As you enter the princess' chamber, you're greeted by the warm glow of the sunset streaming through the windows and balcony, casting an orange hue across the room. As you admire the elegant, gold-trimmed bed chamber, you spot a strange item nestled beneath her pillow. Curious, you retrieve it and discover a leather-bound notebook bearing the title "Primrose's Chronicles."
𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓶𝓮:
Hello! My name is Primrose! (you can call me either Prim or Rose) I am a 18 year old Filipino! I love drawing and I just started writing! my account is multifandom and I use they/them.
𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓲𝓯:
you're a homophobe
or if you're just a problematic person in general
(get the fuck off my blog if your one or all of these things.)
Summary: Max always thought you never asked for much because you didn’t need much, low-maintenance to a fault, until he finally overhears the truth.
4.4k words / Masterlist
Max had always appreciated how easy you were to love.
You didn’t demand. You didn’t sulk over missed dates. There were no passive-aggressive comments about him not posting you enough or forgetting to text back when a race weekend swallowed him whole. You never made him feel guilty for the parts of his life that were already complicated. When he was travelling or exhausted, you simply kissed his forehead and told him to rest. When his schedule changed last minute, you never got upset, never made him sit through a tense silence or apologise for the same thing five different ways, you just shrugged with that soft little smile of yours and said, “We’ll figure it out.”
You weren’t just low-maintenance, you were selfless, unshakeably chill in a way that made loving you feel almost effortless. You understood the pressure, the travel, the media, the endless demands on his time, and you never tried to add yourself to the list of things he needed to manage.
You made room for his life before he even had to ask. You bent around the complicated edges of his world so naturally that, after a while, Max stopped noticing how much you were bending at all.
It was refreshing. Comforting, even. Being with you never felt like another obligation waiting for him when he got home. You were warmth, quiet, peace… but it also made it easy for Max to coast.
Because when you said you didn’t need flowers, he believed you. When you told him birthdays weren’t a big deal, he took your word for it.
When you said you didn’t mind that his attention was always half-distracted by Red Bull, his sim rig, his phone, or whatever new team crisis was unfolding in the background, he didn’t stop to wonder whether you meant it. He didn’t ask himself if you were genuinely fine with being loved in the gaps, or if you had simply learned to make your wants small enough that they never became inconvenient.
He didn’t notice that every time you said, “Don’t worry about it,” you were teaching him that he didn’t have to.
Until he saw the way your smile dimmed at Daniel’s girlfriend’s birthday party.
The boat was filled with champagne and noise, a private Monaco affair organised by Daniel, of course, because no one else could make a birthday party feel quite that excessive and still somehow charming. There was a neon sign glowing above the bar, a curated playlist that seemed suspiciously full of songs Daniel liked more than his girlfriend did, and custom cupcakes with everyone’s faces printed on them. Max didn’t even know you could do that.
You sat beside him with a drink in hand, your shoulder brushing his every now and then as the boat rocked gently against the water. To anyone else you looked perfectly fine, but Max had started paying closer attention now.
Your laugh came half a second too late, your smile faded too quickly, and your eyes kept drifting back to the couple across the deck.
Daniel’s girlfriend had her arms slung around his neck, his jacket draped over her shoulders, and a glittery tiara with Birthday Girl written across the front sitting slightly crooked on her head. Daniel kept adjusting it for her, grinning every time she swatted his hand away, and when she leaned into him, he kissed her temple without seeming to think about it. Thoughtless in the best way, like loving her out loud was simply instinct.
“You made it!” Daniel said, pulling Max into a hug before turning to you with even more enthusiasm. “And you look amazing. Seriously, come on, look at you.”
You laughed, a bit surprised, and looked down at yourself like you hadn’t expected anyone to notice.
Max noticed that.
Daniel’s girlfriend came over next, glowing, happy, adored. She hugged you tightly and thanked you both for coming, then turned to show you the bracelet Daniel had bought her. It was delicate and expensive, the kind of jewellery Max would never have picked out on his own because he would have convinced himself he didn’t know what he was doing and given up before trying.
“He surprised me with it this morning,” she said, beaming. “And he pretended he forgot my birthday for, like, ten minutes, which was evil, but then he had breakfast set up on the balcony.”
Daniel, overhearing, lifted his glass. “Romance is alive and well ladies and gentlemen.”
Normal Daniel. Loud, teasing, affectionate Daniel, who made a spectacle out of caring because he had never been embarrassed by warmth in the same way Max sometimes was, but then Max looked at you.
You were smiling. Of course you were smiling.
You were always polite. Always kind. Always good at being happy for other people, even when something inside you was quietly aching. There was something different about it then, something Max had never noticed before because he had never had reason to look for it.
Your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.
You didn’t look devastated, you didn’t withdraw your hand from his arm or go quiet in a way anyone else would pick up on. You just looked at the bracelet on Daniel’s girlfriend’s wrist, then at the flowers, then at the wall of photos, and for half a second your expression morphed into something almost wistful.
Max felt it like a punch he had no right to react to.
The conversation moved on around him. Daniel was talking about the cake, someone else was laughing about how long it had taken to get the decorations right. His girlfriend was telling you how Daniel had been secretly planning it for weeks, badly, apparently, because he almost exposed himself several times.
You laughed at the story.
You said, “That’s really sweet.”
Max heard the softness in your voice.
For the first time all night, Max looked at the party properly. He looked at the flowers. The photos. The custom menu cards with her name on them. The cake Daniel had apparently taste-tested three times because the first one “didn’t feel like her.”
Then Max looked at you.
You were standing beside him with nothing from him except your own practiced understanding.
No flowers.
No post.
No planned birthday dinner he hadn’t rescheduled.
No little public signs that he was proud to love you.
No evidence, really, that Max Verstappen had ever looked at the woman beside him and thought, she deserves to feel chosen.
His stomach twisted, because suddenly he remembered your last birthday with a clarity that made him feel slightly sick.
He had been in Milton Keynes for simulator work. He’d called you late, later than he meant to, and you had answered in bed, face lit softly by your phone screen. You had smiled like you were happy just to hear from him. He had apologised again for not being able to be there. You had said it didn’t matter and he had promised to make it up to you. You had said, “Don’t stress, honestly. I had a nice day.”
Had you?
Had you really?
Or had you said that because it was easier than admitting you had wanted him there?
He thought about the flowers you always claimed not to need. The birthdays you said weren’t important. The dates you never demanded. The posts you never asked for. The attention you pretended not to miss.
Beside him, you glanced up. “You okay?”
Max blinked, pulled out of his thoughts by the gentleness of your voice. That made it worse somehow, even now you were checking on him.
“Yeah,” he said, too quickly. “Fine.”
You studied him for a moment, clearly not convinced, but you didn’t push. You never pushed. You simply nodded and looked back towards the others, your shoulder brushing lightly against his sleeve.
Max hated that too. He hated that you gave him space even when maybe he deserved pressure.
He hated that you had made yourself so easy to keep that he had forgotten keeping you was still something he had to actively do.
For the rest of the night, he couldn’t stop watching you.
He watched Daniel’s girlfriend pull you into photos, watched you laugh as someone handed you a party hat you refused to wear for about ten seconds. He watched you compliment the decorations, watched you ask questions about the planning, watched your fingers lightly brush over one of the flower arrangements when you thought no one was looking.
You liked flowers.
Of course you liked flowers.
Maybe not in the over-the-top, expensive, social-media way, but you liked them. He could tell by the way you touched the petals carefully, the way your face warmed when Daniel’s girlfriend told you Daniel had chosen them because they reminded him of a dress she once wore in Monaco.
Max stood there, silent and increasingly irritated with himself.
How many things had you convinced yourself you didn’t need simply because he had never offered them?
How many wants had you softened into jokes so they wouldn’t feel like demands?
How many times had you made yourself smaller around his life and called it love?
Later, when everyone gathered around the cake, Daniel made a speech. A terrible speech, because it was Daniel, so half of it was jokes and the other half was him pretending not to get emotional. Then he spoke about how his girlfriend made his life better. How she put up with him. How she deserved more than one night of being celebrated, but he hoped this was a decent start.
Everyone laughed.
His girlfriend cried.
You smiled.
Max felt like the worst boyfriend in the world.
He complimented you in private, usually quietly, usually after you’d done something for him. He told you he loved you, yes, but often in bed, or before hanging up, or in passing when one of you was leaving. He assumed you knew. He assumed choosing you privately counted the same as making you feel chosen.
On the drive home you were quieter than usual.
Your head rested against the window, city lights sliding over your face in brief flashes. Your heels were in your lap because you had taken them off the second you got in the car, and your fingers played absently with the strap like your mind was somewhere else.
Max kept glancing over. Usually he liked quiet with you, it was comfortable and easy, you didn’t need to fill every silence.
Tonight the quiet felt full of everything you weren’t saying.
“Did you have a good time?” he asked eventually.
You turned your head, smiling faintly. “Yeah. It was lovely.”
Lovely.
The word sat between you.
Max swallowed. “Daniel did a lot.”
“He did,” you said, and your voice was warm. “It was really sweet.”
There it was again. That careful admiration.
Max’s hands flexed around the steering wheel. “You like that kind of thing?”
You looked at him properly then, brows lifting a little. “What kind of thing?”
He shrugged, trying to sound casual and failing. “All of it. The flowers. The photos. The big party.”
You looked away and gave a small laugh, the kind that tried to make a truth sound harmless. “I mean, I don’t need all that.”
Max’s chest tightened.
That wasn’t what he had asked.
“I didn’t ask if you needed it.”
Your fingers stopped moving against the shoe strap and for a moment you said nothing. Then you looked down and smiled again, but this one was worse than the one at the party because it was meant only for him, meant to reassure him, meant to protect him from feeling bad about something he had already done.
“I just think it’s nice,” you said carefully. “For her. Daniel clearly put a lot of thought into it.”
Max nodded once, jaw tense.
Thought.
That was the word that stayed with him.
You didn’t need a private room full of flowers or a custom cake or a wall of photographs. You probably didn’t even want something that big, but you wanted thought. You wanted evidence that he had paused, considered you, and chosen to make you feel loved on purpose.
Max, who could analyse tyre degradation over fifty laps, who could remember tiny setup changes from races years ago, who could spend hours perfecting a sim lap by half a tenth, had somehow convinced himself he was incapable of remembering to buy you flowers.
“I should have done more for your birthday,” he said.
You went very still.
The car felt smaller suddenly.
“Max…”
“No,” he said, because he knew that tone. He knew you were about to let him off the hook again. “I should have.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
You exhaled quietly and looked out of the window again. “I told you it was fine.”
“I know you did.”
“Then why are you bringing it up?”
Because I finally saw your face, he wanted to say. Because I finally realised you have been asking for so little that I stopped giving you even that and I do not know how to forgive myself for not noticing sooner.
But Max had never been good with words when they mattered most.
So he said, “Because I think you say things are fine when they're not.”
Your mouth pressed together. That tiny movement cut through him more than any argument would have.
You weren’t angry, but part of him wished you were. Anger would have given him something to meet, something to fix, something loud enough that he couldn’t ignore it, you just looked tired and that was worse.
“I don’t want to be difficult,” you said after a while.
“You're not difficult,” he said immediately.
You gave him a small, sad smile. “I know. I just mean… your life is already a lot. You have so many people needing things from you all the time I never wanted to be another thing on the list.”
“You are not a thing on the list.”
“Aren’t I?” you asked softly.
Max didn’t answer fast enough, once again words failed him, he hated himself for that.
You turned your face back towards the window, and the reflection showed him the truth he had been avoiding all night. You weren’t crying or making a scene. You weren’t asking him to turn the car around or apologise in some grand dramatic way. You were simply sitting there beside him carrying a hurt that had clearly existed long before tonight.
He figured you’d be home from your errands by now.
Probably curled up somewhere in the apartment, wearing one of his hoodies like you always did when he was away for more than a few days. Maybe on the sofa with your knees tucked beneath you, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, or half-watching one of those comfort shows you liked to put on in the background while you waited for him. The thought came easily, warmly, and Max found himself smiling before he had even opened the door properly.
He liked coming home to you.
He liked the small signs of you scattered through his space. Your shoes by the door, your hair tie abandoned on the coffee table, your mug in the sink because you always forgot to rinse it. Your presence had softened the apartment in ways he hadn’t realised he needed, turning it from somewhere he slept between races into somewhere that actually felt like home.
The apartment was quiet when he stepped inside, but not empty.
Max kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, already turning toward the living room when he heard your voice from the bedroom. Then he heard your best friend’s name, and realised you were on the phone.
He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He was about to call out, to let you know he was back, but something about your tone made him stop before the words left his mouth. So he stayed quiet, halfway down the hall, one hand still resting against the wall.
“I’m not upset he did all that for her,” you were saying. “It’s sweet. It is.”
There was a pause.
Max’s body went strangely still.
He knew, instantly, what you were talking about.
“It’s just…” You exhaled shakily. “He’s never done anything like that for me.”
The words hit him hard. Max stared at the floor, heartbeat slowing into something heavy and uncomfortable.
“I don’t ask for much,” you continued, and your voice was smaller now, like you were embarrassed to even say it out loud. “I know I don’t. I never wanted to pressure him or make him feel like he had to go out of his way when his life is already so much. I thought if I was easygoing and low-maintenance, it would make things easier on him.”
His throat tightened.
“But sometimes—” Your voice broke so softly he almost missed it. “Sometimes I wish he’d do something without me having to ask.”
Max’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall.
He could feel every careless assumption he had ever made beginning to turn over in his head, one after another, each one worse than the last.
You didn’t care if he forgot plans, if he came home distracted, if he said he would make it up to you and then didn’t, because something else came up and you smiled like it was fine.
“Maybe I enabled it by alway saying I was fine... but I don’t need grand gestures,” you went on, voice wobbling now. “I know that’s not really him, and I don’t want him to be anyone else. I don’t want a big show just for the sake of it, but it would be nice to feel special sometimes… to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
Max’s chest ached.
He looked toward the bedroom door, but he couldn’t move.
“I just want to know he wants to do those things for me,” you whispered. “Not because he’s apologising or because someone else did it first… because he loves me enough to notice.”
Max couldn’t breathe properly.
He hadn’t known.
He really hadn’t known.
He thought you meant it when you said you didn’t care about birthdays, anniversaries, flowers, or all the romantic things he had always been bad at. He had thought that was part of what made you you. Unbothered by the kind of performative relationship stuff he had never known how to do properly.
The conversation ended a few minutes later.
He heard the soft rustle of sheets then your footsteps moving across the bedroom floor. Max reacted too late, still trapped in the weight of what he had heard and only barely managed to step back into the hallway before you came out.
You stopped when you saw him.
For one awful second, neither of you said anything and then he smiled and wrapped you in a hug pretending like he hadn’t heard a word.
That night Max sat alone in the dark of the living room for a long time, head in his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t bring himself to do anything except sit there in the silence and let every word he had overheard replay in his head until it felt carved into him.
He kept hearing your voice.
“to feel like he thought about me without me having to ask.”
He pressed the heels of his hands harder against his eyes.
God.
How many moments had you swallowed your disappointment before he could even notice it was there, dimming yourself down just to be easier to love?
It gutted him.
You hadn’t asked him for the world. You hadn’t asked him to become someone he wasn’t. You only wanted to feel considered. Somehow he had made the best thing in his life feel like she had to be grateful for whatever was left of him at the end of the day.
You deserved fireworks, even if you were the kind of girl who said she didn’t need them. You didn’t want more from him. You just wanted to matter enough for him to give it anyway.
You didn’t expect anything to change.
Max was always kind, attentive in the ways he knew how to be. He noticed when you were cold and passed you his hoodie without making a big thing of it. He reached for your hand in crowded places because he liked knowing exactly where you were. He remembered how you took your coffee, which side of the bed you preferred, the shows you put on when you needed background noise. He loved you. You knew he did.
So when he suggested you take a weekend off together “Somewhere quiet, just us” you didn’t overthink it. You figured he wanted to disappear for a couple of days, somewhere without cameras, team radios, sponsor obligations, or someone asking him about tyre degradation.
It wasn’t until you stepped onto the lakeside dock in Switzerland that you realised something was different.
The cottage was small but charming, tucked away by the water with warm wood walls, soft cream blankets, and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the whole place glow with the late afternoon light. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t the kind of place chosen to impress anyone, it felt private, thoughtful, almost painfully intimate.
Inside there were your favourite snacks arranged in the kitchen. Your favourite wine chilling in the fridge. Your comfort blanket folded over the armchair by the window. Your favourite book was already resting on the bedside table, the old, worn copy you had once told him you reread whenever your head felt too loud.
You frowned, turning slowly back to him. “Did you… did you set this up?”
Max leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, trying for casual and not quite managing it. “Maybe.”
You narrowed your eyes, sceptical. “What’s going on?”
His smirk softened a little. He just looked at you and there was something unusually careful in his expression, something that made your chest tighten before he had even said a word.
“I listened,” he said.
You blinked. Max glanced down briefly, like the words felt awkward in his mouth, but when he looked back up he didn’t look away again.
“I didn’t realise how much I’d taken for granted,” he continued quietly. “How much you gave by never asking. You made it easy for me, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve stopped trying.”
Your throat tightened.
“Max…”
“No, let me say it,” he murmured, taking a small step closer. “You always said things were fine. That you didn’t need flowers, or birthdays, or plans, or all the extra stuff and I believed you because it was easier because it meant I didn’t have to think about whether you were only saying it so I wouldn’t feel bad.”
You swallowed hard, looking away before your face could betray too much.
He walked you further inside, his hand warm at the small of your back, and that was when you noticed the little table by the window. It had been set for two, facing the lake as the sun began to lower behind the mountains. Candlelight, flowers, two plates, homemade pasta that looked slightly lopsided and very clearly like his doing, and a little folded note beside your place.
You stared at it for a second before picking it up.
In his messy, all-caps handwriting, it said:
I SHOULD HAVE MADE YOU FEEL SPECIAL BEFORE NOW. I’M GOING TO DO BETTER.
Max’s face shifted immediately, concern cutting through the nervousness. “Schatje…”
You shook your head quickly trying to laugh it off, but your voice came out thin. “I wanted to be cool,” you whispered. “I wanted to be the girlfriend who didn’t care about all that stuff. I thought if I asked for too much then I’d just become another pressure for you.”
Max stepped closer and cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped out despite your best efforts.
“You are the most important person in my life,” he murmured. “You always are.” His voice dropped softer, rougher. “I wish I could give you the world and I’m sorry it took me this long to show it.”
You looked at him then, really looked at him, at the nervous set of his mouth and the careful way he held you, like he understood now that easiness was not the same thing as not needing anything.
Then you finally kissed him.
Later that night you were curled against his chest with the fireplace crackling softly in the background, the cottage wrapped in that quiet, golden kind of warmth that made everything outside feel very far away.
Max had one arm around you, his hand resting beneath the hem of your sweater, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns against your skin.
You smiled into his shoulder, cheek pressed against the soft fabric as you listened to the steady beat of his.
“So,” you mumbled, voice sleepy but teasing, “is this a one-time gesture or…”
Max’s chest moved beneath you as he chuckled. “Oh no.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Oh no?”
“No,” he said, tightening his arm around you. “You’re getting so much romance now it’ll annoy you.”
You looked up at him trying and failing not to smile. “Really?”
He nodded solemnly, like he was discussing race strategy. “Really. I’m talking airport reunions. Flowers for no reason. Random poetry.”
“Poetry?” you repeated, laughing already.
“Bad poetry,” he corrected. “Very bad. Rhymes way too much.”
“Oh, God.”
“And a cheesy playlist,” he added, completely serious. “Maybe several. One for the car. One for when I’m away. One with songs you’ll make fun of me for.”
You laughed properly then, burying your face in his neck as warmth spread through your chest. It was never about the playlist, or the flowers, or whatever terrible poetry Max Verstappen might attempt in the name of love.
It was that he was thinking about it. That he had finally understood the difference between you not needing to be spoiled and you still deserving to be cherished.
Max turned his head and pressed a kiss into your hair. “I’m serious,” he murmured, quieter now. “I don’t want you wondering anymore.”
Your laughter softened. You lifted your face again, looking at him through the firelight. “Wondering what?”
“If I think about you,” he said. “If I notice. If I care enough to try.”
Your throat tightened, but this time the feeling wasn’t painful. Max brushed his thumb along your cheek. “I do,” he said. “I’ll show you better now.”
For a moment you just looked at him, then you leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to the corner of his mouth before tucking yourself back against him.
“That sounds perfect.” you whispered, smiling against his neck.
you want them to text back but that's anxious attachment isn't it. it's just that you can feel on the wind when you're not wanted anymore. when they've fallen out of love in any small part of their marrow. you have a hawk's eye for disharmony. you can tell when she has begun packing her things.
don't be annoying. you want to write: i have never experienced unconditional love as an explanation but isn't that pathetic. in adulthood all love is conditional and it should be. you've been to too much therapy. touch grass. how sappy can you be.
but they don't reach for your hand while they're driving. they forget to ask you how you're doing. the call times no longer read 12:34:19. they're 30 minutes and perfunctory before she says baby please, i'm tired. i need to go to sleep. where in her life do you fit. why is it that you never fit into anyone's life very long. oblong creature with so many needs, spilling up and out and over everything. it's a fucking shame the first time she said she loved you it was for your independence. and now look at you.
hollow pit in your stomach, body shaking. fuck, not again. you're not going to ruin another relationship like this, codependent and toxic, spiraling. and in the other half of your brain: if that's your wife, wouldn't she want to hear it? wouldn't it be fine? wouldn't she just comfort you and you can both move on and nobody dies?
but you're crowding her! read another instagram Positive Vibes Only type of post that talks about calming your heart and your brain and your body. try to sit in silence. the thing is that you do have a life outside of her, remember? go back to it.
great news, your parents fucked you up and now you have no idea how to deal with love. you just keep wanting to be chosen. to be real to someone, all the way through. real and kept. held closely. seen as precious to somebody. why even is that? didn't you always swear that people can and should complete themselves? why are you so constantly driven to beg for love, doglike and barking?
it's just the tiny things. it's just that you have to weigh every silence and sentence like bricks on an exposed belly. you have no idea how to shut it off. every alarm bell in your body saying: this isn't safe. start scrambling. she's already going.
hey if you catch yourself obsessively thinking about someone in a way that is disrupting your peace & natural routine from day to day such as expecting that text back, missing them etc...then it's time to take a moment, deep breaths & converge all that energy into the self. do an activity that takes you out of your mind & into the body and environment around you. do a workout, cook a meal, light a candle & journal, take a shower, take a walk, talk to people, make use of your 5 senses. do anything that reminds you that there is much more to the self & life. remind yourself that you should be central. remind yourself that it doesn't mean the other person is not important if your brain is turning mean. pls choose this over and over again if you are struggling with this kind of anxiety. create a life & be obsessed with it.
you want them to text back but that's anxious attachment isn't it. it's just that you can feel on the wind when you're not wanted anymore. when they've fallen out of love in any small part of their marrow. you have a hawk's eye for disharmony. you can tell when she has begun packing her things.
don't be annoying. you want to write: i have never experienced unconditional love as an explanation but isn't that pathetic. in adulthood all love is conditional and it should be. you've been to too much therapy. touch grass. how sappy can you be.
but they don't reach for your hand while they're driving. they forget to ask you how you're doing. the call times no longer read 12:34:19. they're 30 minutes and perfunctory before she says baby please, i'm tired. i need to go to sleep. where in her life do you fit. why is it that you never fit into anyone's life very long. oblong creature with so many needs, spilling up and out and over everything. it's a fucking shame the first time she said she loved you it was for your independence. and now look at you.
hollow pit in your stomach, body shaking. fuck, not again. you're not going to ruin another relationship like this, codependent and toxic, spiraling. and in the other half of your brain: if that's your wife, wouldn't she want to hear it? wouldn't it be fine? wouldn't she just comfort you and you can both move on and nobody dies?
but you're crowding her! read another instagram Positive Vibes Only type of post that talks about calming your heart and your brain and your body. try to sit in silence. the thing is that you do have a life outside of her, remember? go back to it.
great news, your parents fucked you up and now you have no idea how to deal with love. you just keep wanting to be chosen. to be real to someone, all the way through. real and kept. held closely. seen as precious to somebody. why even is that? didn't you always swear that people can and should complete themselves? why are you so constantly driven to beg for love, doglike and barking?
it's just the tiny things. it's just that you have to weigh every silence and sentence like bricks on an exposed belly. you have no idea how to shut it off. every alarm bell in your body saying: this isn't safe. start scrambling. she's already going.
you want to tell them what’s wrong, but isn’t that just too much? you don’t want to seem needy. you don’t want to ask for too much. the thing is, you’ve learned how to read the spaces between words—how someone’s tone flattens, the shift in the way they look at you. you can feel the weight of a text that doesn’t come. you’ve lived this before.
don’t panic, don’t panic. you want to write: hey, are we okay? but doesn’t that just prove that you’re too much? you’re too clingy, too desperate. shouldn’t love feel steady? effortless? isn’t this exactly what ruins it every time?
but then: if it’s real, shouldn’t you be able to ask? shouldn’t they want to reassure you? wouldn’t someone who loves you want to say it’s okay, i’m here?
and yet, the little things pile up. they don’t laugh as much as they used to. their texts feel colder, shorter, more obligatory than excited. they stop bringing you into their world the way they used to. it’s just a little distance, you tell yourself. it’s fine. it’s fine. it’s fine.
except it’s not. you know the exact moment people start pulling away. it’s like your body keeps score, wired to anticipate abandonment. your stomach twists, your chest tightens, and suddenly you’re scrambling again. begging to be noticed, chosen, kept.
what a fucking joke. you’ve always prided yourself on being independent, on not needing anyone to fill your empty spaces, but here you are—panicked, waiting by your phone, second-guessing every word you’ve said. you’ve learned how to live alone, but god, you just want to be someone’s. you want someone to look at you and stay.
but here you are again, barking for scraps of love like a dog left out in the rain. like they’re the only shelter you’ve ever known. you wish you could be enough, just once. you wish you could be someone worth holding on to.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write a poly fic of Qifrey and Olruggio with reader.
Can you make one where they’re doing domestic things when the girls have gone to bed/settle down like cleaning the kitchen and getting ready for bed together as they reminisce on how they got to where they are today
"Woven into Home"
Summary: After a chaotic morning involving broken beds, hangovers, and far too much teasing, the quiet rhythms of life at the atelier continue on as normal. But beneath the warmth of shared meals, playful bickering, and peaceful evenings, you can’t help but feel slightly out of step with Qifrey and Olruggio’s long history together. As the day unfolds, both men gently remind you that love is not measured by time known, but by the care woven into everyday moments and that somewhere along the way, you’ve already become part of their home.
Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Qifrey/Reader/Olruggio, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Emotional Insecurity, Established Relationship, Hangover Shenanigans, Soft Teasing, Found Family, Atelier Life, Qifrey Being Smooth, Olruggio Being Bluntly Affectionate, Apprentices Being Observant, Cuddling, Emotional Reassurance, Slice of Life.
Word Count: 3.4k
Requested?: Yes! by two anons, the 2nd request featured below.
Dividers by: @cursed-carmine & @enchanthings-a
Your eyes squint from the intrusion of the early sun’s glistening rays, a painful moan escaping you as the alcoholic activities of last night catch up to your consciousness. You feel suffocated and unbearably warm as sweat pools onto your back while two weights press against either side of your body.
You attempt to sit up but are pulled back down by a pair of equally sweaty and hot arms. Your slightly hungover brain slowly registers that the weight pulling you down is none other than both of your lovely partners, whom you would love nothing more than to get away from because of the unbearable heat you all collectively generate.
“My dears… please…” you plead, your arms straining against their hold as they lovingly try to pull you back into their embrace. “It’s so hot and sweaty… and it’s still too early.”
While actively trying to escape their strong hold, you look back at Qifrey. “Aren’t you supposed to be preparing something for the girls?”
“They aren’t usually—” Qifrey grunts, trying with all his might to reel you back in. “—awake during this hour.”
Olruggio groans, attempting to pull you down further. “Jus’ come back to bed.”
“And… respectfully, it’s not like this isn’t our first time being hot and sweaty together,” Qifrey says smoothly, followed by Olruggio’s deep laugh that shakes the hanging bed, each tremble echoing throughout your very being.
As quickly as it came, that flustered state is cut short when another bead of sweat pulls you out of the lovely bubble you had been in.
“Okay— seriously, let’s get uUP—!”
You are quickly interrupted as Qifrey locks his arms around your waist and forcibly drags you back down.
Olruggio snuggles closer, his nose buried into the crook of your neck as he inhales contentedly at your scent, no matter how sweaty you may be. “Just stay. It’s rare that we get a quiet moment like this.”
Your own body betrays you as it starts to relax into their hold, your muscles seemingly melting into theirs like puzzle pieces.
…sssnap!
Your eyebrows furrow at the sound. You look around, eyes narrowing as you try to find the source of the noise. You spot it. One of the many ropes responsible for keeping the hanging bed well… hanging.
Your previously tipsy state vanishes as realization sobers you up.
“Um… guys?”
They both hum at the same time and at the same pitch before laughing at their synchronization. Moments like these always catch you a little off guard. The ease between them is effortless, years of history woven into tiny habits you aren’t always quick enough to follow.
From their heavy laughter, the bed shakes again and your eyes widen as the rope begins to…
…sssnap!
“Both of you stop moving, the bed is going to break,” you say hurriedly, desperately trying to get them to notice.
You’d think Olruggio, out of the three of you, would be the one noticing that his own bed was literally hanging on by a thread, but instead his tipsy state gives him the courage to make a joke.
“It’s not our first time breaking a bed.”
They both laugh and wheeze at the joke before a concerningly loud SNAP bounces off the walls.
Their laughter quickly dies down as their eyes snap toward the noise. You look up and a breath of relief escapes you as you realize you all have not fallen. One rope has snapped and landed on your torso while the remaining ropes still cling to the metal hooks nailed into the brick wall.
“Okay, now you guys notice? C’mon, what if we were actually in danger?”
Qifrey, ever the charmer, presses a chaste kiss onto your cheek. “We’re sorry, love.”
From your neck, Olruggio gives you a small kiss as well.
“Should we be worried about the other suspenders?” you ask as you point toward the remaining three intact ropes.
Suddenly, all three nails keeping the ropes secured snap from the wall, sending the three of you crashing onto the stairs below.
Olruggio lands flat against the stairs, you falling on top of him and cushioning yourself, while Qifrey desperately grabs onto the wooden frame of the bed in an attempt to steady himself, his legs sprawled across your body.
Qifrey, dazed from the fall, mutters, “Well… you’re out of bed now.”
You and Olruggio can only groan in response.
Olruggio lays on the couch, fingers pressed to his temple as he attempts to soothe the avalanche of a headache plaguing him.
In the kitchen, you and Qifrey prepare breakfast for the entire atelier.
You walk toward your hungover lover to try and soothe him, but he swats your hand away.
“I’m fine… dun’ worry ‘bout me,” he mumbles unconvincingly, his words slurring with every consonant.
You playfully roll your eyes. “We both know that’s not true. Now let us help you. You never accept me or Qifrey’s help!”
His brows knit together, one raised higher than the other. “As if you and Qifrey are any different!”
You laugh. It’s true. All three of you have a difficult time accepting help, but that refusal comes from not wanting to make life difficult for others. So the fact that he refuses for that reason only makes you want to help him more.
“You too! You are actively refusing our help in this very moment!”
Qifrey joins the two of you, hangover cure in hand. “Here, my star. Drink.”
Olruggio takes one good look at the cure and immediately turns away. “No. Is that the raw egg and milk cure????”
“The very same.”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
You and Qifrey laugh, Qifrey hiding his giggles behind his hand.
Your laughter softens as you watch them bicker so naturally. They move around each other with such ease that sometimes you feel a step behind without meaning to.
“I’m joking. It’s water. It’s important to stay hydrated when you’re hungover.”
Olruggio carefully inspects the contents of the glass, making sure it truly is water. After concluding that it is, he drinks it.
You notice the shift in his eyes after the first gulp, his Adam’s apple bouncing rapidly before he exhales in satisfaction.
“Wow,” you say, slightly surprised. “You must be really thirsty.”
“Of course I am! That drinking game was—”
“Did someone say game?!” a high-pitched voice exclaims.
All three of you look up to see Qifrey’s apprentices, all donning their in-house uniforms.
Richeh sticks her chin over the stair railing. “I want to play too.”
Qifrey’s eyes light up at the sight of his beloved students. “Good morning, girls!”
“Good morning, Professor Qifrey,” they all say in unison, though with varying levels of enthusiasm.
Qifrey notices the lack thereof from Coco and Agott and makes a mental note.
Sometimes it amazes you how quickly Qifrey and Olruggio notice changes in the people around them. You still feel like you are learning how to keep up with that quiet attentiveness.
“What happened to Master Olruggio?”
“He’s just feeling a little sick,” Qifrey explains as he stands up. “Now, who wants breakfast?”
Coco approaches Olruggio with genuine concern, asking what she can do to help him recover. Judging by the worried expression on her face, she seems to believe he has come down with an actual illness.
Meanwhile, Agott, Richeh, and Tetia exchange knowing looks amongst themselves, the true cause of Olruggio’s condition painfully obvious to the three apprentices who are already more than accustomed to their masters’ antics.
Olruggio is somewhat conscious on the kitchen table, still nursing his better-than-before hangover, his forehead resting against the hard wood.
Qifrey watches your figure as you silently hover over Olruggio’s somewhat conscious body. He sees you hesitate and carefully measure your actions as if even a small mistake could mean catastrophe, though he doubts you could do anything of that nature.
You slowly lift Olruggio’s head and place a folded towel where his forehead meets the table.
You glance back at Qifrey, whose hands are occupied with preparing lunch, though his attention seems elsewhere. “A pretty penny for your thoughts?” you ask.
“You don't need a pretty penny, you simply need to ask,” he replies. “I’m just thinking about how lucky I am.”
His hands skillfully continue preparing the lunch for today’s outing while his gaze drifts toward Olruggio.
You smile softly. “He’s such a lovely person. We are both lucky to have him as our partner.”
“Not just him.” He pauses as he caresses your cheek, forcing you to look at him. “You as well.”
You flush instantly. “O-of course! I knew that… you meant me too.”
You smile awkwardly at him. “I knew that,” you blurt again, more to convince yourself than him.
But alas, his all-seeing eye notices everything.
He gives you a look that clearly says he doesn’t believe you before continuing to pack the lunches into baskets.
“What, pray tell, is the reason for your…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Apprehension.”
You shake your head while placing the prepared lunches into the basket. “I… perhaps I feel a bit insecure. You and Olruggio have known each other since you were children, I—”
You look down, your hands lightly gripping the table. “I just feel out of place sometimes, like I’m getting in the way of something.”
He moves closer to you, his head leaning against your shoulder while his hand slips around your arm before resting within your palm.
“You are not getting in the way. Me and Olruggio knowing each other for years does not make our relationship with you any lesser or insignificant.”
“In fact…” he murmurs against your ear, effectively sending a chill down your spine, “I find it quite nice. While we know so much about each other already, me and Olruggio really love getting to know more about you.”
His eyes drift around, searching for an object to compare the situation to.
“To us, you are like a magic textbook. Something thrilling to explore and study.”
“Your mind, the people you know, the magic you cast… every bit of it, we love to learn.”
He steps away, still close enough for you to feel his warmth but far enough for you to fully see his face.
“But…” A teasing smile tugs at his lips. “There are other things we enjoy exploring as well.”
His gaze slowly trails over you, affectionate and unbearably knowing.
Your eyebrows raise in surprise. You quickly shove the finished basket into his arms before running toward your personal chambers in a fit of flustered embarrassment.
You hear him chuckle behind you.
You and Olruggio sit shoulder to shoulder on the picnic blanket, eating the lunch you and Qifrey lovingly prepared.
As you lean into Olruggio, you admire the peaceful scene before you: Qifrey and his students practicing magic.
It’s really nice watching this, seeing both Qifrey and Olruggio so deeply in their element.
“I heard your conversation. With Qifrey.”
He starts suddenly, and you feel yourself figuratively shrink.
“And…?”
“Well— I agree with Qifrey, though I can’t explain it as eloquently as him,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.
A long stretch of silence falls between you before he finally asks:
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I… I don’t really know. I just didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want you and Qifrey to have to change to accommodate me.”
He exhales softly, the hand that had been scratching his neck now wrapping around your shoulders.
“You are never a burden, alright? And—”
“Then maybe you should do it yourself!”
You and Olruggio immediately look toward the source of the argument and see Coco and Agott bickering while Qifrey attempts to de-escalate the situation.
Your feet instinctively carry you toward the trio.
“What’s wrong?” you ask as you kneel down to meet Coco and Agott eye to eye.
“Every time I try casting it, Agott keeps correcting me before I can even finish!” Coco exclaims, tears already welling in her eyes.
Agott immediately fires back, sparks practically flying from her mouth. “I was trying to help you fix it before it became dangerous!”
“See?! You always do that!”
You place a comforting hand on each of their shoulders.
“Both of you, breathe. We are letting our negative emotions get the better of us.”
You demonstrate by taking a slow deep breath, and eventually they follow.
You turn toward Coco first.
“Now, Coco, why don’t you tell Agott how her words felt to you?”
“Um…” She fidgets nervously with her wand. “I know you were trying to help… but every correction made me panic more.”
Her eyes squeeze shut.
“It makes me feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”
“But if I don’t point it out, the spell could fail completely,” Agott insists, looking toward Coco.
“But you always sound so annoyed when you talk to me!”
“I’m not annoyed at you! I’m frustrated because you keep doubting yourself!”
Your eyes flicker between them.
It’s clear Agott truly just wants to be helpful; she simply struggles to communicate it properly.
And Coco… hears the criticism louder because of her own insecurities.
Agott’s words only deepen those fears.
You look directly into Coco’s eyes, desperate for your words to truly reach her.
“Coco, being corrected does not mean people are disappointed in you. Agott was only trying to help you improve.”
Then you turn toward Agott, gently brushing her curls away from her face.
“And Agott, being helpful also means considering how your words affect others emotionally. I know you more than anyone understand how hard Coco works to catch up. So try being a bit gentler, okay?”
Slowly, Coco and Agott pull each other into a soft embrace, silently exchanging apologies.
Tetia immediately joins the hug while Richeh quietly tugs at both their sleeves, pulling them even closer together.
Coco lets out a tiny sniffle as Agott blushes furiously beneath the affection.
You stand back up, smiling softly at the sight of their reconciliation.
Qifrey walks up beside you, whispering a quiet “Thank you” before pressing a kiss against your cheek.
Before returning to his students, his eyes drift past you.
When you glance behind yourself, you notice Olruggio staring back at him.
For a moment, you feel a step behind them.
Did you miss something? Why were they sharing that look? What did you miss?
Olruggio walks toward you, his expression both serious and soft.
But his affectionate gaze goes entirely unnoticed as your thoughts spiral violently in your head.
What if you stepped in where you weren’t needed? What if you never truly fixed the rift between them? What if—
“Hey.”
Your head snaps toward him.
His hand rests gently against your shoulder, concern clear within his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
You quickly look away, blinking your tears back. “Yes.”
He pulls you closer immediately.
“You can’t hide from me.”
You say nothing.
“Did it look like he didn’t want you there?”
You still don’t answer.
What could you even say to that?
“[Name], listen to me.”
“You add so much to us, to our relationship with Qifrey and…” He glances toward the scene before him. It resembles the one he saw earlier with you. But it’s different now.
Because it has been touched by you.
He nods his head to point at the apprentices. “To the kids.”
You are then enveloped into a tight embrace. “You aren’t a burden, you never will be.”
“Now, like I said, I’m not as well spoken as Qifrey but–” He pulls away, staring deep into your eyes, much like you did with Coco. “Us adjusting to your needs, your wants, your life style? is the easiest thing we have ever done.”
You look into his tired eyes, eyes heavy from endless deadlines and late night work sessions. What you find isn’t exhaustion but the eyes of a man who loves you.
Just as the atelier is full of life in the early hours of the day, the atelier goes to sleep at the early hours of the night. (Due to Olruggio’s strict rules on the importance of a good sleep schedule.)
The girls had been sent off to bed together with their respective roommate, though not without complaints from Tetia, one last question from Coco, and Richeh nearly falling asleep at the dinner table from her food baby before Qifrey carried her upstairs himself.
Now only the three of you remained awake.
This has become an unofficial tradition for you three, to let go of the stress from deadlines, teaching and insecurity.
The golden magical light illuminated the room as you and Olly diligently work on washing the dirty dishes.
You dried dishes while Qifrey stacked them inside the cupboard specifically for kitchen appliances, and Olruggio stood at the sink washing the last few cups.
The rhythm between the three of you was quiet and practiced.
Comfortable.
“Agott pretended not to care about dessert again,” Qifrey mused absentmindedly.
Olruggio snorted softly. “And then took the biggest slice after everyone else grabbed theirs.”
“She thought nobody noticed,” you added with a laugh.
“She gets that from you,” Olruggio muttered toward Qifrey.
Qifrey gasped dramatically. “Excuse you? I am very emotionally transparent.”
Both you and Olruggio looked at him in silence. A look that read 'Come on now, look who’s talking.'
“…Cruel,” Qifrey sighed.
Your laughter filled the kitchen before slowly fading back into comfortable quiet.
You handed Olruggio another plate to dry, only for him to catch your wrist instead.
“Hm?” you blinked.
He brought your knuckles to his lips absentmindedly before letting go like it was second nature.
And maybe it was now.
For a moment, you simply watched them.
Qifrey humming softly to himself, Olruggio’s sleeves rolled past his elbows.
The soft clinking of dishes.
The occasional splash of water.
The familiar feeling of being gently bumped into whenever one of them passed by.
You smile, you could live the rest of your life like this.
Within the familiar walls of Qifrey’s room sits the three of you.
Olruggio spoons you from behind, your back pressed firmly against his chest, while Qifrey lies in front of you.
All three pairs of legs tangle together beneath the comfortable softness of Qifrey’s blanket.
“Today was perfect,” you sigh contentedly. “Nothing went wrong today.”
You pause thoughtfully.
“Well— other than our incident this morning and Olruggio being hungover.”
You hear a grunt from Olruggio and a chuckle from Qifrey.
Olruggio takes your hand within his and presses a soft kiss against it.
At the same time, Qifrey adjusts the blanket higher around the three of you, only for Olruggio to immediately tug it back down.
“You’re gonna overheat them again.”
“I control water, not body temperature.”
“Clearly not well enough.”
Their familiar back-and-forth makes warmth bloom within your chest before either of them notices your smile.
Sandwiched between your lovers beneath the blanket, you finally feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with the sticky heat from earlier that morning.
You exhale softly, the exhaustion of the day dissolving beneath Olruggio’s steady warmth and Qifrey’s calm, flowing presence, as though the two of them together could melt every worry away.
You close your eyes and simply exist within the moment.
No overthinking.
No comparing.
No wondering whether you belonged here.
You feel them shift around you occasionally, absentminded touches tracing along your arms and hands.
Olruggio reaches over your shoulder to steal one of Qifrey’s kisses meant for you, earning an offended gasp from him.
“That was for dearest here, how greedy of you, Olly!” Qifrey teases.
“Mhm. Don’t care. Shared resources,” Olruggio mutters sleepily against your shoulder.
Qifrey narrows his eyes before leaning forward and pressing another kiss against your forehead anyway, purely out of spite.
Caught between their quiet bickering, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.
Their touches are soft and thoughtless now, the kind of intimacy born from habit, from love, from knowing exactly where to find one another even in silence.
At some point, without realizing it, you had stopped feeling like a guest in their lives.
You had become part of the routine.
Part of the home.
Held safely between them, you finally let yourself rest.
A/N: I cant believe this fic took me like 11 days... sorry! I was preoccupied preparing for college adjhwkjdha
here is the other request btw, i decided to combine them bcuz why not
I hope you guys like this! if you like what you read maybe tell me in the comments below :3
5 Tiny Writing Tips That Aren’t Talked About Enough (but work for me)
These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.
1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.
Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of
“She walked to the window,”
try
“The window creaked open under her touch.”
Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.
2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.
Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.
“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”
sets a way stronger tone than
“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”
3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.
Instead of:
"I'm fine," she said.
Try:
"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.
It helps shows emotion, and movement.
4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.
No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.
5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”
Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.
What’s a tip that unexpectedly helped with your writing? Let me know!! 🍒
Heyyy! So I dunno if your reqs are currently open but your Qifrey fics are absolute gold! And I wanted to come on here and request a fic where Qifrey and reader get caught kissing in their room by the girls because they were snooping and somehow they all end up on the bed together, cramped but happy and sleeping
If you don't wanna do this or cant do this, thats understandable but I would I like a reply on wht if thats the case so I know for future reference:)
Thank you for your service to the Qifrey fangirls🫶🫶🫶
"I knew it!"
Qifrey x reader
cw: none
AN: I'm sorry for replying so late. I swear I read your request and wanted to start writing immediately. Unfortunately I'm in the middle of finals so writing outside of school tends to be a bit tedious
:( Still, I gotta keep my Qifrey fangirls/boys and theys fed ✊
The lamplight in Qifrey’s room was soft and golden, casting warm shadows along the wooden walls. You sat beside him on the edge of his bed, a book open between you, though neither of you had turned a page in quite some time. The quiet felt different tonight. It was heavier, but in a comforting way, like something unspoken was waiting to be acknowledged. Qifrey glanced at you, then at the book, and let out a small breath of amusement.
“You haven’t been reading,” he said gently. You huffed, trying to defend yourself, but your voice lacked conviction. “Neither have you.”
He smiled at that, slow and knowing, and closed the book with a soft snap. The sound seemed louder than it should have been, like it marked a shift between you.
“Perhaps I’ve been distracted,” he admitted. His eyes lingered on yours, and your heart skipped in response.
You weren’t sure who leaned in first. It felt like it happened at the same time. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, as if both of you were savoring the moment instead of rushing it. His hand lifted to your cheek, warm and steady, and you felt yourself melt into it.
“Is this alright?” he murmured quietly against your lips, giving you the chance to pull away. You shook your head just slightly. “Don’t stop."
That was all the encouragement he needed. The kiss deepened, still gentle, still careful, but full of warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.
“Master Qifrey?” Coco’s voice came from the doorway, followed by the unmistakable creak of it opening wider. The two of you sprang apart immediately, turning to see all four girls standing there. Coco blinked in surprise. Tetia’s face lit up instantly with excitement. Agott looked scandalized, and Richeh simply observed in silence. “I knew it!” Tetia squealed, rushing into the room. “I knew something was going on!” “You should knock,” Agott snapped, even though she clearly hadn’t. Coco covered her mouth, half-laughing, half-apologizing. “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said quickly, though her curious gaze said otherwise.
Qifrey cleared his throat and straightened slightly, though there was a faint flush to his ears. “It seems you’ve all discovered something a bit earlier than intended,” he said, attempting composure. You hid your face in your hands for a moment before laughing despite yourself. “There’s no saving this, is there?” you muttered. “Nope!” Tetia chirped happily, already climbing onto the bed as if she belonged there. The others followed soon after, the room filling with chatter, teasing, and far too many questions. Qifrey sighed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned back, clearly giving up on maintaining any sense of order.
Eventually, the energy softened. The lantern burned lower, and one by one, yawns interrupted the conversation. “It’s late,” Coco said, rubbing her eyes. “We should probably go.” “Or we could just stay,” Tetia suggested immediately, already curling up in the blankets. “It’s warm here.” “That’s not proper,” Agott began, but her voice wavered as another yawn slipped out. Richeh simply settled down without comment, which seemed to settle the matter.
Blankets were pulled out and layered across the bed until it became a soft, crowded nest. Somehow, all of you fit. It was messy and unorganized, but it worked. Coco ended up tucked beside you, Tetia sprawled comfortably near the center, Agott reluctantly settling in with a quiet sigh, and Richeh finding space near the edge. Qifrey was behind you, his arm resting loosely around your shoulders. It felt natural, like it had always been there.
“Goodnight, everyone,” he said softly. “Goodnight!” Tetia mumbled, already half-asleep. Coco smiled sleepily. “Goodnight, Master Qifrey… goodnight,” she added, glancing at you with a knowing look. You squeezed Qifrey’s hand beneath the blankets, and he returned it gently.
The room slowly grew quiet. The earlier embarrassment faded into something warm and safe. You leaned back slightly against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. Around you, the girls shifted closer together, drawn by warmth and comfort. It felt peaceful in a way that words couldn’t quite capture.
As your eyes drifted closed, you heard Qifrey whisper softly near your ear, “We’ll talk about this properly tomorrow.” You smiled faintly. “We will.” And with that, surrounded by soft blankets and the quiet presence of everyone you cared about, you fell asleep, warm and close, knowing this moment would stay with you for a long time.
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