation. Immediate defeat. "You again."
"You sound disappointed." "I am." "Liar."
His eyes narrowed. "Stop saying that."
You hopped down from the bridge railing and walked toward him slowly. "Why? Because I'm right?" You stopped directly in front of him, close enough now to see the faint tension in his shoulders. "You keep acting like you can't stand me, but somehow you're always here."
"You assume too much."
"And you avoid too much."
For a moment neither of you moved. Wind brushed softly between you, carrying the scent of rain and distant flowers, and Qifrey's gaze held yours steadily. There was frustration there. And something else. Something that had been growing for weeks, maybe longer. You looked down briefly then, eyes catching on the belt around his waist, and before he could question the look on your face, you hooked your fingers there lightly and tugged.
Just enough. Qifrey stumbled half a step forward. Suddenly there was almost no space left between you. You felt him freeze instantly.
His eyes widened. Just slightly. Enough.
Enough for your smile to slowly spread.
"Oh?" you whispered softly. "Interesting."
Qifrey stared at you.
You could practically feel the tension snapping tighter and tighter between you, his composure hanging by threads. Yet you only tilted your head and smiled wider. "What's wrong?" you murmured. "You look flustered."
"I'm not."
"No?" You leaned in just slightly closer. "Then why haven't you moved away?"
Silence. Absolute silence. Then suddenly his hand caught your wrist. Not rough. Not angry. Just certain.
His eyes searched yours for a long moment, and for the first time all evening, there was no irritation there. No careful distance. Just something startlingly honest breaking through all those walls he kept around himself.
"You never stop," he said quietly.
Your smile softened. "No."
Another beat of silence passed.
Then Qifrey sighed—small and defeated, like someone finally losing an argument he'd been having with himself for far too long.
And before you could tease him again, before another smug remark could leave your mouth, he leaned forward and kissed you.
Not because he planned to.
Not because he meant to.
Because after all that tension and frustration and denial, there simply wasn't room left for anything else.
For a split second you forgot how to think entirely. Then your eyes slowly closed.
And somewhere beneath violet skies and river light, Qifrey finally realized—with complete horror and absolutely no hope of denying it anymore—that he had made a terrible mistake.
Because now you were smiling against the kiss.
And that meant you were never letting him live this down.
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word count: 3.4k || warnings: hurt/comfort, suggestive (making out)
summary: It's for his eye, he swears. Nothing else. Even if he loves you.
Every full moon, Qifrey is visited by someone who should be locked up and jailed for their crimes against magic.
Yet, Qifrey is selfish to let you leave untouched.
It's quiet, none of the girls catching him, only knowing that the gate in the basement of their home is turned to a specific dial, and a pretty witch is on the other side of the gate for a brief moment for a conversation with Professor Qifrey.
Qifrey knows he's not allowed to do this, but comfort in a shared experience and a softened heart over the years overcomes any self-preservation he has. Besides, he was your equal for the longest time.
Engendale's beloved pupil.
"Qifrey."
"Brimhat."
A brimhat.
Your name had lost itself in his mind forever ago. Your name no longer meant anything to him once you had chosen to stay with the Brimhats, but he'd kept you close because you'd promised you'd be a link. You'd be his sole hope of restoring his eye, because you too had an eye missing on the same side. You returned to fix your eye, and in turn, you'd promised him his eye back if he kept your two-timing a secret.
He doesn't know which side you stand on, but quite frankly, it doesn't matter to the three wise. You've violated the rules you swore to as a witch. You'll be tried and killed for it. He'd find you stripped of all capability of using magic. Who knows. Still, he keeps you because he understands better than everyone else that losing you means losing his only line into the brimhats directly. Sure, Coco was being watched by the brimhats, but you were part of them, and you were part of their strongest members. Every time you visited, you updated him about the research.
Forbidden magic. Medical magic.
Magic that would get you beheaded and amputated for even daring to do something so illegal.
You, however. Do not care for such trivalties.
Just like Qifrey, you just want your eye back.
and maybe hack the mainframe of healing magic, but alas.
Qifrey will know when you fix up your eye. For the time being, you wear a magic circle on top of it to repress the pain. You feel much more hope than he does, and sometimes he's bitter and wonders if he should have begged you for something similar on his own glasses, but he'd get captured at first chance if he did. He is not above using forbidden magic. His goal is for the annihilation of the brimhats, but he is not above using one to fix his eye.
It's a fat lie for anyone with eyes, though. He's probably more in love with you than he is with Olruggio, and that is already an impossible to cross bar.
"I should be able to fix you up next time we bump into each other." You hum. "I had pleasant results with experimenting on my own eye, and the seed should be removed with my new spell."
Qifrey stares at you, and you tilt your head back at him.
"Qifrey."
He forgets how to breathe.
"You're beautiful."
You forget to breathe too.
Qifrey knows deep down that even if you were lying to him and ended up killing him for a fixed eye, he'd forgive you in a heartbeat. He'd loved you for as long as he could remember being awake after being put in that coffin all those years ago. Two shared souls in the coffin. Both of you were meant to make up one large silverwood tree. He'd been soul-bound to you since that moment in the dirt.
However, you'd chosen a path you can never come back from for the both of you because your master had let you. Your master was not above it, therefore you did not care for the rules of the three wise. You simply did what you needed to in order to get closer to your goal. You don't care for rules you swore to adhere to when you became a witch. You lied through your teeth, and it makes you laugh in retrospect whenever Qifrey brings it up.
You don't want power or recognition. You want your eye back.
Qifrey knows that well, so it's why he keeps you close.
//
Engendale's tried for treason and considered guilty, and you show up at the top of the courtroom, waving sweetly as Qifrey holds his breath at the sight of you.
Your skin is glowing with glyphs.
The Knights Moralis lunge for you as you wave them all off with a brush of your hands, and Qifrey meets eyes with you.
Two eyes. Your covering is gone.
He chooses to fight you himself, aware that you'd never hurt him, but his spells are all deflected as you get closer to him.
No one else in the room can move. You must've drawn a spell around the outside of the Great Hall.
Qifrey notices the sigil on your left eye when you finally get close enough to him for him to see anything, and he drops the spell that was in his hand when your hand manages to grab his collar.
"You're giving up?"
"It's fine." Qifrey smiles, pen broken in half under your grip as you have a fistfull of his robe in your hand. "You would never hurt me."
"It's going to get you killed."
"I love you."
He accepts his fate as the blunt end of the staff stabs right into his missing eye, magic emitting out from his body as the girls scream for him, Olruggio holding them and wondering just how it got to this whole situation. It should have been foolproof. You shouldn't have been able to touch Qifrey, and the worst part is that he doesn't know why Qifrey has a missing eye because the only thing he knows is that he has to forget every time he does. What a curse to have to meet eyes with you as the light forces you both from view.
The radius of the magic blast swallows the entirety of the hall, and once the magic dissipates and the girls can open their eyes, the brimhat is missing and Qifrey is unharmed on the field.
Everyone makes a run for him at the same time.
He's unharmed. Untouched, and his glasses have shattered in the impact of the stab, but he's alive and breathing. They haul him into a room, keeping an eye on him and making sure that he's well. The waters outside still with Qifrey's absence. When Qifrey furrows his brow in his dream, the weather storms as well. It's a scary eeriness. Yet, the fields continue to grow and prosper, as though Qifrey's unconsciousness were growth instead of death. It would have been absurd to assume that the universe would still or stop for someone who should hold no significance over it.
They bring him home when he isn't awake in a month, and he's left to be monitored. At one point, Qifrey's old master comes in to visit personally, hand brushing over Qifrey's forehead, staring quietly.
You had been Engendale's pupil. Not corrupt like your master, but a bender of morality and someone who did not care for the rules established. As far as you were concerned, you cared more to learn everything about magic regardless of morality than any money you could gain from people. Corrupt, yet so different from your master. You had not been someone bad. You'd been a child who always wanted more. Moderation was a trait they valued, as curiosity got most everyone's memories taken away, but you had escaped. Weaved and snaked your way out of everything. By the time that you had been seen again, there was a brim around your hat and an all-knowing smile that Beldaruit knew all too well.
You'd learned what you wanted to.
"Corruption breeds corruption." The man mumbles, and Qifrey furrows his brows.
Deep down, he knew that Qifrey wanted to believe that you only joined the brimmed hats to find a way to cure his eye. However, the multiple offenses you had taken against the witches made it increasingly harder and harder to believe that your true goal was to heal him. Though it seems the seed is now missing from the boy, but you are still nowhere to be seen. He might forgive you if you hand yourself in out of respect for Qifrey, but he finds it hard to believe that you'll end up resigning to a fate where you don't know anything.
Qifrey stirs in bed, and Beldaruit brushes a hand over his head to smooth out the furrow.
"You must wake up and find them."
It's impossible to deny your importance.
Maybe if he begs the other two wise, you'll be spared severe punishment and only forced to erase your memory.
Or, maybe he won't need to at all. Maybe Qifrey would find you and hide you. That boy's always been the type to do as he wills anyway. He'd begged him to let Coco live since she was tied to the brimhats, so perhaps with your repentance he'd beg for the same. Or who knows. He's seen how the boy looks after visited by you. Well, he'd help if the boy ever came to him for help, but he'd also keep his mouth shut if he'd ever sense traces of you around him after all of this is over.
Who knows. Maybe you love Qifrey as much as he loves you.
You might just disappear from his life forever.
Either or, he hopes Qifrey wakes up safe and alive.
Qifrey wakes up to a sigil on his eye, but both of his eyes.
He can see.
It's almost like he's dreaming.
Both eyes work, and his perception of depth scares him a little. He'd gotten so used to being bad at it that it feels different now that he can truly assess things. He, unfortunately, has no memory of how he got his eye back. It's concerning how much of an absence there is in his life right now. It's like he's forgotten Olruggio or something, but he's still here, and the girls are all here. They'd tell him if he forgot anything, right? Surely.
Unless they forgot too.
It's a whole fiasco when he wakes up, and everyone checks him thrice to make sure he's in one piece. He'd been asleep for over a month, but all of his girls are crying about how he has his eye back. It's a strange feeling. When he asks how he got it back, no one can find the words to describe it. It's like they're tongue tied or spellbound. He has a feeling he might know why, but the absence of someone he only saw once a full moon. His body remembers it, and sometimes he itches to move.
He's sent home after a month of observation from the doctors.
Some nights, when the moon is round, he finds himself downstairs where the gate is out of habit, staring at the dial that he closes his eyes and lets his body turn. The dial he usually moves out of muscle memory on the full moon leads to vast emptiness. It is gone, but Qifrey feels like there should have been something there at some point. Maybe the other end of the gate was no longer turned to that coordinate. For the most part, it does not plague his life, but he does not enjoy not remembering after he'd been the one to erase everyone else's memory for so long.
The void that stares back at him every full moon is a cycle for a long, long time.
It isn't until his students are all proper witches that he wonders if he should give up his ritual on every full moon to forget who is supposed to be waiting for him on the other side of the void. The girls are older now, and he's getting to that point too. The brimhats are mostly taken care of, and Coco's got her mother back from the magic. Yet, Qifrey feels like there's still something missing in his life.
How awful of him when he has Olruggio with him.
On the night of his birthday, it's a full moon. The girls come over and celebrate with him, a cake made, and Olruggio lights the candles as Qifrey makes his wish. It's just another night, and he's made up his resolve to stop turning the dial like some drunkard at midnight every full moon. He wonders where his habit even comes from considering he'd woken up to turning the dial some nights while asleep.
Talk about muscle memory.
The girls are all settled into their old rooms that Qifrey had left untouched, and Qifrey finds himself back at the gate again, turning the dials, expecting the same void to greet him so he can close it.
Except it doesn't.
Someone's standing on the other end of the gate.
You.
You're standing on the other end of the gate.
Qifrey draws a spell of water before he can react properly, and you jab the bottom of your staff in front of Qifrey's eye as he freezes in place, memories flashing back to him.
Sealed. You'd placed a sealing spell on his eye that blocked out his memories of you.
You duck the magic that threatens to drown you under, hat knocked off in the process, face exposed as you cast a protective barrier, meeting eyes with Qifrey.
It feels strange to see both his eyes.
At least it worked.
You let down the spell once you think you're safe.
Qifrey yanks you right out of the gate, forcing you to land in his chest with a thud as you groan in pain.
You look up.
Qifrey visibly flinches at the sight of your face.
One sigil on your left eye.
It's painfully visible when he's so close to you like this.
Magic doesn't require the exchange of something equal, so it must be for some other reason. The transfer of something, maybe. He's not entirely sure, but now that you've carved ink into your own body, there is no return for you. In a way, he wonders if you had to run the experiment on yourself before you could run it on him. A curse and awful of you. He has the same sigil in his new eye, though. What a strange experience. To match an eye with you.
"You—"
"If you don't have anything nice to say, you better shut up whitehead." You hiss, shaking off your clothes, and Qifrey stops. "What?"
"I feel like I should hand you over right now."
"Your savior? Ouch. Talk about ratting on old friends. I just gave you your memories back for your birthday, old man."
"Or I can hide you."
"You'd do that? For stupid ol' me? Your girls would beg to learn forbidden magic from me."
"Then we lie and say that it's regular medicine. You can heal without drawing." He pauses. "They've also all moved out."
"I forgot you're old now."
"Oh, yes." He mumbles. "I'm nowhere near as young as we used to be."
"Man, I'm old now." You groan.
"It was bound to happen." Qifrey sighs. "Aren't you—"
"Alright, now that my mission was accomplished, I should head back so you don't get nuked by the three wise. I doubt being a nepo baby would save you right now anyway—"
"Yes, but." Qifrey breathes, stilling as he remembers you're in his lap right now.
You'd shown up all on your own because you'd wanted to check to see how he was doing.
It's making his head spin. He forgot how much he liked you before you'd gone and erased his memories.
"I should punish you." Qifrey mumbles, hand moving to brush a thumb over your cheek.
Maybe turn you in to the three wise and then be promised permanent retirement and no longer take any more students the same way Beldaruit had stopped after him. He'd be promised it anyway, but he missed you. It makes him feel kind of stupid with how much he missed you anyway. He'd prefer you close to him anyway. He'd never see this version of you again if he really did turn you in like he threatened you.
Punishment would entail something lighter.
Something he'd like.
"Since when do you do that anyway?" You lean in slightly, and Qifrey sighs as he presses his lips to yours.
Maybe he's desperate for touch again. He knew well when the two of you were technical enemies but collaborators that this would have sent you both down a spiral that would kill you both. Your lips feel good against his, intoxicating and enthralling and he can't believe he'd resisted doing this for so long. Well, maybe now that he isn't afraid of anything, he can actually do what he's wanted to. Starting with kissing you breathless, maybe.
He parts his lips to get a breath in before he's back to kissing you, the hand originally supporting him against the floor clenching around the fabric of your chest, desperate to breathe you in so hard that the air in his lungs exhale like yours forever. It's his first taste of eternity that he'd craved so hard. You'd make it your life's mission to remind him that neither of you were allowed to even think twice about courting, so to get you like this under him without worrying that his tree would entangle itself with yours is a ray of light he soaks in.
You gasp from his kissing, and he whispers to have you breathe through your nose as he nips once at your bottom lip, and he licks at the indent his teeth left as you pant to breathe, and when you just barely catch your breath, he presses his lips to yours again. It's a cycle he plans on forcing you both to stay in, and heaven knows when you'll be free from his grip as he rests a hand on your waist as you adjust to get a better angle to kiss him properly. He groans into your mouth when your hips roll over his, and your brain fuzzes right up when you can't breathe again.
You whimper against him, biting his bottom lip particularly hard as he finally lets go, panting slightly as his eyes stay stuck on the way you breathe with parted lips, catching your breath as you hold your hands against his chest weakly. His gaze doesn't tear. He's waiting for you to catch your breath again so he can kiss you again.
"You—" You heave. "you edacious man."
"I've been waiting forever." Qifrey mumbles, and he's halfway leaned in for another kiss when Olruggio stares at the two of you from the stairs.
"First, you take in a human who accidentally used forbidden magic, then you start making out with a brimhat? Qifrey, what's next, you become one yourself?"
"Long time no see, Olruggio." You hum, hand pressed over Qifrey's mouth as the witch goes red to his ears. "Miss me?"
"I didn't know you were still alive."
"How about a thank you for saving your boyfriend?"
"Your boyfriend." He tosses you a bag, and you blink at the contents. "Get your old hat back on."
"You're gonna hide me too?"
"The home owes you for saving Qifrey."
"No, no. It was nothing much in the grand scheme of things."
"It was, but whatever you want to believe."
"There was never a favor to pay back." You start stripping, and Olruggio's eyes widen before he's heading back up the stairs.
You stand up and turn around, pulling your robes over your head as Qifrey looks at the giant glyph on your back.
Qifrey stares at the marks on your skin instead as you put your robes back on, brimhat set to the side as he runs a finger down the dip of your back.
"What spell is this?"
"Wings. For flight. I only need to stretch my arms back to activate, and then my wings back once I no longer need them." You hum. "I should take you on a flight sometime."
"As long as we're not caught."
"Not if it's in my cabin." You hum, securing your pointed hat. "Your girls still with you?"
"They've all moved out, but it was my birthday so they're back for the night."
"Maybe we can all go flying tomorrow at mine."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
And, well. If the girls wake up to a witch with enormous wings in the field they used to run around in, then it's not anyone's situation to explain except for Qifrey.
Not that he would anyway.
One look at the matching eyes and it's enough for anyone.
Enjoying a nice moment in the baths with Olruggio/Qifrey, helping them with their hair and washing places they can hardly reach. Non-sexual nudity with just a little spice, overall it's just fluff and taking care of the people they adore.
◉ Synopsis; olruggio is a yearner through and through
◉ Content; romantic x gn!reader, fluff
◉ A/N; currently reading the manga and seeing Olruggio's devotion to the people in his life has me feeling things
Olruggio, as much as he dislikes it about himself, wears his heart on his sleeve. He can't help but let it slip how much he loves for the girls, how devoted he is to Qifrey, how much he cares for you- and it drives him mad.
Olruggio constantly finds himself watching you, studying how you move, memorizing details about you that no one else would notice
He can't help but let his mind wander, wondering how you'd feel against him, how your hands would fit into his, how it would feel getting to fall asleep in your arms, face pressed to your chest
This lovestruck dummy is so lost in thought that he frequently makes small mistakes whenever he's around you. Leaving a kindleorb to burn for a bit too long, forgetting to tie up his sleeves before casting spells, watching you instead of where he's supposed to be going when he's walking
Olruggio cherishes every small moment the two of you have, alone or in the company of Qifrey and the girls. Honestly, Olly is happy as long as he's surrounded by the people he cares about- and even happier when you're close to him
He always makes an effort to be closer to you physically and emotionally. Olruggio does his best to make himself emotionally available to you, always a bit awkward in the attempts, but never insincere
He's too shy to initiate straightforward physical affection, so his ministrations will have to suffice for now; ruffling your hair, leaning over to watch whatever you're doing, "accidentally" brushing a hand against yours when passing you things
Olly loves just having you near him, whether its to talk, enjoy a quiet hang out, or even to study together, he'll gladly accept any invitation that allows him to be near you in any capacity
Olruggio the Yearner™ no doubt gets incredibly flustered around you, sometimes for no reason at all. A soft thank you will have his face red in. 02 seconds flat. A genuine smile directed at him may as well be the last thing he sees, because he's sure he's gone to heaven
it's obvious to everyone but you how smitten Olruggio is for you. If only he could put his feelings into words... One day he'll find the courage
Now that i know more about Qifrey and Olruggio's background, i literally cannot go through my day the same anymore. LIKE EUGHHH i can't stop thinking about it😭 they make me so sad..It's always the black and white haired duos istg.
so i've noticed something about orufrey's body language
and i have been going insane about it ever since! kamome shirahama your attention to details will be the death of me /pos
hands are the most expressive non-verbal tool humans have, and since it's also quite literally the tool that gives the witches their magic, watching hands in witch hat atelier is beyond important. implied spoilers up to ch93 under cut! [don't mind the language of half the screenshots, that's beside the point]
qifrey so very often tends to clasp his hands together, rubbing them against each other or simply clinging to his long robes. a gesture so telling of just how uncomfortable due to silverwood he constantly is, always slightly nervous, always tip-toeing around the edge of a cliff.
and he's been doing so since childhood! his emotions are so closed-off when it comes to casual body language, which is both an indicator of his character and the ways in which he deals with his curse. unable to trust even his closest friend, he chooses the only vaguely soothing thing: to curl into himself, to detach, to distance.
meanwhile olruggio, despite his scruffiness, generally comes off as a more open, "simple" man, hands flying all over the place when he's agitated. he expresses his emotions freely, without restrain.
qifrey curls into a ball for comfort, meanwhile olly splays like a star, comfortable in his skin an in qifrey's presence
and what happens when they start to interact?
olly keeps reaching for qifrey, talking some sense into him with his hands, with spontaneous and emotional physical touch.
he does so even upon first meeting
he keeps and keeps reaching out to qifrey, both literally and symbolically.
no matter how hard qifrey tries to run away, to hide deeper into himself, olruggio will always be there to offer him a friendly hand or otherwise
this particular parallel is especially dear to me:
they changed so much,
but they also haven't changed at all
and the culmination of this dynamic in a single image for me is this:
qifrey, gaze averted, hands uncomfortably clasped together, fake smile on his face
and olruggio, calm and confident, leaning into qifrey's personal space with familiar ease, resting an arm on his shoulder in a friendly gesture.
everything that shirahama consistently portrays as the manga goes on and the history unravels, neatly and wordlessly shown in a single static image. the art of showing, but not telling, thus nurturing a deeper understanding of these characters. absolutely brilliant
◉ Synopsis; Olruggio loves Qifrey's cooking- the side effects of loving to eat? Not so much. When you notice Olly feeling down and insecure, you decide to step in and show him a little extra love
◉ CW; body dysphoria, negative self talk, mentions of gaining weight
◉ A/N; this is a romantic Olruggio x reader piece with implied poly!Qifrey/reader/Olly, gn!reader (no use of pronouns or references to anatomy)
It started tame enough- Olruggio sneaking some sweets in between working sessions, spending time with Qifrey in the kitchen trying new recipes after the girls went to sleep, absentminded snacking when he was working on new inventions- but all of it started to add up. Olruggio hadn't noticed at first- but now, hyper-aware of the weight he gained, he couldn't help but feel insecure every time he left his room.
You and Qifrey both noticed when Olruggio started spending much more time alone in his room with the door locked. The Watchful Eye of the Atelier shutting himself away presented obvious problems, but beyond that, there was a deep concern for Olruggio's well-being.
Unknown to the two of you, the reason for Olruggio's self-isolation only got worse when you attempted to leave meals at his door. The untouched meals, paired with brief and curt conversations through the door made you and Qifrey decide it was time for an intervention.
You and Qifrey took turns knocking and sitting outside Olly's door while the other watched over the girls. Finally, during your late night "shift," the sadness in your voice as you pleaded for him to come out made Olruggio crack.
He opens the door just slightly, gaze fixed to the floor in shame as he mumbles a half-hearted "what d'yeh want"
Upon seeing the hurt in your eyes, Olruggio caves completely, opening the door wider to let you in and shutting it behind you. Olruggio trudges to his bed, not even bothering to use his Sylph shoes, collapsing into the mass of pillows and blankets and curling up on himself, his arms wrapped around his middle
Taking a seat beside him, you hesitantly reach out, running your fingers through Olly's hair. He sniffles, leaning into your touch and murmuring an "'m sorreh" into the blankets.
"What's wrong, Olly?" The simple question causes him to burst into tears, the dam holding back his flood of emotions finally breaking down. He tells you everything; the way he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring at every curve and roll, wishing it was gone, the way he felt so out of place in his body, how much he feared the idea that you would see him the same way he sees himself
The hand that was petting Olly's hair trailed down to his face, cupping his cheek gently, your other arm held up as a silent invitation for a hug. Olruggio takes it without question
As he lay in your arms, you trail your hands along his sides, whispering all the things you love about him, the reassurances floating around his head like stars, lighting up the dark thoughts that had been plaguing him for days
"Why don't you join Qifrey and I for a midnight snack? I'm sure the girls have gone to bed by now."
Just after you ask the question, Olly's stomach growls loudly, giving you your answer. You stand first, taking Olly's hand and helping him up, leading him down to the kitchen where you, him and Qifrey spend the next couple of hours talking, drinking and snacking
When the two of you finally go to bed, Olruggio falls asleep in your arms, face pressed to your neck
*:･relationship: Qifrey x Reader
*:･word count: 1k
*:･tags: gn!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, Qifrey cries, yearning (if you squint), reader and qifrey are both professors and have their own ateliers, friends since the great hall days, i'll get better at tagging, i promise
*:･notes: MAJOR SPOILERS for the Witch Hat Atelier Series! Please read at your discretion.
*:･
"It's heartbreaking. It's like I would be killing a person."
"Pardon?" Qifrey turns to look at you.
Your sudden thoughts hit Qifrey like a storm surge.
*:･ami says: first time posting on tumblr! i apologize for any grammatical errors or mistakes. this is also posted on ao3!
“It’s heartbreaking. It’s like I would be killing a person.”
“Pardon?” Qifrey turns to look at you.
You lean back to get comfortable in the cushions and look up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. Sighing, “Just a witch’s musings…”
Receiving nothing as a response, you continued, “To erase the memory of magic… Or even erasing memories at all… Oh, what am I even saying?” Shaking your head, your wry smile does not give Qifrey peace.
Qifrey feels his insides churn. It’s dizzying. Disorienting. How such simple words could turn his world askew. The cold of the night is seeping into the hearth and his insides are crawling and chewed up, how can you sit so serenely by the fire none the wiser?
He scrapes his composure. “Killing a person?”, he finally replies.
You blink for a moment, surprised he entertained whatever words tumbled out of your mouth. Glad to have something to say though, you ramble on. “Not depriving them of life… It’s like you removed a version of themselves. When they come to their senses again, are they really the same? Are they the same person from before? Fascinating to think about. Yet it is so heartbreaking…”
You close your eyes. The warmth of your atelier brings your tensed shoulders down from the tiring day, guiding your body towards sleep.
Qifrey, sitting near, was as taut as a string. The warmth of the hearth does not do anything to combat the chill in the air. What musings his dearest (friend) has that could undo a man like him. A monster bubbles from his stomach, and its tendrils crawl and freeze every nerve and fiber of his being. Guilt comes as a massive, rushing wave towards him while his consciousness renders him immobile. He hates water.
He dares to look around the room, and his eye catches the ribbon ornament of his pointed cap. His gaze follows it only for the monster in his stomach to grow and reach his throat. A storm surge slams into him, hit with every instance of the cap's button being unclasped. The Tower of Tomes. Olruggio. The night before he left the Great Hall. You. The Beginnings of His Atelier. Olruggio. You. Too many to count? Too many that he doesn’t want to remember? He doesn’t know. He feels underwater. He hates water.
“Qifrey?” Like a siren’s song, he hears his name. Your eyes meet his blues. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
Once you know you have Qifrey’s attention, your eyes pan towards his cheeks, widening at the sight of his tears.
“Oh goodness! I’m sorry, I didn’t… I don’t–” Still shocked at his tears, you’re unsure of what to say or think. “I-I’m sorry Qifrey! Did I say something wrong? It was only just a thought, y’know! I’m just thinking about the Knights of Moralis! They protect us! It just sank in me that I can’t stomach if I were the one to – oh, I’m so sorry, please don’t cry!” You face him and wipe the tears running down his left cheek.
He was crying? Qifrey snaps out of it, leans down and covers his face. He breathes a shaky laugh.
“No need to worry. I’ve just never thought of it that deeply…” He lies. His words feel like vomit to him. I hope you never forgive me. He raises his head and seeks to meet your eyes. He sets his glasses to the side, and breathes out a laugh he hopes doesn’t seem tense, “The hearth’s heat makes people a bit sentimental…”
“Oh…” Still unsure if Qifrey’s alright, you open your arms. Wanting to ease the tense atmosphere, you smiled at him. “Do you want a hug?”
“I…–” Qifrey blinks. Then he huffs out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders dropping, even if slightly. He nods with a smile, leaning towards you and gearing his head towards your shoulder. He dares to inhale and bask in your warmth. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, as his hands find respite on the center of your back.
You hum and pat his head gently. Feeling wet drops on your shoulder, you close your arms around him further. You can never tell what Qifrey is thinking in times like these, and you have never found the right words to comfort somebody. So, you stay. The atelier’s walls are the only witness in this cold night.
Qifrey stays too. Alarms are ringing in his head, his heart tearing into two. It still comes back to him. The Tower of Tomes. His tassel and Olruggio’s ribbon. The night before he left the Great Hall. The button on his cap and the one on your cloak. Olruggio’s anger turned to understanding. Your eyes when he said those three words. His pointed cap and the sigils hidden inside.
Enveloped in your arms, Qifrey feels a crack. His hold on you tightens. Tears well up in his eye and dares not to glance at your face or his cap.
As the night grows deeper, you can’t help but wonder how much pain he has gone through in the times you were apart. When the days keep you both busy with your apprentices in your ateliers. How much has he gone through? How many secrets does he only keep to himself?
You have known Qifrey for most of your life, ever since he stepped foot in the Great Hall. You, Qifrey, and Olruggio being the trio that was always causing headaches for the masters. From being apprentices, and now as fully fledged witches, he has seen you. You have shared so much of yourself, your dreams, and worries to him - and yet no moment comes to your mind when it's the other way around. He seldomly talks about himself, and you hope that he would share some of his burdens with you too.
Oh, but he does. But you do not need to worry. You do not need to know. That is reserved for the “You” he dreads to “kill” whenever his roots and branches grow rampant again.
tags fluff, pre-established relationship!qifrey x reader, ew lovebirds ew eww, and more… ;)
words 884
a/n it feels like every scenario i made is somehow a remake and/or a one-on-one retelling of harry potter scenes (bcs im so uninspired like that), so hey, shout out to you if you recognize this :)) crossposted on ao3
The morning was still early in the atelier. The sun was not high enough to warm the damp soil beneath the cold misty air, releasing an earthy scent, combined with the freshly hanged flowers Tetia foraged the day before wafting pleasant fragrance throughout the living room.
You realized upon stepping towards the fireplace that you were the first one up, assuming everyone else was either still asleep or in the midst of getting ready inside their rooms. You fetch your robe hanging by the dim fire, now dried after yesterday's storm, wrapping and buttoning them on yourself as you walk into the kitchen.
Qifrey's two year old stew was still on the stove, steaming fresh upon the constant repeating spell. As much as you'd like to have a hearty bowl of one for breakfast, you thought, maybe the girls could have something new once in a while?
And so your feet instantly meandered around the kitchen, opening every cabinets—in hopes of not finding crawling insects inside the bottom ones—to see and find out the capacity of Qifrey and Olruggio's humble cooking space.
Thankfully, no spiders or roaches. There was yesterday's bread, tomatoes, some eggs and pans. Although, you still need—
"Busy morning?"
That sweet, comforting lilt in his voice startled you. Well, just a little. You still couldn't have your heart to get used to it. Not after your unplanned confession last week over the warm crackling fireplace.
Qifrey was leaning at the archway when you turned your head, eyelash batting with a curved smile. His arms were crossed under the white robe worn askew, carelessly thrown as if he didn't have time to attach the hanging ornament between them.
You failed fighting your smile, "I thought the girls deserved something freshly made."
Qifrey sniffled a laugh, "Ouch," as he descended upon the small set of steps into the kitchen towards you.
"You're going somewhere?" Your hand reached out to his golden ropes flailing between his robe.
"I might have to. The girls still need supplies for their next test," he suddenly leaned in closer, "or maybe I can have the Watchful Eye to sub me?"
You snort, dodging his eager face trying to sneak in a peck.
"No. And it is best to look at the least properly made when meeting other fellow witches."
You looked up between your lashes at him as you buttoned his robe, knowing his eye never left yours, "Wouldn't want to tarnish the well respected name of your atelier, would you?”
"Our atelier."
You scoffed, "I'm no master."
"Coco might say otherwise—"
"No debate in the morning." You pouted when you were finished fiddling with his robe. You pat down the flaps, continuously avoiding his gaze pretending to tidy up his garment. Not only eye contact was never your forte but, heavens, does Qifrey made it so much harder.
His thumb and index finger lightly pushed your chin up at him, immediately closing the gap between your lips with his. Taken aback, you held his shoulder for support. He moved his head to deepen the kiss as your fingers started to trace the outlines of his collar.
You were far to distracted at his hand right behind your waist, hoisting and pressing you closer to him for you to not realize the tiny 'clink' in the near distance.
Pulling away slowly, you glanced behind his back to see Olruggio already standing by, sipping at his steaming mug of tea.
The sight of you—unsuccessfully—hiding in front of Qifrey averted his attention. Qifrey twisted his neck back at Olruggio, now sipping carefully trying to not burn himself.
"So is breakfast ready?"
Qifrey smiled and nodded like it was just another Tuesday morning, "We'll just have the stew."
"No…" Your irritated scoff caught Olruggio's attention back at you, "No, we'll have shakshouka."
Olruggio nonchalantly nodded, though you're unsure if the red on his ears was from the steaming mug or… another thing.
Qifrey turned his head back towards you, gently squeezing your forearms, "I'll get the girls ready."
And with that, Qifrey left the kitchen, patting Olruggio before leaving you alone, face to face and a few feet apart with the Watchful Eye. You wondered if it was the sun is getting higher or the embarrassment. Either way, you felt heat creeping up to your face and sweat pouring out of your temple.
"You take your time," he sipped, "just don't make the girls wait."
Holding yourself for support, you put your hands on your hips—also to prevent them accidentally flailing around out of awkwardness.
"I won't."
He nodded, still with a straight face, before leaving you alone with your pile of tomatoes, eggs, and pans.
You sighed in relief, pondered for a little because of whatever on earth was just happened in a span of a minute. Finally flailing your hands, you tried shaking away the embarrassment and rolled your shoulders to crack your back.
"Is it okay if I help?"
A bubbly voice interrupted. Coco, already stepping down the kitchen, walked towards you with a smile. Sometimes you wonder how long does it take for the girls to have themselves up and ready in the morning. Such case would probably be brief for Coco.
"Of course, Coco, you can help me with the tomatoes."
***
and guess what? you guessed it. i made this at 2 am, unbeta’d, and post. straight up rawdogging it
