24 || She/her || Soap

Not a writing account Qifreyswifee’s baby💅🏽 ‼️TW: SERIOUSLY DARK CONTENT is reblogged here!! Enter at your own discretion‼️ WITCH HAT ATELIER, JUJUTSU KAISEN, APOTHECARY DIARIES, ATTACK ON TITAN, MY HERO ACADEMIA, HUNTER X HUNTER, DEATH NOTE, Seven Deadly Sins, Black Butler, Ouran High School Host Club, Kakeguri, Sk8 The Infinity, Yuri On Ice, Bungo Stray Dogs, Life Lessons with Uramichi Oniisan, Kamisamas Kiss, Chainsaw Man, One Punch Man, black clover, Spy x family, solo leveling

[qifreyswifee]

Washing Machine Heart

Summary: Living with Olruggio and Qifrey—the love of your life—things have never been better and when Qifrey finally asks you to marry him, you're the happiest you've ever been, until you realize perhaps you shouldn't be. Word Count: 5.5k~ Warnings: Could be spoilers for Manga, Angst, betrayal, chronic migraines, mentions of reader getting hurt Idea Creds: @shhhhhhxoxo125 (Don't worry, we hate ourselves for writing it too. Please Enjoy :)

Electricity crackles along your scalp, settling behind your eyes with a deep, nerve biting pain. Over the past year, you have suffered with intermittent migraines, but within these past six months, the timing and intensity has increased, you can’t go more than two weeks without an episode. Luckily, your doting lover, Qifrey, is here to nurture you back to some sort of normalcy. Helping you to the bathroom when the nausea becomes so unbearable your own two feet simply won’t hold you up, rotating your ice packs in the freezer so you always have a fresh one ready, even filling your water each time it’s close to empty–stating that dehydration will only make it worse. And when you are finally ready for him to hold you–knowing how touch can sometimes amplify the pain when your nerves are firing so intensely–he will cradle you to his chest and apologize for the pain. No matter how many times you tell him it’s alright and it’ll pass, he continues to apologize, knowing exactly what you are going through and wishing he could do more to help. 

Light shines in from the rising sun through the break in your curtains, a lingering ache in your skull from the day before. You turn over to find Qifrey’s side of the bed empty–as usual–he knew how much you valued your sleep and he liked to get started on his day bright and early. Your water bottle is freshly filled with ice cold water and a small pill sat in front of it to help with your remaining pain. 

You swallow the pill and use the bit of strength you had to push yourself from the bed, knowing some breakfast will help restore your energy. The atelier was quiet, the birds singing outside the only sound echoing through the stone halls; until you reach closer to the kitchen and the soft humming of your lover hits your ears. 

“Hello, love,” You wrap your arms around Qifrey’s waist and he startles, sucking in a breath. 

“You gave me a fright,” He chuckles, looking over his shoulder at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” You laid your cheek against his back. 

“It’s quite alright,” He said, setting down the knife he was using to chop, “How’s your head?” He wipes his hands off with a towel. 

“Much better, thank you,” You release his waist and stand on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“There’s still warm soup in the pot over there if you are hungry,” He points to the table in the corner. 

“Would you like to sit with me?” You ask. 

“I really need to–”

“Qifrey,” Olruggio walks into the kitchen, face a bit red. 

“Olruggio,” Qifrey wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, “Is everything alright?” 

“I need to speak with you.” Olruggio looks between the two of you. 

“I’m sure it can be said in front of [name],” Qifrey lays his head on top of yours. 

“It’s a private matter,” Olruggio looks down at you, “Apologies [name],” 

“No worries, I need to eat something anyway,” You pull out of his embrace, making your way to the table to make a bowl of soup, “I’ll be here when you return,” You smile at Qifrey. 

“Alright, but come find us if you need anything,” He walks to the space where Olruggio stands, “I love you,” He calls out as they walk through the threshold of the door. 

“I love you too,” You call back.

Making yourself a bowl of soup and sitting down, you wonder what the two of them could be discussing. Olruggio also seemed a bit odd, almost nervous. His face was red and he had been sweating, but you assumed it happened to be a hot day outside. You don’t remember him ever being so standoffish with you, like your mere presence alone was an inconvenience. Perhaps you were overthinking it, he just wanted to have a private conversation with Qifrey, they’ve known each other far longer than you’ve been around, it’s not like they can’t have conversations about private matters. 

But the fact that he needed to have it right now did peak your curiosity. You took another bite of soup before deciding you simply need to know what they were talking about, and you could ask Qifrey when he returns, but you doubt  he would give you all the information. So against your better judgement, you stood from the table and made your way to Olruggio's room to snoop on their conversation. 

His door was cracked, but you would’ve been able to hear the annoyance in Olruggio's voice even if it wasn’t. 

“Qifrey, you can’t be serious.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Qifrey says, his typical soft spoken demeanor laced with frustration. 

“But I know you,” Olruggio sighs, “You may love her, but you’re not in love with her,” 

Your eyes widen, why the hell would Olruggio say something like that?

“You’ve never been in love Olly, How would you even know what it looks like?” Qifrey spits out. 

“For your information, I have been in love,” Olruggio takes a breath, “But that’s not the discussion we are having.” 

Qifrey takes a deep breath, “Olruggio, I understand your concerns, but I’d appreciate it if you did not get involved in my relationship.” 

“Because you know I’m right?” Olruggio asks.

You hold your breath, awaiting Qifrey’s response as if it couldn’t come quick enough. 

“Because you are being irrational,” Qifrey clears his throat, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure the love of my life is feeling alright.” 

“If anyone is being irrational, it’s you,” Olruggio calls after him. 

You run back to the kitchen before you could be caught, out of breath and ears ringing as you sit back down at the table, filling your bowl with more soup to be less conspicuous. 

“How’s the soup?” Qifrey asks, flattening out his cloak as he enters the kitchen. 

“Delicious,” You smile. 

“Wonderful,” He walks back to the counter and starts to slice the vegetables he had been working on earlier. 

You stare at his back, a pit forming in your stomach. He did love you, right? You had met him and Olruggio at The Great Hall, becoming quick friends, and when you mentioned wanting to leave, they offered you to stay at their atelier. You hadn’t planned to get attached, and you surely had not planned to fall in love with Qifrey, but life has a funny way of things. However, Olruggio had known Qifrey since childhood. They were practically inseparable when you first met them, before they had a falling out a few years ago—at least that was what Qifrey told you, Olruggio doesn’t seem to remember what they fought about—but the two of you had grown closer since then, which is how you ended up dating and well, falling in love. But maybe Qifrey is having doubts. Surely he would talk to you about them though? You both were incredibly honest in your relationship, it was one of the key factors that made your relationship run smoothly. You took a deep breath, perhaps Olruggio was feeling left out, wanting to be as close to Qifrey as he once was. Yeah, it had to be an insecurity thing. You trust Qifrey. 

You threw your wand across the room, the wooden piece smacking against the wall. No matter what you did, your hands shook. The shaking started around the same time as the migraines, making it harder to draw, and ultimately hindering your power as a witch. The days after an attack tended to make the shaking worse and it would typically subside in a few days, but that didn’t ease your frustration. You would like to go to a doctor to understand what was happening, but if the knight's moralis found out, they would consider you a hazard to witch society and surely erase your memories. Tears streamed down your face, you worked incredibly hard to get to where you were, you were a strong, competent witch, so to feel your body betraying you like this… well some days it was more than you could bear. 

As if right on cue, Qifrey walks through the door. 

“What happened?” He rushes to your side, kneeling in front of you. 

“My stupid hands won’t work,” Your bottom lip quivers.

He sighs, “Why don’t you take a break? Get some fresh air.” 

“Because I want to draw Qifrey! I can’t be a witch if I can’t draw. I don’t understand why this is happening to me!” You shout. 

He flinches as if you’ve struck him, “You don’t deserve this, any of it,” He takes a deep breath, “How about I help you?” 

He grabs your wand from the floor, placing it in your hand before holding you steady, helping you to draw the sigil, runes, and the finishing circle. A ball of flame hovers over the paper and though it's a small spell, you feel your shoulders relax a bit. 

“See? You just needed some assistance. Perhaps we can come up with something to help your hand stability.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. 

Olruggio clears his throat in the doorway. 

“Oh, Olruggio, how long have you been there?” Qifrey smirks. 

“Long enough, I wanted to speak with [name],” Olruggio says. 

Why did he want to speak with you? Was he going to try to convince you next that you didn’t love Qifrey?

“Do you have the item I asked you for?” Qifrey questions. 

“Soon,” Olruggio assures him. 

“Soon then.” Qifrey stands, helping you up from the floor, “Are you alright?” 

You nod, “Yes, just a bit tired.” 

“I can help her,” Olruggio steps into the room, linking his arm with yours. 

“Really, I’m alright,” You laugh. 

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Olruggio assures you, “I’ll bring her back in a bit and we can have dinner, yeah?” He asks. 

“I’ll finish preparation.” Qifrey trails behind the two of you before turning to the kitchen. 

“Let’s go out to the garden, the flowers are blooming beautifully,” Olruggio says. 

Neither of you says a word on the walk, the spring breeze littering goosebumps across your skin, the cherry blossom petals swirling around you. Olruggio helps you to sit on the bench in the center of the garden. 

“How’s your head? Qifrey said you had a rather nasty headache yesterday,” Olruggio asks. 

“It’s better, though I’m still fatigued,” You hold up your shaky hands. 

“That’ll get better, you know it,” Olruggio assures you, knowing how you feel about your hands not working. 

You always enjoy talking to Olruggio. Besides Qifrey, he was one of your closest friends. You knew he had your back no matter the circumstance, even if he was feeling insecure at this time, you knew if the need arose he would be there for you. 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior as of late,” Olruggio says. 

“What do you mean?” He didn’t know that you snooped on his and Qifrey’s conversation, so you’re not sure of the behavior he was referring to.

“I’ve been a bit distant and standoffish towards you, and that’s not fair. I care for you and I don’t want you to think otherwise.” Olruggio huffs, “I’m not exactly sure why I've been acting that way though.” 

“While I appreciate your apology, I hadn’t exactly noticed,” You rub the back of your neck. 

“I am glad to not have hurt your feelings with it at least,” Olruggio laughs nervously. 

Though he did hurt your feelings with his conversation with Qifrey, you surely couldn’t say that and reveal that you snooped.  

“Leave it behind us?” You asked, smiling up at him. 

You didn’t want that to affect your friendship with him, surely him apologizing now, meant he felt bad for that conversation as well. 

“I think we can do that,” He smiled, though there was a deep sadness in his eyes. 

You tilt your head, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about?” 

“No, that was it,” He stood from the bench, “We should head inside, I’m sure Qifrey has dinner ready by now,” He held a hand out for you to take, “And you need to keep fed.” 

You giggle, taking his hand, “Keep fed?” 

“You need to get your strength back,” He led you back to the atelier. 

You sigh, “I’m not sure I’ll ever get my full strength back, Olly.” 

“Be patient with yourself. You’ll figure it out, even if you need to adapt.” 

Qifrey had the table practically set when you both arrived, grabbing the bowls from the cabinet to finish up. He offers you both a smile. 

“Smells delicious,” Olruggio sniffs. 

“Why thank you, Olly,” Qifrey sets the bowls down on the table, snaking an arm around your waist and helping you into your seat. 

Olruggio doesn’t waste a moment piling the food into his bowl and then into his mouth, making you giggle. 

“Slow down,” You say. 

“I’m starving,” He mumbles with a mouth full of food. 

“You’re going to choke,” Qifrey chuckles, rather amused with Olruggio. 

He sits down next to you, pulling your chair closer to him without a word before diving into his food as well. 

This is exactly how you liked it. A peaceful evening eating dinner with the two most important people in your life. 

Olruggio was thoroughly drunk by the time dinner ended, Qifrey having to help him back to his room, even though Olruggio insisted he was fine. You had made yourself ready for bed and snuggled under the covers by the time Qifrey came to the room, his own cheeks rosy from the alcohol. 

“Olly had a bit much, huh?” You giggle. 

“We nearly collapsed halfway to his room,” Qifrey laughs, getting into bed next to you. 

You turn to his side, lying on his chest, “Do you ever think he gets lonely?” You asked, remembering back to Olruggio saying he’d been in love before. 

Qifrey sighs, “I sure hope not,” A hint of sadness in his voice. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the room was pitch dark when you awoke. Qifrey stood near the open window, the moonlight outside casting a glow over his silhouette. 

You stood from the bed, wrapping your arms around Qifrey’s waist, “Come back to bed, my love.” 

Qifrey sighs, “What do you think Olly stays up so late doing?” 

“Huh?” You look out the window, a dim light coming from Olruggio’s window, “I imagine he’s working on spells or some sort of contraption.” 

“He really should get proper sleep,” Qifrey says, not removing his eyes from the window. 

“He’s a grown adult, Qifrey,” You giggle, “I’m sure he knows how to look after himself.” 

“We all need someone to look after us, even in adulthood,” He sighs, a far off look in his eye. 

You crinkle your brows, “Is everything alright, Qifrey?” 

“Yes, why don’t you head back to bed? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay,” You turn to go back to bed, pausing to look over your shoulder at him. 

His arms were crossed and his shoulders slumped, as if something had upset him. You trust he would tell you when he was ready. 

The next morning was rather chaotic, Qifrey seemed on edge, as if he needed to have his brain constantly stimulated. You were feeling much better than the previous day and chose to take the time to draw some spells, being able to fill your entire palm quire. Your hands were sore and cramping by the end of it, but you took it as a win that they worked long enough to accomplish that.

With a sense of pride in your chest, you went to look for Qifrey, wanting to tell him about it. The atelier was awfully quiet, and you couldn’t seem to find him. Perhaps he was with Olruggio, but when you checked his room, peeking through the door, Olruggio was mumbling into some paper on his desk, looking rather frustrated, and you chose not to bother him. 

The only other place you thought Qifrey would be is the garden, so you decide to look there. What you hadn’t expected to see, was an incredible display of light in the sky, an array of flowers, fireworks, and even different birds floating about. You smile up at the sight, looking down to the end of the garden where Qifrey sits on the bench. You sit down next to him, watching as he twiddles with his thumbs. 

“What’s all this about?” You ask, placing your hand over his. 

“You deserve something special,” He smiles up at you, “In fact, you deserve so much more than I think I’ll ever be able to give you,” He takes a deep breath, “But I'd like to try,” he stands from the bench, kneeling down on one knee in front of you, “Since you came to our atelier, I’ve always felt drawn to you, like this invisible force pulling us together. I know we’ve had our struggles in the past, but there’s no one I’d rather go through them with. I love you, I have loved you so much longer than you’ve ever known,” he pauses, “You are my person. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with. [name], will you marry me?” His hands shake as he pulls a box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal an oval cut blue gem, with a golden winding bridge, resembling the roots of a tree as they lead up to the gem. 

Tears brim over your waterline, “Yes! I would love to marry you!” You squeal, allowing him to place the ring on your finger, holding your hand in his as he admires it, looking up at you and sighing. 

He stands, allowing you to practically jump into his arms. “It’s beautiful,” You say, holding it up behind his back. 

“It certainly has meaning,” He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. 

He sniffles and you pull away to see tears streaming down his face.

“Aww, Qifrey,” You smile, wiping his tears, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“The rest of our lives,” He says, “Tethered together for eternity,” He chuckles, tears still streaming down his face, “You’re stuck with me now,” He jokes. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with,” You laugh, kissing his lips. 

“I’d surely hope not,” He smiles, though you swear there’s something else there that you can’t quite place. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olruggio freezes, “I didn’t know you were out here.” 

“Olly look!” You run up to him, holding the ring out, “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

“That it is,” He looks up at Qifrey, offering him a smile, “I see congratulations are in order,” He looks back down at you, “An excuse for me to have another drink.” 

“As if you need an excuse,” Qifrey chimes in, wiping his tears and wrapping an arm around your waist, “Olly made that ring for you, with my specifications of course.” 

“Well you did a wonderful job, Olly,” You smile, unable to look away from the rock on your finger. 

“Thank you, I’m glad it’s made you happy,” 

“So very happy,” You lean further into Qifrey’s side. 

Qifrey kisses the top of your head, lingering there for just a moment. 

“Perhaps I’ll make dinner tonight, as a gift of sorts,” Olruggio says. 

“And kill us all with your cooking, I don’t think so,” Qifrey teases. 

“It’s not that bad,” Olruggio says.

“Oh it is,” Qifrey chuckles. 

You smile up at the two of them, always enjoying when they pick on the other. You love seeing the two of them so close, there was a bit of time there when it wasn’t like this and you hope it never had to be that way again. 

The night air left a cool breeze in its wake, sending goosebumps across your skin, but Qifrey insisted on eating a candlelit dinner outside, thinking it would be romantic. Though it started out that way, now you were cold. 

“Qifrey, it’s fr-freezing,” Your teeth chatter. 

“Just a few more minutes,” He lifts his head, allowing the cool breeze to blow through his hair, “I want to feel the air a little longer.” 

As if right on cue, Olruggio shows up with a bottle of wine, “This’ll warm you up.”

“I shouldn’t be drinking, it worsens my headaches,” You purse your lips. 

“One drink shouldn’t do any harm, right?” 

“Alright, just one.” You smile, taking the glass from Olruggio. 

Well, you were now four drinks in, thoroughly warmed up and giggling as Olruggio and Qifrey fought over Olruggio's terrible cooking. Olly swears up and down that his cooking is good and Qifrey recalling a time when the pegasus’ wouldn’t even eat his food. You were laughing so hard, you hadn’t noticed how close they were, how Qifrey’s hand lingered a moment too long on Olly's leg, how their faces were mere inches apart, until you did. 

“What’s up with you two?” You tilt your head, the alcohol making you a bit more confident. 

“What do you mean?” Qifrey pulls away from Olruggio, face red. 

“You were awfully close there for a moment, and then just the other day,” You took a sip of your drink, “When Olruggio claimed you didn’t love me.” 

“Did you snoop on our conversation?” Olruggio furrows his brows. 

“That’s not like you,” Qifrey says, “And of course I love you, we’re getting married.” 

“It’s not like the two of you to have private conversations either, I was simply curious,” You shrug your shoulders, your head beginning to pound. 

“Where is this coming from, Qifrey and I have had plenty of private conversations since you’ve been here,” Olruggio says. 

“Not that I recall.” 

Qifrey huffs, “Perhaps you’re not thinking clearly because of the alcohol.” 

“Or maybe I’m seeing things more clearly than before,” 

Though Qifrey had turned his head, him and Olruggio were still incredibly close, and you knew they were friends, but this was different. A hand brushing his thigh, the closeness of their faces earlier that if one moved even an inch their lips would be touching, even Qifrey staying up at night to stare out the window and worry about Oruggio's sleeping habits. It was all so different from what you remember. You remember Qifrey pushing Olruggio away, not wanting to be as close to him as before and saying it was because he wanted to nurture his relationship with you, but was there more he simply wasn’t telling you? Or were you truly not remembering it correctly? 

You didn’t have a moment to ask another question before you were blasted to the side by some sort of light. 

“[name!]”, Qifrey shouts. 

A brim hat witch floats at the top of the atelier, looking down on the three of you. 

“What do you want?” Qifrey stands from the ground. 

“I was looking to have a bit of fun,” The witch laughs. 

“You need to take her and get out of here,” Olruggio steps in front of Qifrey. 

How could you be so stupid? Yes, your life was in danger at the moment, but how had you not noticed the two of them? Even now, Qifrey looks at Olly with more longing in his eyes than he has ever looked at you. Qifrey was in love with Olruggio, and he had to have felt the same. So why was he with you? Why choose you over someone he felt so deeply for? Your mind spiraled, trying to remember when his feelings changed, when he fell in love with Olruggio, but you couldn’t seem to muster a memory. Had it always been this way? Were you simply naive? 

A clash of spells battered back and forth between the witches, neither willing to back down. Olruggio was struck by lightning falling to the side. You’d never seen such an angry look as the one that donned Qifrey’s face in this moment. Pulling out his book, he began to draw something quickly. But not quick enough as the brim hatted witch threw another fireball his way. You used all your strength to pull yourself up as quickly as possible, your hands still cramped from drawing earlier and barely having the strength to write, but you were not willing to allow Qifrey to be hurt. It didn’t matter how he felt about you, you knew exactly how you felt about him and watching the man you love be injured was not something you could live with. You jumped just in time for the fireball to strike you, a scream of pain leaving your mouth as you crumbled to the ground. A blast of water shot past your peripheral before you faded to darkness. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Your head is absolutely pounding and an almost chemical smell invades your nostrils as you come to. Your eyes flutter open, squinting as they adjust to the light around you. Qifrey sits next to your bed, except he’s not facing you, he hasn’t noticed you’ve woken up yet. He is looking at Olruggio in the bed parallel to you, holding his hand to his forehead, mumbling something you can’t quite hear with the ringing in your ears. Your eyes adjusting to the light and focusing on the sight in front of you, a wave of hurt floods your system as you remember the events from before you passed out. Qifrey was in love with Olruggio and this moment right here was proof enough of it. Without a word, you muster all the strength you can and shove the blankets off of you, Qifrey turning his head with the noise. 

“[name],” He turns to face you, “You’re awake,” He reaches for your hand. 

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, as much as you can with the hoarseness of your throat. 

“W-what?” His eye widens, blinking rapidly, “Here drink this,” He grabs a cup of water from the side table, but you shove his hand away, “Leave me alone.” 

You push up from the bed, a bit wobbly on your feet, but too determined to get out of there. As if the world was closing in on you, the room spinning in circles, you need fresh air, you need to get away from Qifrey, you can’t even look at him right now. 

“Hold on, you should be in bed,” He grabs your wrist.

“I said don’t touch me!” You scream, pulling away from him and ultimately falling to the ground. 

“Let me help you,” He leans down and you pull yourself away, pathetically crawling on the floor at this point, “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re in love with Olruggio, aren’t you?” You seethe.

He pauses halfway down, “No, not again,” He mutters under his breath, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Tears prickle in your eyes. 

You make it to the door, using the handle to pull yourself up and holding on for stability. 

“Do you love him?” Your bottom lip shakes. 

Qifrey sighs, “[name,]”

“DO YOU LOVE HIM?!” You shout, tears streaming down your face, “Am I not good enough for you?” You cry. 

“You are,” His lips wobble, “You’re just…You’re not… him.” He turns to Olruggio, still unconscious on the bed behind him. 

“How long?” You scoff. 

“Longer than you remember,” Qifrey reaches for the top of his hat, unclasping the button at the top, the flap falling down to reveal a spell you never thought you’d see drawn again, your stomach lurching up to your throat as he lifts the cap off his head. 

“Qifrey,” Your voice shakes, taking a step back. 

“I’m sorry,” Tears stream down his face, “But if I want to keep him safe, I need you.” He stalks towards you. 

“Why? Just be with him, I won’t stop you!” You damn your legs for being so shaky, for barely holding up your weak form. 

You want to run, do anything to get away from the clearly insane man coming for you, but your body won’t move. 

“It’s more complicated than that, I can’t allow myself the happiness, and by being with you, I feel guilty for hurting him,” He turns back to look at Olruggio once more, “Because he loves me just as much as I love him,” He sniffles, standing right in front of you, not doing anything just yet, because he knows you can’t move. Like a predator stalking its prey, he has you exactly where he needs you. 

“Did you ever love me?” You whisper. 

“I do love you,” He leans in and attaches his lips to yours and though you want to fight so badly, you can’t help but melt into his touch, your heart pounding against your chest, aching with how much love overflows within you for him, how much you want him to love you back, and maybe you can pretend just a little longer. 

But when he pulls away, and the expression on his face morphs into something cold, something sinister that you have never seen from the man you love before—or perhaps you have and can’t remember correctly. 

You swallow, accepting the fact that you are not escaping from this, “At least do me the courtesy and tell me how many times you’ve done this to me,” You hold your head high, trying to be strong. 

“I’ve lost count,” He sniffles, “But none of them are easier than the last,” He huffs a breath, “And watching you decay further after each erasure… it’s agony quite honestly.” 

“You don’t do this to someone you love,” Your top lip curls. 

“I suppose you’re right,” He glances at Olruggio, “But if it keeps his brain intact, I will do anything to keep him safe.” 

“I can pretend,” You try to talk your way out of it, glancing down at the spell in Qifrey’s hand, “I won’t tell Olruggio, I’ll be happy with you and he’ll never need to know.” 

He sighs, “I trusted you with that once. The moment I left you alone, you told Olruggio everything. Once is enough for him as far as I'm concerned.” 

“And what about me? What if this is the time that kills me and my brain can no longer take it?” You gulp. 

“I’m sorry, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take, for him.” He lifts his hand and it’s as if the motion is slowed down, your brain processing it at a frame a second. 

You have no idea what will become of you after this, not knowing how far he is truly willing to take this, and if your life really does mean that little to him. You can’t escape, your legs won’t allow it, not that it isn’t already too late. You won’t remember this moment, you’re not even sure how far back he’s erased you, how much of your life has been stolen from you. But the one thing that hurts the most, is you still love him, even knowing what he’s done to you, you are still in love with him, and if it means being erased for eternity and dealing with the consequences; you’d accept your fate so that he could have his sliver of happiness with Olruggio, even if it was from afar. And that’s exactly what you did, accepted as he placed the cap on your head, a stab of pain in your head before you blacked out once more. 

You wake up snuggled under the covers of you and your lover's bed, a piercing pain behind your eyelids. 

“Good morning,” Qifrey crouches at your side, “You had a bit too much to drink last night,” He chuckles, “Something about trying to keep up with Olly.” 

You groan, holding your forehead, “Remind me to never do that again,” You place your arm over your eyes. 

He laughs, “I’ll do my best, why don’t you get some rest and then we can start wedding planning?” He wiggles his brows.

You smile, remembering the ring on your hand, remembering what you were celebrating last night, and why you had drank so much. 

You nod, grabbing his hand, and kissing his palm. You were going to marry the love of your life. The kind of love that is only found in fairytales, the kind of love that transcends lifetimes. You couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t in love with Qifrey, and you hope you’d never have to. 

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” He cradles your face, eye softening as he meets your gaze, “The rest of our lives, tethered together for eternity."

Divider by: @/strangergraphics

*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

Even having played a part in this it still hurts so fucking good😭🖤 Sarah’s a mastermind

[elysiumae]

PART 4 DRAG PATH

Oh my god Mae. Words cannot describe how beautifully painful that was. It’s everything we could’ve wanted and more. Thank you for hurting us☺️

Also perfect thing to read after my brief disappearance hehehehehhe

i love hurting people emotionally 😉👍

[elysiumae]

drag path.

⟢ pairing: qifrey x gn!reader

⟢ word count: 13.6k

⟢ tags: master x apprentice relationship, eventual exmaster!qifrey x brimmedhat!reader, ambiguous age gap, reader's age is undefined, qifrey x olruggio being gay for each other, suggestive allusions to olrufrey having sex, explicit body horror (eyeballs being out of their sockets), lowkey codependency, reader is kinda manipulative if you squint, spoilers for manga

"The selfishness behind my reason for taking on pupils made me ill. But they'd never have to know that. So I decided that I would put every fiber of my being towards becoming a good educator. Only now do I realise just how foolish that, too, was." Qifrey takes on an apprentice to keep the silverwood at bay. It works. (It works too well.)

⟢ chapters: one | two | three | four

IV. YOU ALREADY KNOW

Healing magic—the kind that interferes directly with the natural order of the body—has been forbidden since the Day of the Pact. This tenet the Knights uphold without compromise. Yet the punishment for transgressing is not merely death but forgetting—a complete eradication of every memory that has to do with magic. Like bark, peeled and stripped from a birch tree; the offender hollowed out, an empty shell of who they used to be.

Like every witch, Qifrey knows what becomes of those sent to Adanlee. Not under any circumstance can he allow the same fate to befall you.

Qifrey's arms nearly buckle under his weight as he struggles to his knees again, breath gurgling wetly within his left lung. The effort alone almost blacks him out. But Qifrey cannot stop. Because the moment you hear the Brimmed Hat's offering, that insidious seed of hope will take root inside you just as the silverwood did in him—and Qifrey would rather die than allow you to destroy yourself for his sake.

Fire roars.

The Brimmed Hat barely jerks back in time just as a wall of flames rips across the square. The heat is so intense Qifrey gasps, each shallow breath scorching the back of his throat, eye stinging, burning. But then it's Olruggio who hurtles out of the smoke-filled sky—a whirlwind of charred sleeves and singed robes, but otherwise unharmed—and the sight brings such relief Qifrey almost doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. He takes in the tableau at a glance, bright blue eyes darting over the battlefield, before they catch on the dark stain spreading through the white of Qifrey's robes, his ashen pallor. Olruggio's face goes slack with horror.

"Qifrey! What—"

Olruggio sounds dangerously close to panicking, which isn't the best of signs. Qifrey must look almost as terrible as he feels. Don't worry about me, he wants to say. There are far more pressing matters to be concerned about right now. But it's too many words, and Qifrey hasn't the breath.

"Stop… my apprentice…" Copper floods his tongue, hot and thick, but he swallows it down and forces up a trembling hand. The Brimmed Hat's grin widens at the other end of his accusing finger. "Forbidden magic… to save me…"

His words are barely comprehensible to his own ears, but understanding flashes across Olruggio's face nonetheless. His gaze snaps towards you and then back to Qifrey. For a brief moment he looks torn—dread and uncertainty warring openly across his soot-streaked features—and Qifrey knows what he is thinking. It's like wagering on a roll of the dice with Qifrey's life hanging in the balance; every moment spent arguing, hesitating—is another second his condition continues to worsen. Too long and he might bleed out before help arrives. But if Olruggio stands aside and lets this happen, Qifrey will never, ever, be able to forgive him for it.

Fortunately, Olruggio's indecision only lasts a moment. Olruggio plants his feet between you and Qifrey, the singed hem of his cloak swishing around his ankles as he turns to face you fully. Your expression darkens.

"Don't get in my way, Mr. Olruggio."

"Look, I know what you're thinking." Olruggio raises his hands slowly as though approaching a cornered animal, just as likely to lash out as it is to bolt. "You're worried about your master, and you want to save him. Believe me, so am I." His voice emerges steady but Qifrey instinctively tunes to the fine tremor beneath, the urgent strain. He's afraid, too. "But this isn't the way."

You remain silent for a long moment. The square lies hushed beneath the lingering crackle of distant flames, the hiss of cooling stone.

"Then," you say quietly, eventually, "can Mr. Olruggio save my master?"

If Qifrey had to pick a moment when everything crossed the point of no return, it would be here—your question hanging in the smoke-thickened air, Olruggio's silence answering for him before his mouth can. There is no half-hearted reassurance, no comforting lie quick enough to overcome that hesitation. Olruggio knows it as well as you do.

"Please," Olruggio says, and this time his voice is softer, almost pleading. "I don't want to hurt you."

In the narrow gap between Olruggio's sleeve and side, your gaze finds Qifrey for a brief second—and then he is standing in the atelier again with papers spilling to the floor and one hand on the door, unable to face the accusation in your eyes. Now, however, something more painfully fragile wavers behind them instead.

I'm not going anywhere, Qifrey wants to say, suddenly desperate. Again and again, for as many times as you need to hear it. But before he can say anything, do anything at all—the moment has already slipped through his grasp.

Your wand cuts across your quire.

The dark clouds gathering low at the foothills shudder and break apart at your spell. Water coalesces midair, droplets gathering like glass beads on gossamer strings. They swell into a churning mass above the square, swirling violently until with a flick of your wrist they splinter—into thousands upon thousands of razor sharp needles, glittering coldly like shards of glass embedded into the smoke-darkened sky. A cloud of deadly rain, simply awaiting the command to fall.

The Brimmed Hat claps enthusiastically at the display. "What a pretty spell!"

It's magnificent, but all Qifrey can feel at the sight is horror. He has never taught you this, never taught you magic to harm another—yet Qifrey recognises the spell all the same. It'd been a sunny afternoon the day he'd insisted on a picnic; a brief intermission stolen between lessons after you'd spent weeks indoors studying. But the flowers had already gone to seed by then, leaving the slopes outside the atelier green and empty stemmed, and Qifrey could tell you were disappointed despite your lack of complaints. So he'd drawn his wand and filled the hillside with flowers made of water instead—rampion and daisies, trefoil and cornflowers—every species and genus he could call to memory. But not even magic could grant them a living bloom's fragrance, and their petals had been colourless and cold to the touch. Yet when you turned back to him there'd been the faintest hint of a smile on your face nonetheless; and later, you'd asked him to teach you that spell.

The very spell you've now turned against Olruggio.

Olruggio throws up a shield of fire just as the needles fly. Qifrey can't see past the cloud of steam that erupts less than a second later, but the furious hissing of water vapourising in an instant tells him that Olruggio's barrier held. You're already drawing your next spell, however; hand moving in those confident, bold strokes Qifrey has become so intimately familiar with, and the steam in the air siphons into a long, trailing ribbon that writhes like a live snake in your grasp.

Olruggio dives aside with a shouted curse just as it snaps towards him. It strikes stone with a crack so deafening Qifrey's ears ring, the ground where Olruggio'd been standing only moments before exploding into a shower of cobble and mortar.

"Olruggio!" he cries out, but Olruggio doesn't seem to hear him, attention wholly consumed by dodging your blows. You're not holding back—it's the only reason you're managing to hold your own against a witch of Olruggio's calibre—and Qifrey can see the way his friend constantly deflects instead of retaliating, always choosing the option least likely to hurt you. Yet every spell you cast aims to incapacitate at best and main at worst, and Qifrey can only watch in horror as you send a blade of water slicing towards Olruggio's throat.

Olruggio barely twists to evade it. The blade flashes a hair's breadth from his jugular but catches his shoulder instead, and blood soaks through his sleeve almost immediately. Olruggio stumbles back with a harsh grunt of pain, one hand flying up to his bleeding arm.

"Fuck…"

Qifrey wants to scream. Or perhaps cry, or run, or throw himself between the two of you, force this nightmare to end before either of you can inflict another wound upon the other. But his body stubbornly refuses, limbs so heavy they might as well be made of lead. You don't hear the cries that never make it past his bloodied lips, and Olruggio hasn't even regained his footing before your next spell is complete.

Once again, moisture strips itself from the air. It surges skyward where it twists and coils upon itself—and as Qifrey watches one massive, batlike wing unfurls from the churning mass followed by another. A monstrous beast emerges from amidst the torrent like a hatchling breaking out of its shell. Its maw opens in a soundless roar.

Olruggio staggers back a step, face paling as he stares up into the snarling jaws of the dragon. For a brief moment, Qifrey cannot tell what he is thinking. Then something shifts across Olruggio's expression—depair, perhaps, or resignation—and his shoulders sink by the barest fraction, as though he has finally accepted a truth he's been fighting not to see.

"I'm sorry."

Before Qifrey can conceive just who that apology was meant for, the dragon lunges. Olruggio's wand flicks in a perfect circle.

Stone and dirt tear upwards in a rumble powerful enough to shake the foundations of the entire village. They rise and rise and rise—into a massive wall, tall as a fortified tower—until it collides headlong with the dragon. Water explodes in every direction. Like a raging torrent it rushes, drenching the square in surging wave, filling Qifrey's nose and mouth. Familiar terror floods Qifrey's veins for a moment, the cold reaching all the way into his bones. Almost like drowning in that box, all over again…

Qifrey collapses to the ground the second the water recedes, coughing and spitting it from his mouth. But Olruggio's spell doesn't stop there.

The wall collapses forward and races across the square once more. Your eyes widen, wand already halfway to your quire—but you are just a fraction too slow. It crashes into you with enough force to send you flying, and Qifrey's mouth falls open in a soundless scream.

You hit the edge of the square hard enough to bounce. Your small body skids across the broken cobblestones before rolling once, twice, before crumpling into a motionless heap. The silence that follows is deafening in Qifrey's ears.

"Apprentice,” he chokes out wetly. You don't move.

Qifrey forces himself upright, but he doesn't even make it a couple of paces before he collapses to his knees again. His entire mouth tastes of iron. Pain radiates throughout his entire side, black spots flickering in and out at the edges of his vision, but Qifrey barely notices any of it. All he can see is you—limp and lifeless, like a discarded doll. Your hand, lying pale against the cracked cobblestones, half-hidden beneath the torn edge of your cloak.

"Apprentice," he says again, and the word leaves him as a dreadful, breathless cry instead.

He tries to drag himself over to you. But the ground is slick with mud and Qifrey's fingers have gone numb. There is an incessant sound in his ears that drowns out everything else—he cannot hear anything over it other than the sound of his body scraping over stone, his own laboured breathing. He blinks and it is as if minutes have passed; when he opens his eye again there is a hand pressing hard over the wound at his ribs, trying to stem the flow of blood. He shoves weakly at it, struggling to wrench himself free.

"Qifrey!" Olruggio's voice sounds disembodied, strange, as though his head is being held under water. A firm hand clamps desperately around his shoulder. "Stop moving—you're making your injury worse! Stop—"

He can't. Qifrey yanks himself from Olruggio's grasp with what little strength he has remaining and crawls, trying to hold on to consciousness with each shuddering breath. You are only a few feet away, now. So close that he can see the water pooling in the hollow of your palm, spilling in rivulets down your wrist.

But his knee slips in a puddle and he crashes heavily to the stones. Agony flares so fiercely in his chest that he almost passes out. This time, his arms refuse to lift again. Qifrey claws at the mud anyway, dragging himself the rest of the distance before reaching out with a shaking, bloodstained hand.

"Apprentice," he whispers.

His fingers strain toward yours, but the last of Qifrey's strength deserts him before they can touch. Darkness envelopes the remnants of his vision like a spell, and the last realisation Qifrey has before everything goes black is this:

It's raining.

Qifrey's dreams usually comprise of darkness.

It's difficult to explain, the difference between dreaming of darkness and nothing at all. Both look very much the same when one's eyes are closed. But Qifrey is intimately familiar with their distinction—darkness is clawing at smooth metal until fingertips split and bleed, the sound of echoing screams swallowed by relentless rain. Terror with no shape or end, the certainty of being trapped somewhere no one can reach. It's what he'd spent the first few years dreaming of after Beldaruit pulled him from the ground, after all.

And it's all that surrounds him now.

Consciousness gradually trickles back into him, like woodcruour bled from a silverwood tree. His senses return in fragments: first the hushed voices by his bedside, their murmurings too indistinct to distinguish, and then the faint camphorous of crushed herbs.

Spineneedles, his muddled mind supplies, although why the scent stirs such comfort he cannot recall. But pain follows closely behind, sinking between his ribs until even breathing becomes too much, and sleep mercifully drags him under once more.

 The next time Qifrey opens his eye is to a familiar ceiling. It still takes him some time to recognise where he is—lying in one of the medical spire's narrow cots, a light blanket pulled carefully up to his shoulders. Watery half-light filters in through the far window in soft shades of iridescent blue. Qifrey lies unmoving for a moment, lethargy clinging to his limbs like tar, before the tip of his tongue probes slowly at the back of his teeth. White willow bark and feverfew—both herbs you'd used to steep for him whenever the pain behind his eye grew too severe. The taste is so familiar it aches, the ghost of your presence lingering even in the hollow of his mouth.

Realisation cuts through the dense fog clouding his thoughts. Qifrey lurches upright at once—and immediately pain ignites throughout his chest like oilpaper set alight. Even dulled with anodynes it is enough to make his head spin, and Qifrey hunches over the side of the bed with one arm wrapped himself, the wisps of a pained moan slipping out from behind gritted teeth.

The door flies open. "Qifrey!"

Olruggio is at Qifrey's bedside in an instant, firm hands catching him by the shoulders before he can topple from the cot. "What in the world are you doing?" Olruggio demands, hastily shifting an arm behind Qifrey's back to support him as Qifrey groans. "You’ve been awake for all of ten seconds and you're already trying to tear your stitches open. One of your lungs was punctured, for crying out loud!"

"My apprentice—"

"Could you try being concerned about yourself for once?" Olruggio grunts, his exasperation fraying at the edges. He grabs Qifrey by the arm again when he tries to swing his legs over the side of the bed. "Argh—seriously, Qifrey! You have the survival instincts of a moth throwing itself at a bonfire!"

Qifrey pushes weakly at Olruggio's chest, uncaring. "I need to know if they're—"

"Stop squirming and I'll tell you."

Now that stills Qifrey at once. Olruggio glares at him for a few moments longer as though fully expecting him to make a run for it, but when he doesn't, Olruggio's vice grip on his arm finally loosens. His shoulders sag. "Fine. They're fine. A few contused ribs and a mild concussion, but nothing life-threatening. You, on the other hand…" Olruggio sighs through an exhale, lips pursing as though he wants to say more—but thinks the better of it and shakes his head instead.

Qifrey barely hears the rest. Fine. You are fine. Relief floods through him, more potent than any opiate or sedative. It's so overwhelming that he is struck by the sudden urge to curl into a fetal position beneath his blankets and simply cry until there is nothing left in him. The image of that day is still etched starkly into his mind: the dreadful stillness of your body sprawled across broken cobblestones, wand-hand gone slack beneath falling rain. He remembers terror swallowing every other thought and the near certainty that he had been too late—that he had watched you die only a few inches beyond his reach.

But you hadn't. Olruggio said you were fine, and so you must be.

Qifrey looks up properly at Olruggio then. His beard is longer and more unkempt, and he's wearing the same clothes he had been in Hearthglen. The shadows beneath his eyes have deepened to the colour of old bruises. Olruggio looks as though he hasn't slept properly in days.

"What happened after I passed out?" Qifrey's question comes out stilted, his voice hoarse and scratchy from disuse. Olruggio huffs, turning away.

"I'm not completely sure—it's like everything happened at once." He crosses his arms over his chest but pauses, wincing slightly. Right, Olruggio's shoulder… "The Brimmed Hat disappeared in the middle of the chaos—I don't know whether they fled or simply decided they'd had enough—but by the time I reached you they were already gone. I brought you here through the nearest windowway as fast as I could."

"The one in Azmar?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. Thank you."

The conversation peters out awkwardly. Olruggio stares down at his folded arms while Qifrey keeps his eye fixed on the blankets pooled in his lap. When he speaks again, his voice is so quiet Qifrey almost misses it.

"You had us all scared out of our minds, Qifrey."

The quiet rawness in his words makes Qifrey's chest ache. Duller than the pain in his ribs, but far harder to breathe around. Qifrey picks at a loose thread on the blanket, unable to look his best friend in the eye.

"I'm sorry for making you worry, Olly," he says, softly. This much, at least, he can say with complete honesty.

"I'd much rather you show your remorse through your actions than your words," Olruggio grumbles, but he looks marginally more mollified than before. He reaches for the pitcher on Qifrey's bedstand and pours out a generous amount into a cup. "Drink up."

Qifrey does, obediently. He doesn't realise how thirsty he is until he begins to drink; he drains that cup and then another, until his lungs smart and he has to pause. Olruggio watches Qifrey wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Qifrey doesn't know how long he's been unconscious, but it must be a significant duration to leave Olruggio looking so haggard—well, more haggard than usual, at least. You must be worried too. Qifrey will have to apologise—for frightening you, for failing to protect you as a master should, for leaving you alone and vulnerable when you'd needed him most. But whatever happened in Hearthglenn with the Brimmed Hat can wait.

Right now, Qifrey only needs to see you.

"I'm feeling better now," Qifrey says. He doesn't even have to lie—the water has done him much good, and Qifrey can feel some strength returning to his limbs. He pushes the blanket aside. "Which room is my apprentice in? I'd like to make sure they're alright."

Olruggio doesn't answer. He's standing by the bedstand with his back half-turned to Qifrey, busied with tidying the sundries. Perhaps Olruggio didn't hear him.

"Olly," Qifrey repeats, more clearly this time. He shifts towards the edge of the cot, one hand braced against the mattress to support his weight. "Where are they? I want to see them."

Olruggio's shoulders tense. Perhaps, in retrospect, that should have been Qifrey's first indication that something was very, very strong. But lethargy still clouds his mind like a morning brume, and Qifrey is too late to recognise it for what it is. Slowly, Olruggio turns to face him, though his gaze falls between Qifrey's shoulder and bandaged chest, just short of meeting Qifrey's eye.

He hesitates. A cold weight sinks in the pit of Qifrey's stomach like heavy stone, earlier relief curdling into dread.

"Olruggio, where is my apprentice?"

According to the timepiece on the mantel, it takes Olruggio about a whole clockmark to properly answer—bronze innards ticking, oscillators whirring. But to Qifrey it feels like an eternity. Olruggio is normally so candid one would call him almost brutish with his words, so seeing him fumble and wince in an attempt to placate Qifrey's distress only sends it ratcheting higher. He is unable to elude Qifrey's persistent hounding, however; he cracks eventually when Qifrey tries to force himself from the cot despite his protests, brittle eggshell fracturing beneath pressure.

"What do you mean, you had them locked up in the Tower of Tomes?"

Olruggio hesitates at Qifrey's raised voice, the blunt edge of his teeth worrying over his bottom lip. He looks pale with nerves but Qifrey cannot bring himself to be considerate, not after hearing what Olruggio just said.

"Qifrey, let me explain—"

"Then explain." Olruggio flinches.

"I didn't know where else to send them, alright? You were unconscious and the healers didn't know when—if—you would wake up at all and I just—" Olruggio's hand rakes agitatedly through the dark mess of his hair before it falls back to his side where it hangs, clawlike. Qifrey's own trembles where he grips the edge of the cot, chest tight—whether it's from the half-healed wound or his rising dismay, Qifrey doesn't know. "The Tower—I have a friend who owes me a favour there, and they agreed to watch over your apprentice until you woke." Olruggio's eyes dart towards Qifrey before they drop to the foot of his cot again. "I thought… I thought it would be best for you to do it, as their master."

The healing spire is spelled to keep its interiors perfectly warm like the rest of Deepwater Castle, but Qifrey's blood runs cold regardless.

"Do what, exactly?"

Olruggio's mouth twists in that uneasy, restless way; the way it always does when there is something he must say but doesn't want to. But it doesn't stop him from getting the words out, this time. "Turn them in to the Knights Moralis."

"You're treating them like a criminal—"

Olruggio's expression tightens. "They tried to kill me, Qifrey. You saw it with your own eyes."

"They were worried about me," Qifrey argues back immediately. "The Brimmed Hat was manipulating them—"

"And they very nearly cast forbidden magic!" Olruggio throws his hands up, visibly frustrated despite the guilt that still mars his face. "Not only that—they attempted collusion with a Brimmed Hat! I'm not—I'm not just your friend, Qifrey. I'm the Watchful Eye of your atelier, and I have a responsibility to report what happened whether they're your apprentice or not." Olruggio's voice falters, but he wrestles it down with remarkable control despite the tense situation. "The Knights will have to be told."

It's a terrible realisation, that there is no convincing argument to be made. And perhaps Qifrey already knows that deep down, which is why he doesn't try to wrack his mind further for one.

His heart pounds hard and fast in his throat. "Report me as well, then."

Olruggio goes still. "What are you talking about?"

Qifrey takes a deep breath and lifts his eye to meet Olruggio's. "They're my apprentice—therefore, their conduct is my responsibility." He knows this is unfair—to force Olruggio into such a choice, wielding their relationship as leverage against the duties of his post. But the thought of you standing before the Knights in chains, terrified and alone again, leaves no room in him for shame. "If you intend to hand them over to the Knights Moralis for something they nearly did, then you should deliver me together with them."

"You're being unreasonable—"

"I'm being their master!"

Olruggio's jaw tightens. For a moment Qifrey thinks that this might be when Olruggio's infinite patience finally snaps—when his words might turn ugly or cruel in a way Qifrey has never witnessed firsthand, were Olruggio capable of such a thing. But then the anger in Olruggio's expression drains all of a sudden, leaving nothing but quiet weariness in its wake.

"Only their master?" he asks, almost tiredly.

Olruggio's unspoken accusation hits Qifrey like a blow to the chest. For a moment Qifrey finds himself unable to breathe—it slips between his ribs and unearths the buried shame he has spent so long refusing to name, like a tracker led unerringly by a guidance orb. Had Qifrey truly been so obvious? All this time, had the ugliness he'd been trying so hard to conceal been showing through?

Some frightened part of Qifrey wants to deny it—lying is, after all, all he's ever learned to do, and Qifrey has done it to Olruggio often enough that it should come easily now. But one look at his best friend's eyes, burning blue like twin candleflames in the dim light, steals every half-formed falsehood from his mouth.

His silence is confession enough. Qifrey drops his gaze to his hands, unable to hold Olruggio's any longer. Shame crawls up his throat. It's all too much—Qifrey wants to tear off his own skin and flee, a twiglizard abandoning its own tail to escape. Because this is Olruggio, who had saved him the first time fate allowed them to cross paths, unaware that it would become the foundation for all of their relationship that followed. The whole world could turn its back on him and Qifrey could bear it, but not Olruggio.

"Qifrey," Olruggio says helplessly, and just the sound of his name in Olruggio's familiar timbre is too much. Qifrey squeezes his eye shut until it stings, trying to block out the sudden rush of hot tears behind his lid.

"I didn't—I didn't mean to." The words escape him before he can stop them. Choked and wet, as though his guilt might somehow be sufficient to render iniquity into innocuity. "I really didn't, Olruggio, I swear—"

"I know."

"I was just going to be their master," Qifrey continues, almost miserably. "I just wanted—all I wanted was to teach them magic and watch them grow. Oh, Olly, I never meant for it to become—"

"I know, Qifrey."

Olruggio’s hand settles heavily on his shoulder. Gripping tight, dragging him back from the brink. Still warm, somehow, despite everything, and Qifrey's gaze lifts, unable to help it. It's almost cruel, he thinks despairingly, that he can find no trace of digust or condemnation in Olruggio's eyes. Only quiet sympathy, and something so profoundly sad it hurts to look at—like an open, still weeping wound.

He waits for Olruggio to speak, but Olruggio remains silent. Perhaps it is for the best. There are no words that could comfort Qifrey, and no version of the truth that would hurt less, anyway.

 

The atelier is quiet upon Qifrey's return.

The door creaks softly on its hinges when he pushes it open, the sound echoing in hollow space. Qifrey's shoes scuff lightly on the flagstones as he steps across the threshold—he still feels weak and loose-limbed; symptoms the healers had warned wouldn't dissipate until a week or so later. They'd been reluctant to discharge him at all, to tell the truth, but Qifrey had insisted. Sinocia had sighed while Ermile's crossed arms said everything on her mind, but Qifrey's persistence won out in the end.

That Olruggio had been easiest to convince unmoors Qifrey somewhat. In every scenario, either real or imagined, it is he who would be most adamant that Qifrey recuperate properly before setting foot out of the spire. But Olruggio hadn't spoken a single word of protest the entire journey back to the Downs; instead he'd remained inscrutable and silent—leaving Qifrey to run his fingers over the dark silk tied to his hat again and again, unable to divine the thoughts occupying Olruggio's mind.

"Your apprentice is waiting for you in their room," Olruggio told him, when the pegasus carriage had dropped them off just a few feet from the atelier's door. He pressed a key etched with a locking spell into Qifrey's hand, then hesitated. "I'm envious, you know."

Qifrey had been caught off guard. "Of what?"

"How much you love them."

Those words sit heavy in Qifrey's chest as he climbs the stairs to the upper floor. There is no hiding any longer, not after Olruggio has seen through him so transparently. These inappropriate feelings will have to be excised and fed to the fire sooner or later—preferably sooner, before they have the chance to root themselves any deeper. Yet the moment Qifrey stands outside your door, familiar woodgrain melding against his fingertips in anticipation of reunion, every concern fades away to nothing in comparison to the person who is behind it.

Qifrey pushes the key into the lock.

The soft glow of a completed spell emits from within the keyhole, followed by a quiet click. Qifrey sets his hand to the knob but does not turn it—all of a sudden, he finds himself overcome. What sort of expression will you be wearing, when he opens that door? Anger? Hurt? Worse still, will you have retreated behind that quiet, guarded composure of yours once more—the one that gives nothing away and asks for nothing in return? Qifrey does not know if he could bear it.

Before he can muster sufficient courage, however, the door flies open of its own accord. And then you are there—standing in the doorway, hand tightly gripping the other side of the knob. Alive.

Qifrey does not manage to catch what expression is on your face, in the end. The instant you see that it is him, you surge forward and throw yourself into his arms with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. Qifrey staggers back half a step before he instinctively wraps both arms around you, holding you as tightly as his injuries will allow.

For those few seconds, nothing else exists: only your warmth enfolded within his embrace, heart beating in tandem with his—close enough that your ribcages could mesh together were it not for the separation of skin and flesh, and yet Qifrey still feels like it isn't enough. He counts every breath you take against his collarbone and relishes in the sensation of each one; it is proof—proof that you are alive.

"Master. Master." It takes him a moment to realise, with some degree of horror, that you are crying. It's an awful, near foreign sound—Qifrey has never heard you cry before, not once in all the years he's been your master. "I thought you—I was so afraid. Master…"

"Shh. Shh. I'm here." His fingers swipe gently at the tears wetting your cheeks, but when they continue to fall without ceasing, Qifrey laughs a little helplessly. "Oh dear…"

You're inconsolable. The thought of you alone and afraid in that Tower, not knowing if he would ever wake, twists painfully in his chest. Yet some part of him shamefully finds relief in it—that you are clinging to him, still crying into his robes; despite everything that has happened, you do not seem to hate him.

"I heard you sustained a few injuries," Qifrey says, lowering himself carefully into a crouch before you in spite of the painful twinge behind his ribs. His hands stay on you even as he moves, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to let go. He takes the opportunity to study you closely; you're dressed in a fresh set of plain robes, and aside from the gauze taped to your left temple, you seem otherwise unharmed. There's no indication that you've been interrogated or mistreated during your time in the Tower. "Are you still hurting anywhere?"

It takes you a while to calm yourself, though not nearly as long as he would like. Eventually you shake your head wordlessly, eyes shiny and nose a faint red.

"No."

"Are you certain? I will be quite upset if I find out that you are lying to me."

You sniff once. "Master should be more concerned with his own well-being."

Those words again. "Olly said the same thing." The words slip out of him without thinking, half-humoured and wholly-defeated—but the moment the name leaves his mouth, your expression falls. Guilt passes over your face like a shadow.

"I'm sorry," you say quietly, "for hurting Mr. Olruggio. I know Master—"

Qifrey stops you before you can say any more. "I understand why you did it." He squeezes your hands gently in his, careful of the still-healing scrapes on your palms. Your eyes dart up to meet his, hesitant. "I won't… pretend what happened wasn't dangerous, or wrong. But you thought I was dying, and someone used that fear against you. It's this master's fault, for putting you in such a situation in the first place. I promise it will not happen again."

The words are as much a vow to himself as to you when he speaks them aloud. Qifrey will have to be more careful. Quicker, smarter, better prepared. Whatever thread of interest that the Brimmed Hat might have caught hold of, Qifrey must sever it before they can further entangle you in their machinations or schemes. He will not allow whatever horrors happened to him all those years ago to so much as touch you.

He is still deep in thought when you speak.

"Shouldn't we be seeking out the Brimmed Hat instead, Master?"

The notion is so baffling that for a moment, Qifrey doubts whether he has heard you correctly. "You want to seek out the Brimmed Hats?" he repeats, staring at the straight line of your mouth, the determined set of your shoulders. But you nod with perfect seriousness, eyes dropping to where his hands are clasping yours.

“They said they have a cure for Master’s silverwood,” you say quietly.

The word on your lips alone is enough to send a chill down his spine. Silverwood. Stars, how could Qifrey have forgotten. Or rather, been foolish enough to hope that you would?

His laugh comes out first too quick, then too gentle. "My dear apprentice," Qifrey says, deliberately softening his voice to a comforting hum, "whatever the Brimmed Hat said that day was nothing more than a lie designed to frighten you. I assure you—"

"Master needn't lie to me." Your fingers tighten around his wrists—and then it is you stepping closer, eyes fixed upon his with terrible clarity. "The Tower of Tomes; the whole time Master was unconscious, I read everything I could find about the silverwood—every book, every record. I understand now—I understand why Master kept it from me. Master can't ever let himself be happy or at peace, or the silverwood takes over his body. That's the reason Master took me in, isn't it?"

Horror unfurls within him like a slow poison. It is cruel irony, truly, that the silverwood in him has never been more silent. But Qifrey had never meant for you to know this—so why are you setting the weight of his sins upon your own shoulders?

"No," he says, but his denial comes out faint.

"But it's all right now. Master doesn't need to worry." The words spill from you in a rush, your lashes fluttering rapidly—almost feverish in their intensity. "Now that I know, I can help Master. I'm good with plants—I daresay my knowledge surpasses that of every witch on the Peninsula. And I'm confident I can find out more about the silverwood, too! Experimenting on another human host would be unethical, of course, but there is nothing else more efficient…"

"Stop."

"And the Brimmed Hat—they mentioned there is a way to help buy Master more time until a cure is found. That means such a spell must exist, Master."

"Stop."

"If we find that Brimmed Hat again, I could ask them—"

"I told you to stop it!"

Qifrey slams his hand against the wall. His strike is so violent the entire doorframe rattles in its place, and whatever you'd been about to say next dies in your throat as you flinch back.

Self-abhorrence fills him like a cloudburst overrunning a river, but the fear has sunk too deep to allow him to soften. It claws up his throat, turns every breath desperate, every word vicious.

"Master—"

"The Brimmed Hats are dangerous. They are not saviours, and they are not healers. Healing magic is forbidden, and they know that better than anyone." Qifrey's fingers curl against the doorframe until his knuckles turn bone white. Only then does he realises that he is shaking. "They will twist their words and manipulate your emotions to get you to use forbidden magic. You cannot."

You swallow. Your voice, though trembling, still carries that faint edge of determination when you speak. "But if it can help Master, why should it matter whether it is forbidden or not?"

And there it is. His greatest fear, spoken aloud at last. Some wiser part of Qifrey should have seen this coming, the day you had brought home those spineneedles stained with your own blood and said, I don't like to see Master in pain. But Qifrey has never been wise, only selfish, and the next time it happens will not be serpentines but—

"Didn't I teach you what happens to witches who cross that line?" Qifrey demands. Every of his words comes out as a harsh whisper. "Do you not remember any of it? Forbidden magic does not suddenly lose its consequences because its caster means well, and the Brimmed Hats never offer help simply out of the kindness of their hearts. You cannot trust a single word they say!"

"And so I should trust Master instead?"

Qifrey goes very still.

But you don't stop. "Master has kept this from me all this time. He told me his headaches were nothing, and that he would be fine." Your eyes are bright, clenched fists trembling at your sides. "Master looked me in the eye and lied to me every single day! The Brimmed Hat was more honest with me than Master has ever been."

"That's not—"

"Would Master have ever told me?" Your voice cracks. "Or would he have just slipped away without a word one day, and abandoned me all over—?

"Enough." Qifrey cannot bear to listen to you sound like thaat any longer. Not when he knows that he is the cause for it. He turns away abruptly and bites down on his lower lip until the taste of iron blooms across his tongue; only when he is certain he has regained his composure does he speak again. "This conversation is over. Tomorrow, I'm confiscating every book you have on pharmacognosy." For a moment Qifrey contemplates burning them—to ensure every foolish ambition of yours is reduced to ash before you can stray further down this dangerous path. But the thought of you hating him even more than you must already do cuts him too deeply. "If I ever catch you looking into the subject of a cure again, I'll—"

"—expel me from your atelier?" you finish for him, bitterly.

The thought does cross his mind briefly, but in that instant Qifrey knows that it would not be enough. He is certain of it. You would leave, grieve and hate him, but it wouldn't stop you from searching. You'd run headfirst into ruin with both hands outstretched if you thought there was a chance it might save him.

"No," Qifrey says. What he says next will hurt him more than it will you, he thinks. "I'll wipe your memories myself."

For a moment, there is nothing in your face at all. No anger, nor defiance—only a stunned, hollow disbelief, as though Qifrey had reached inside you and cut some thread holding you together. Then your expression crumples, folding inwards, and your mouth trembles once before you force it flat.

"I understand, Master."

Somehow, beyond any of the words the two of you have exchanged today, this is what wounds him deepest. The ruin he has made of the one good thing he was meant to protect. The realisation that meeting him might not have been a blessing at all, but your greatest misfortune.

"I should never have taken you in."

The words escape him barely above a whisper. But in the pin-drop silence of the room, you hear them all the same.

Qifrey hadn't thought you could make an expression more heartbreaking than the one already on your face, but somehow you do. The anguish that flickers across it is almost enough to make him wish he could take the words back.

You step back as though you've been struck. Qifrey nearly reaches for you on instinct, but his hand falters halfway between you. Who is Qifrey to try and comfort you, when it was he who hurt you in the first place? He hasn't the right.

You push past him before he can say anything, shoulder shoving hard against his arm as you hurry from the room, as if you can't stand being in his presence for a second longer. And then you are gone—down the stairs and out of sight, leaving nothing but the fading echo of your footsteps behind.

Qifrey remains where he is for a long moment. The hand that had been half-lifted towards you slowly falls back to his side, where it curls into a tight fist—if only to prevent himself from reaching for you again. Something damp touches the left side of his face. Qifrey absently lifts his fingers to wipe it away, and only then does he understand.

Tears. He's crying.

The realisation does not move him immediately. Qifrey stands there, surrounded by the silence and your absence, until all of it becomes too much to bear. Then, slowly, as if his body belongs to someone else, Qifrey crosses the room to stand over your desk. He picks up an empty inkwell.

And presses it to his cheek.

By the time Qifrey emerges from his room, the sky outside is as dark as the ink staining his fingertips, and you still have yet to return to the atelier.

The guidance orb sitting on the counter is the only thing keeping him from doing something rash. A scented sachet smelling faintly of lavender hovers within it—turning lazily, oscillating on occasion—but otherwise pointing steadily in the direction of Azmar Village. You might have thought to seek out the baker's daughter again for comfort or companionship, or perhaps you simply wish to be rid of his presence for a time. But having you out of his sight so soon after everything stirs an irrational fear in him, and some part of him is itching—no, clawing—with the need to fly there right now and drag you home himself.

But despite the unease, maybe it's better this way. It would be too easy to mistake possession for protection right now, and Qifrey doesn't trust himself to know the difference. Perhaps some distance is exactly what you both need, and Qifrey—

Qifrey is just so tired of fighting.

He shoves his hands under the vapour bubble, scrubbing hard as if the friction would scour away the impulse loitering beneath his skin. The water runs until it is cold. Still dark smudges cling stubbornly to his knuckles and the creases between his fingers, refusing to wash out.

He wrings out his hands in frustration, jaw tightening as he does. Water drips down his wrists and onto the floor.

"Stars," Qifrey mutters to himself. "I need a drink."

Stashed discreetly in an upper cabinet behind a row of preserve jars are two moderately sized, round bottomed flasks. The first is a silvernectar mead—sweet and pale gold, the kind of thing meant for celebrations rather than a night like this one. The other is dark as a bruise and twice as potent, gifted to him by some minor lord a couple of years back in exchange for diverting a flood on his territory.

"This twenty-year Willowgrape vintage is strong," the servant had joked as he pressed the bottle into Qifrey's hands, "It could probably kill a horse."

Perhaps that's what he needs right now. Qifrey grabs it off the shelf, glass cool and heavy in his hands as he walks—out of the kitchen, up the stairs, across the catwalk—boots echoing faintly on wood. He comes to a stop before a familiar door.

Qifrey hesitates, knuckles hovering over wood. Surely he's imposing—Olruggio has his own wounds to nurse tonight, his own silence to keep. He deserves a night of peace away from Qifrey as well. But before Qifrey can lose his nerve and withdraw, the door swings open on its own.

Olruggio stands on the other side. His eyes flick briefly to the bottles in Qifrey's hands, then back to his face. Neither of them speak.

Then Olruggio steps aside, and lets him in.

Qifrey clutches the wine to his chest as Olruggio sets about clearing a space for them to sit, shoving books and loose papers into somewhat neater piles with the practiced ease of a man used to his own clutter. Despite the mess there's a warmth to the room that is uniquely Olruggio's—tasseled pillows and worn rugs scattered across the floor, the embers of a fire left to burn low throughout the evening—that Qifrey had tried to replicate when you'd first taken residence in his atelier. He'd never managed to get it quite right.

Olruggio kicks aside a stray blanket and gestures for Qifrey to sit. He does, lowering himself carefully onto the nearest cushion. The ache in his ribs flares briefly before settling to a dull throb.

The two of them drink in silence, pouring the wine out of cracked cups that Olruggio produces from amidst the clutter. Qifrey knocks back one cup after another but barely tastes any of it—only the fiery burn as it goes down, sharp and bitter in the back of his throat. But it numbs the sting of the wound carved across his heart ever since the two of you had fought, at least, and that is what Qifrey needs most of all right now.

Olruggio doesn't comment. He simply refills Qifrey's cup when it empties between sips of his own, gaze fixed on some indistinct spot beyond the window. The firelight catches the edges of his face, carving shadows into the space just beneath his jaw, and Qifrey finds himself watching the way his friend's throat moves when he swallows. But eventually even the silence becomes unbearable.

"Aren't you…" Qifrey hesitates. "… going to ask what happened?"

Olruggio's cup pauses halfway to his mouth. His eyes meet Qifrey's over the rim, firelight flickering within their depths. "Would you tell me if I did?"

Qifrey swallows, hand curling tentatively into the fabric sitting over his knee. He's aware of the answer as much as Olruggio is. The drink has loosened his tongue somewhat, but Qifrey knows that he cannot tempt himself any further beyond this point. Because there is so much he wants to tell Olruggio—the reason for the distance he's kept, why he had left the Great Hall so abruptly, even every terrible thought he has ever had about you. The silverwood. Oh, the silverwood. That if it weren't for this cursed tree, Qifrey would have fallen at Olruggio's feet years ago and begged his forgiveness for everything.

But that would bring him too much relief. Instead, Qifrey confesses. "I'm scared."

Olruggio watches him for a moment—a dog eyeing a bone left just out of reach, unsure if it should bite. Then, slowly, he sets down his cup and straightens up to listen. Still caring, despite everything. Despite how little Qifrey deserves it.

So Qifrey tells Olruggio what he can. About how his failure in Hearthglen might have set you upon a dangerous path, and the subsequent argument the two of you had because of it. The guilt that gnaws at him, knowing you only did any of that because you care so deeply for him as your master—and the quieter, uglier shame beneath that, the certainty that he is undeserving of affection so pure. By the end of it his words are coming out slower, the bottles between them dangerously close to empty. Qifrey isn't sure when he started slurring, only that the room has gone warm and unsteady and almost muggy at the edges—in a way that has little to do with the fire.

And Olruggio—at some point, Olruggio had reached across the low table to put a hand on Qifrey's shoulder. He looks, Qifrey thinks blearily, squinting through the wine-thick fog creeping in on his mind, so sad.

"You don't have to bear it alone, Qifrey," Olruggio says.

The words are soft enough to wound. Olruggio is always making this sort of expression around Qifrey these days, and it stings Qifrey to know that he is the cause for it.

Perhaps this is what spurs Qifrey's impulse, to impetuously shove the table between them aside and kiss Olruggio; except he misses; so inebriated that his lips land hard at the corner of Olruggio's chin instead. For a blurred moment there is only the clumsy tangle of limbs and blankets, the two of them knocked half-sideways into the cushions. Olruggio's body is tense and rigid beneath his.

Then, just as Qifrey's mind clears enough for shame to catch up and he begins to withdraw, mortified—Olruggio's hand finds the back of his neck, and pulls him back down to properly meet his mouth.

Olruggio doesn't miss.

The kiss is hot and messy, all teeth and too much tongue. Olruggio's other arm snakes around Qifrey's waist—one hand still curled in the hair at Qifrey's name—and pulls him forward without breaking the kiss until Qifrey is straddling him, his knees bracketing Olruggio's hips. He tastes of the wine they'd shared but on Olruggio's tongue it turns honeyed, intoxicating and sweet. Qifrey's head spins. Each touch seems to immerse him in a muggy daze yet every inch of his skin feels like it is burning up, so sensitive to the calloused fingers stroking his jaw, heat pooling low in his stomach. Qifrey never knew it could feel so wonderfully, mind-numbingly good. He moans into Olruggio's mouth when the hand at the nape of his neck squeezes, and it is as though every bone in his body has gone liquid, pleasure shivering down his spine.

When they break apart it's with a soft, wet sound, and for a brief second there is a gossamer-thin string of spit connecting their mouths before it snaps. Qifrey's eye darts upwards, unable to focus on anything except the reddened hue of Olruggio's lips, still glistening.

Olruggio swallows hard, throat bobbing. "Qif—"

"Please," Qifrey whispers. He slides his hand up Olruggio's chest until his fingers find the edge of his collar, his other hand dropping down to Olruggio's belt. "Help me forget. Just for tonight."

Olruggio hesitates for a long moment. His blue eyes are so dark in the wavering firelight that they appear almost black. "You know this won't fix anything."

Qifrey's throat tightens. "I know."

"And you still want this?"

"Yes, yes." Qifrey tries to kiss him again but Olruggio catches him by the chin, forces him to still. Qifrey nearly whimpers. His grip is firm but not harsh, tilting his face up until Qifrey has no choice to meet his gaze. Olruggio looks up at him as though he can see straight through him; down to the marrow of his bones, the rotten heart sitting in his chest. "Please, Olruggio—"

Olruggio's hold on him doesn't relent. Qifrey feels caught in the open, a rabbit with one leg snared in a trap. "But that's not the same as wanting me."

"Does it have to be?"

The question, whispered hoarsely in its shame, slips out before Qifrey can catch it. It hangs in the air between them like residual smoke. Olruggio's expression flickers—something quiet passing briefly across his face, unreadable—before it settles into resignation.

"No," Olruggio finally says. "I suppose it doesn't."

The words are barely out before Olruggio is moving—pushing at Qifrey's hip until it is he beneath Olruggio instead, cushions pressing into his shoulder blades, the base of his spine. Qifrey's heart pounds so loud he is certain Olruggio must be able to hear it. But if he does, Olruggio gives no indication—instead his hand wraps around Qifrey's ankle, pushing his knee up and to the side—and then his fingers are slipping beneath the hem of Qifrey's robe, rucking up the fabric until they find the straps cinched around his upper thighs.

Qifrey's breath hitches, hands gripping the pillow beneath him. Olruggio leans in.

And this time, he doesn't ask any more questions.

Qifrey wakes to the pale grey of dawn filtering through Olruggio's curtains, the cloying smell of sweet wine and stale sweat still lingering on the sheets, and the slow, sinking realisation of what he's done.

He lies still for a long time, counting the heartbeats between each breath. Next to him Olruggio is still fast asleep—one arm thrown over his eyes as he snores lightly, bare chest rising and falling beneath the rumpled sheet. The same blanket that Qifrey had gripped with white-knuckled hands as Olruggio pushed into him for the first time, his embarrassingly loud cries muffled into its linen weave. Qifrey does not dare look any higher.

He should leave before Olruggio wakes up.

But Qifrey's body refuses to move. His limbs feel heavy, weighed down by guilt and something that feels akin to shame, though he can't name exactly what it is that he is ashamed of. The sex? The using? The fact that he'd crawled into his best friend's bed like a wounded animal and taken what solace he could without once asking what Olruggio needed—or wanted—in return?

Yes. All of it.

Qifrey sits up carefully, wincing when his lower half twinges. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, careful not to jostle the bed as he gets shakily to his feet. His clothes are scattered haphazardly across the floor. Qifrey gathers each item one by one in the muted half-light, moving furtively as though he can erase the night by absconding with its evidence.

"Running away?"

Olruggio's voice is rough with sleep. Qifrey freezes, halfway through pulling his shirt on. He turns his head slowly to find Olruggio propped up on his elbows, the blanket pooled around his waist. His hair is dishevelled, eyes still heavy and half-lidded with sleep, but there is a quiet knowing in them that makes Qifrey's stomach want to drop straight to the floor.

"I was just—" Qifrey starts, but the words die in his throat. How is he supposed to lie to Olruggio's face now, after he's had Qifrey red-faced and sobbing into his shoulder, after he'd watched Qifrey come apart on his cock? The memory surfaces, vivid and unbidden, and Qifrey can already feel the beginnings of a lurid flush creeping up the back of his neck. "I didn't want to wake you," he offers instead, lamely.

"Well, it didn't work. Your thoughts are too loud."

Qifrey finishes pulling on his shirt, fingers quickly lacing the straps at his thighs with practiced movements. He cannot look at Olruggio, despite the way he can feel his eyes on his back. Neither can he look at the rumpled sheets on the bed, or the empty wine bottle tipped over on the floor, or anything else that might remind him of the sounds he'd made in the dark. His fingers fumble with the straps at his throat, the leather suddenly stiff and uncooperative under his touch. Qifrey tries twice, then thrice, but when his attempts remain frustratingly unsuccessful he gives up and lets his hands fall back to his sides.

Finally, there is nothing left to delay the inevitable with. Swallowing, throat as dry as sandpaper, Qifrey turns around to face Olruggio.

"Last night—" Qifrey begins.

"Don't apologise." Olruggio's voice is surprisingly gentle when he interrupts. His expression is unreadable but his eyes are steady, fixed on Qifrey with some sort of wordless understanding that feels heavier than any accusation. "It doesn't have to be something we talk about."

"But—"

"We're friends, aren't we?" Olruggio says simply. "Friends help each other."

For a moment, only their quiet breaths fill the silence between them. Qifrey's hand fidgets with the door handle, brass cool against his skin, but finds himself unable to open it. Friends. For some reason the word sends a wave of nausea rolling in his stomach. If Olruggio spoke only the truth, and last night was nothing more than a careless tumble in the sheets between close companions, would there be such aching pain behind his eyes when he looks at Qifrey now?

"Thank you," Qifrey whispers, regardless. The words are woefully inadequate, but they are all he has.

He doesn't look at Olruggio as he pushes open the door. For the first time, selfishly, Qifrey wishes he had his palm quire in hand, the familiar three-pronged spell inked carefully on its second-to-last page. But the mere thought of expunging the night from Olruggio's mind brings too much relief, and Qifrey can already feel its branches shifting beneath his skin.

So Olruggio has no choice but to remember.

Outside the door to his own atelier, Qifrey hesitates. His mind turns itself over and over gain, and despite the hours he had lain awake the night before, thinking of the words he should say to make things right, he still comes up empty. A satisfactory apology eludes him—he cannot find the right arrangement of syllables to undo what he has done, cannot find a way to say I am sorry for hurting you again without it sounding like a hollow echo of every other time he has failed you. But more than that, Qifrey is afraid. Afraid that you might not be willing to listen, that you might have finally reached the final straw of your adoration. Something in him cringes at the thought of your rejection—as deserved as it is.

He hates that this is all he seems to be able to do. To you, to Olruggio—to every person who has ever been precious to him.

Qifrey exhales slowly, forcing his trembling hand to still on the latch. Azmar is not too far from the atelier. Qifrey will quickly make himself presentable, rehearse his apology in his head on the journey there. And then—

The door swings open in front of him.

You stand in the doorway, the morning sunlight curving across your profile, casting half of it into shadow. Qifrey's breath catches—not just from the sight of you, but the sudden unease writhing in the pit of his stomach. When did you return to the atelier? Was it just this morning? Or perhaps… his mind trails off, unwilling to finish the thought. Qifrey glances up to find you looking at him with wordless intent, expression inscrutable. Your eyes drift downwards, settling on his neck.

A second passes, and then another; still your gaze does not falter. Discomfort scrapes beneath his skin, and Qifrey's hand rises unconsciously to shield himself—fingers brushing awkwardly along the side of his throat—and then he feels it. The straps, undone, still loose at his collarbone where he'd failed to fasten them. And beneath his fingertips, the throbbing bruises left by Olruggio's mouth last night, still tender and aching to the touch.

His heart sinks in his chest.

Qifrey cannot move. There is not a single word that he can think of that might explain this away, the marks like hot-iron brands burned into his skin. He stands frozen, hand still at his throat.

Then you speak.

"Good morning, Master," you say, calmly. "I made tea."

The normalcy of your response unnerves him more than anger would. Qifrey cannot help but feel as though he is treading on the surface of a frozen lake, unable to see the hairline cracks spanning the ice underfoot, unsure which step will be the one to finally send him through. But then the corner of your mouth lifts, and Qifrey realises, with a terrible ache, just how long he's been waiting to see that expression directed at him again. How desperately he's been craving proof that he has not lost it all.

"Would Master like some?"

"Y—yes," he answers too quickly. "Yes. I'd like that."

You turn back towards the atelier. And like a coward Qifrey follows you inside, footsteps trailing quietly after yours, and lets the door close behind him without another word.

The weeks that follow settle carefully into a fragile rhythm. The atelier and its occupants return to a semblance of normalcy—tea in the mornings, spell theory and practice in the afternoons, quiet evenings spent in front of the warmth of the hearth. You hand over your books obediently and do not bring up the silverwood again. All these combined nearly lulls Qifrey into a sense of security—almost makes him forget the argument ever happened in the first place, its dark stain gradually washing out like watercolour beneath incessant rain. But it also makes him apprehensive—too fearful to disturb this fragile peace, afraid that a single misstep might shatter it all over again.

So he says nothing, when you begin leaving the atelier more often on your own.

Because of this, Qifrey finds himself unintentionally spending more time in Olruggio's company. After the sun has gone down and the atelier has grown too quiet for him alone, Qifrey lingers in the kitchen and shares a cup or two with his oldest friend while the fire burns low.

But never more. Qifrey has learned his lesson, now.

He brings it up only once, on an evening when the sunset stains the low-hanging clouds burnt sienna and fading gold. A note sits on the kitchen table, detailing that you have gone to Kahln to pick up some books on compound spells in your neat handwriting. It is a perfectly reasonable request. You've been spending more time in your room lately, intensely focused on preparing for your fourth test—The Goodwill of Her Grace. Passing this would allow you to graduate from his atelier and be recognised by the Great Hall as a fully independent witch. It is what Qifrey has always wanted for you: your own path, your own magic, a future that belongs wholly to you.

But yet he finds himself staring at the empty chair across from him, worry sitting quietly beneath his ribs. It is not silent, and neither is he alone. But the atelier simply feels different when your presence is absent from it, and he hates that he is sensitive enough to notice.

"They're gone again," Qifrey comments quietly. He says it thoughtlessly, the words slipping out without intention, but it's enough to make Olruggio glance up from his cup. Qifrey tries to ignore it, but the restlessness in him refuses to settle; he rises and begins to pace, until he finds himself standing by the window facing the road to Kahln. The sun is disappearing beyond the hills in the distance, shadows stretching slowly across the downlands.

You're more than capable of taking care of yourself now. Qifrey knows this. Still, it does little to assuage his concern.

“You’re worried they’re still upset,” Olruggio observes. Qifrey doesn't answer, knows that he is right.

Olruggio is quiet for a moment. He turns his empty cup over in his hands slowly, before he speaks. "Your apprentice is at the age all young witches begin to seek their own independence," Olruggio says carefully, his voice taking on that cautious tone he always slips into when he's unsure of how Qifrey will receive his words. "It's what you've been preparing them for, isn't it? Perhaps… perhaps a little distance will be healthy for them." He hesitates, thumb tracing the wettened rim of his cup. "And maybe for you, too."

The words settle in the tenuous silence between them. Eventually Olruggio continues.

"They care about you, Qifrey. That much is obvious." Olruggio's voice softens. "I think all you need to do right now is give them some space. Let them sort through their own thoughts."

Your apprentice cares about you.

Qifrey is fairly certain that Olruggio means to be reassuring. But he does not know the whole truth, the full extent of the knowledge you've unearthed—the reason why those words are not a comfort but a warning. He looks at the face of the man who'd once stood in your place and cared too much—who'd seen the ruin the silverwood made of him and decided that he was an acceptable sacrifice in Qifrey's stead.

The thought of you stepping willingly onto the same pyre, content to be razed to ash, keeps him awake long after Olruggio has returned to his own side of the atelier. Eventually Qifrey finds himself sitting alone in the dark, wondering how many more months he will let pass before he finds the courage to say what he must.

Tomorrow, Qifrey tells himself. I'll do it tomorrow.

But tomorrow always becomes today, and today always ends up being never. The weeks grow into months. And the things left unsaid grow heavier with each passing day, until one day Qifrey realises the silence has become a spell of its own—one he no longer knows how to break.

Then one day, Qifrey realises it has been too long since he's last seen you.

He tells himself it is nothing at first. You are studying hard, still taking the rose glowtarts and fewberry jellies he's been leaving outside your door. You've always been like this when something wholly captures your attention—disappearing into books, notes and research until the rest of the world falls away. It's not unusual. Qifrey has to remind himself not to worry excessively; he does not want to become another source of pressure, hovering over your shoulder when you're trying to focus.

But this time, something feels off.

Qifrey occupies himself with chores. He spends the morning tending to the weeds that have sprung up along the walls of the atelier, then reorganising a shelf of spell supplies that he'd only finished arranging a week ago. Anything that keeps his hands busy, that stops him from glancing too often towards the stairs. If you need anything, you will come to him.

That is what he keeps telling himself.

Eventually, unable to ignore the unease gnawing at him, Qifrey finds himself standing outside your door. He hesitates there longer than he should, knuckles hovering just above the wood.

He's being ridiculous. Qifrey knows that. You are his apprentice, no longer a child. You are allowed your privacy—your own time, your own thoughts, your own space. And yet…

“Apprentice?”

No answer. He knocks again, a little louder this time.

"Apprentice? Are you awake?"

Still nothing. Frowning, Qifrey puts a hand to the handle. It does not turn.

Qifrey feels like he's been plunged headfirst into icy water. He has never explicitly forbidden it, but you've never locked your door before—never had reason to. The realisation hits him with the force of a physical blow, and then his hands begin to shake.

"Apprentice," he calls, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Open the door, please."

For an elongated moment, there is nothing but silence and the rapid thump of Qifrey's heart in his own ears. Then, faintly, muffled through wood—a sound.

A low groan of pain.

Fear takes over before reason can catch up. Qifrey steps back and, without thinking, drives his shoulder into the door with all his body weight behind it. Once, twice, until finally, the lock gives with a sharp crack.

Qifrey bursts into the room only to find you collapsed on your knees next to the bed, hunched over yourself with one hand clutched to your face. The heavy smell of rust and iron is what hits him next, so thick it clogs his nose. His gaze drops to the floor, where something dark and liquid drips steadily between your knees.

Horror floods through him at once. "Apprentice—"

Qifrey is across the room in an instant, shaking hands gripping you by the shoulder and dragging you upright. He's far too frantic to be gentle. "What happened? Where are you hurt?" His voice comes out sharper and higher than he intends, panicked and breathless. "Why didn't you call for me? We need to get you to the medical spire right now—"

But you only look up at him and smile. Blood slips between your fingers and trails down the curve of your cheek, falling like raindrops from your chin. Your hand is pressed tightly over your left eye, and Qifrey cannot get a clear enough view to piece together what happened. His mind races through every possibility. A fall? An accident? Some spell gone terribly awry?

His hands search frantically for something to stem the bleeding, but can find none within reach. His own robe will do—Qifrey reaches for the hem, ready to tear it—but before he can, your hand settles over his, stopping him. He glances up, heart pounding in his throat, and finds you still smiling.

"Ah." You sound almost pleased, though for what reason he cannot possibly fathom. Why would you sound like this? Why would you look at him like this when you are bleeding, when something is so clearly, terribly wrong? "Perfect timing, Master. I was just about to look for you—I have a spell I wanted you to see."

"This is hardly the time to be—"

"Watch."

Before Qifrey can ask what you mean, you reach for one of the sheets scattered on your table and press it against your bleeding eye. Qifrey barely has time to take in the concentric rings, the unfamiliar sigils woven between your precise lines—before the spell begins to glow. Light seeps through the conjuring ink, and Qifrey watches in frozen horror as the blood on your face slowly recedes. When you pull the paper away, the skin around your left eye is whole and unmarked once again, as though the injury had never existed in the first place.

You've healed yourself. This is no simple time reversal or counter-clock spell—Qifrey can tell from the dried flecks of blood still clinging to your lashes, its faint remnants along your closed eyelid. His breath comes out short and uneven, mind struggling to reconcile with what he has just witnessed.

You've just cast forbidden magic in front of him.

You are still speaking, explaining the technicalities and calibration of the healing spell—but Qifrey can hardly comprehend a word. The words wash over Qifrey like water over stone, fragments of sound swallowed by the pounding in his ears. His eye drifts around your room like an untethered boat, unable to look directly at the truth that has just unfolded before him. All he finds is disorder—you're surrounded by crumpled seals and crossed out sigils he vaguely recognises, and steel instruments of various shapes and sizes of purposes beyond him lie scattered on your bed. But only one thing is clear—that in his attempt to bury his own problems, to keep you from a tragic fate of his own causing—Qifrey has only pushed you beyond the point of no return.

His gaze finally comes to a stop on your table. Sitting in a small glass jar, suspended in clear brine, a familiar eye looks back at him through glass. The same eye Qifrey has spent years looking at from across the table through tea-brewed steam and watched search his face carefully for approval, praise, attention. The one he has spent nights trying not to dream of, the way it holds him in place without needing a word. It floats there—iris dark and empty, pupil dilated and fixed on him just as it always did in life.

Bile rises sharply at the back of Qifrey's throat. He bites back a choked sound, stumbling back when his knees suddenly buckle beneath him.

"Master—"

Qifrey whirls around only to find you looking back at him. It is then that he sees it—silver branches, like slivers of moonlight frozen into bone, extending out of the socket of your left eye. Their leaves curl outward delicately. Face to face like this, it is though Qifrey is staring into a perfect mirror—of the curse that has haunted him for his entire life.

"It took multiple attempts," you're saying, seemingly unaware of the horror that has overtaken him. Still explaining, as though this is nothing more than a difficult spell from a textbook you've been trying to perfect. "Did you know, Master? The silverwood rarely takes root in people because they hold too much anxiety. But after my first few tries, I realised I could increase my chances of success if I—"

Qifrey does not hear the rest. His hands move before his mind does, and he grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you against the bedframe. You gasp when your shoulder collides with solid wood, but Qifrey cannot stop—cannot even notice how tightly he is holding you with the panic tearing through him. His mind is filled with nothing but the sight of silver branches and empty eyes, the irreversible proof of what you've done.

"What did you do?" Qifrey can hardly recognise his own voice, an ugly sound caught between a cry, a roar, a scream. "What did you do?!"

In response, you only tilt your head as though the answer should be obvious. "I infected myself with a silverwood, of course. The Brimmed Hat from before gave me a seed that day." Qifrey's heart sinks. "Like I said, not much is known about the silverwood, but I wanted to be of use to Master. I knew Master wouldn't be happy if I experimented on someone else, though, so I—"

"Happy?" The word tears out of Qifrey, half-hysterical, half in disbelief. His fingers dig into the softness of your upper arms, so tight it almost tears through fabric. He wants to reach into your eye and yank out the silverwood before its roots can spread any further within you, but he knows better than anyone that it is too late now—that it has already woven itself into your flesh, your skin, the very marrow of your bones. "Happy? Did you think that I would be happy if you sacrificed your own eye to become a test subject? Did you think that casting forbidden magic for my sake would ever bring me happiness?"

Your expression softens.

"Perhaps not," you admit, your voice quiet, almost apologetic. Your hand reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb tracing tenderly over the scar tissue there, and it is only tthen that Qifrey realises his entire body is trembling. "But Master's silverwood… it's quiet now, isn't it?"

Qifrey stares. He had not noticed until you said it—the familiar ache in his chest, the constant pressure behind his missing eye, the low thrum of the parasite that has lived in him for years—has gone still. For the first time in a long while, the silverwood is completely silent. The truth of it tastes like poison in his mouth.

Qifrey stumbles back before you can say more. You are simply not listening. "This is madness. This is ridiculous." He wrings his hands together, fingernails leaving crescent marks against his pale skin in their distress. "No. No, no, no. You cannot be allowed to continue down this path."

"Is Master going to turn me in to the Knights Moralis, then?"

Qifrey stares down at the forbidden spells scattered across the floorboards like fallen leaves. His heart pounds painfully against his ribs, rabbit quick. Olruggio had already protected you once by hiding what happened in Hearthglen, but this—this cannot be concealed from the Great Hall forever. Not with what you've done. And far worse than that—Qifrey knows you will not stop. You believe that this is the only way to save him, and you've already proven that you will stop at nothing if you think it will spare him pain.

Without another word, Qifrey lunges.

You grunt in surprise when your back hits the ground, papers scattering like startled birds taking flight. Qifrey pins both wrists in one hand when you struggle against him, pressing them above your head with an iron grip, settling his weight firmly over you. Your strength is nothing compared to his. With his other hand, he slips off his hat.

The sequence of actions is burned into Qifrey's memory. The removal of the pin, the undoing of the flap. A familiar three-pronged spell unfolds before his eyes, oblivion etched in ink as dark as a moonless night. He raises the hat over your head with a shaking hand.

Now. Qifrey must do it now.

But he cannot move. Because Qifrey understands, intimately, what it would mean. It is memories that make a person—the accumulation of moments, the weight of shared words—two plants growing side by side, until their roots intertwine beneath soil and their leaves reach for the same light. Memory erasure spells are imperfect, imprecise things; for who can truly define the boundaries of a memory, the extent of sorrow from one's tears?

The apprentice he has raised and grown to care for, the person he has come to love more deeply than he can ever allow himself to admit—all of it might be erased. All of you.

The memories spill out, unbidden, like a flood of water through a broken dam. I want to cure Master. I don't like to see Master in pain. Meeting Master was my greatest fortune. Master can't ever leave me. I love Master. Master is everything to me.

Master. Master. Master.

The word echoes, a repeated refrain cradling his crying heart. And Qifrey—he cannot do it. The hat slips from his trembling fingers, and it falls to the floor with a soft thump.

His breath comes out in ragged, uneven gasps. His head is spinning. Qifrey cannot see through the tears blurring his vision—hot and relentless, spilling down his cheek without permission. He is drowning in his own despair, so consumed by it that he does not realise you have pulled yourself free until his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs brushing away the tears that refuse to stop falling.

"Then, Master must love me as well," you whisper. Your voice is soft at the edges, without an ounce of triumph or satisfaction—as though you are aching just as much as he is. "Oh, Master."

You say it like a prayer, a lament. Qifrey only weeps harder, his shoulders shaking. Everything—his shame, his failure, his helplessness, all of it—is too much to bear.

"Since Master tried to erase my memories, it is only right that I get to cast a spell on him in return," you say gently, through his sobs. "An equivalent exchange."

Before he can ask what you mean, Qifrey feels your lips against his.

The kiss is soft but aches like a bruise—a collision of everything Qifrey has never dared to say aloud, everything he's been too afraid to name. Qifrey can taste himself on your lips, the salt of his own despair mingling with the heat of your breath, and it breaks something open within him. He does not know how long it lasts—seconds, minutes, an eternity—but when you finally pull back it is like every cell in his body is crying out for you, already mourning the loss of your warmth.

And then you move. You slip out of his trembling hands, and Qifrey watches you cross over to the window, silhouetted against the pale light of the moon. You pause only for a moment, your hand resting on the frame, and look back at him.

His greatest fortune, his most terrible curse.

"There," you whisper softly. "Don't ever forget me, Master."

And then you are gone.

The window is empty. Moonlight pools on strewn papers, spills across scattered inkwells. The room is quiet, save for the sound of his own ragged breathing. Qifrey's hand reaches out, grasping at empty air.

And all he can do is scream.

[elysiumae]

how can you blame brimmy for anything when they see their master going through this kind of pain... 😭😭

[qifreyswifee]

hey guys, convince @shhhhhhxoxo125 to watch the gojo vs sukuna fan animation. it’s really good it can’t hurt you :)

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

I smell… a liar🤨

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

SHES AT IT AGAIN SARAH WE CAN TALK THIS OUT WAITTTTTTT 🫪

@qifreyswifee

[elysiumae]

ok drag path spoilers utc but also not really spoilers because this is just an au of my own au...

imagine brimmy actually trying to off themselves multiple times but being unable to because the silverwood heals them over and over again. not just the silverwood but the forbidden magic they've carved into their own skin when they were trying to find a way to save their master, a reminder of their efforts and their failures. feeling hopeless they give in to their deepest desire and travel back to the naakiwan downs. it's night by the time they arrive, standing on a little slope a distance from the atelier, and for a moment they wonder if everything that their master has said could really be true—that he still loves them, that he doesn't care about anything they've done, that he just wants them to come home to him. they don't deserve to, of course. but outweighing that is this quiet ache in them-they miss their master so, so much it hurts.

and just as brimmy is contemplating this, they look through the window of the atelier. lit up by the warm glow of the kitchen, they see qifrey being sat down at the table by olruggio, surrounded by his current apprentices as they scoop food into his bowl and insist he eat. brimmy's eye lingers on the way olruggio's hand lingers on qifrey's shoulder and squeezes lightly, and the way their master glances back at him and his face softens. and brimmy feels—

—not jealousy, like what they'd expected. but a contentment so great it feels like a flood, of relief so great that their master is surrounded by people who can love him right, and that mr. olruggio will take care of their master with everything he is, everything he has. and brimmy just closes their eyes, and for a moment they can almost feel the warmth of the atelier's hearth, and a comfort they havent felt in years sinking deep into their chest—just like the first time they'd climbed into their master's bed to escape those terrible nightmares.

master, master, master.

and the next day, qifrey leaves the atelier, intent on properly finding them this time—encouraged by his apprentices' words and motivated by olruggio's advice after spilling his heart to them the night before—only to find a silverwood tree blooming on the hill, branches like fingers reaching in the direction of the atelier

[calypsocolada]

SICKNESS | qifrey

synopsis: with hazy memories you wake up in a familiar witch's atelier... an: happy fourth of july! first post in almost a year. i haven't really been inspired to write until I watched this anime and cooked up this story. I had so much fun writing again and I hope you all enjoy! wc: 12k cw: brimmed cap reader x qifrey, enemies to lovers, mentions of blood and gore, convient plot devices, possible ooc qifrey (i'm anime only so my understandings of him and the brimmed caps is limited lol), dubious behavior, not proofread forgive me, fem reader

click here for my masterlist

You woke up when the rain stopped. Head aching just as much as your bones. You groaned and rolled over on the soft bed beneath you, it creaked softly with the sudden movement. You grimaced, a sharp pain in your side drawing your attention. The room you were in was dark, a circular window to your left let in soft moonlight filtering through rain droplets casting shadows across dark hardwood flooring. You blinked a few times, feeling the sharp pain in your side, expecting the wetness of blood or bruising but whatever the pain was it slowly ebbed away to nothing but a dull ache. You sat up, throwing your legs over the side of the bed, cold feet meeting even colder flooring. It woke you up a little as you adjusted to the darkness of the room. The room was warm in its decorations, oakwood shelves full of casting spell books and the art of spell books and art of cooking books. Your brow furrowed. There was a viney plant stretching impossibly across the ceiling and pots of ink and paper on the desk a few feet from your bed. You pushed to your feet, the soft blanket around your body falling back on the bed. The flooring creaked softly beneath your feet as you moved across the room. Propped beside the desk was your broken sword and tattered clothes. You suddenly looked down at the clothes you were wearing now, a simple tunic and baggy pants. Someone changed your clothes. You reached for your sword, the damn thing was broken, just a few inches of sword before it chipped off to nothing. 

What the hell happened? Where the hell were you?

You placed the sword back down and ran a hand through your hair, pulling it back out of your face. Your memory was… spotty to say the least. You remembered igniting your blade in the forest, you think maybe you were fighting someone but nothing comes to you. You sigh a little and turn towards the doorway and startle. There's four young girls crowded in the entrance, not walking past the threshold. They’re eyes wide and observing you as though you were some strange animal on display. You sucked in a breath.

“What… uh…” You stuttered and at the sound of your voice the pink haired girl gasped, grasping onto the blondish green haired girl. Her eyes widened in fear when your eyes met hers. Your memory jumpstarts messily in quick flashes. 

You were tracking her, sword in hand. 

“She looks… human.” The blue haired girl whispers tonelessly and the black haired girl’s eyes sharpen. 

“She is. Mostly.”

“Who are you?” You asked, stepping back, head throbbing. The girls all startled and stepped back away from the door.

“Don’t try for sympathy.” The black haired girl called to you. “We are not foolish enough to think you don’t remember us.” She tried to sound brave but you heard the tremor in her voice. You stepped closer and they all fumbled over each other to step away, terrified of you. 

“I’m not acting. My memory is… hazy.” You say, two of the girls soften. One of them stepped closer to the door as the black haired girl grabbed at her. 

“Coco, careful, don’t pass the threshold, Master said-”

“I know.” Coco responds softly and turns to look at you. She clears her throat and sucks in a slightly shaky breath. “Do you remember me?” You look at her for a long moment. You do but you can’t place why. Your head hurts and you make a face, unsteadily grabbing for the desk chair behind you, you sit. 

“I think so.”

“If you did, I think we’d be having a different conversation.” She says softly, you rub your hands over your face and look at her through your fingers. Another flash of memory, rain beating against you as you grabbed her arm in the dark, yanking her back, pressing your sword to her throat.

“I hurt you.” You say after a quiet moment. Coco shakes her head fast, denying.

“No… no… I mean… a little but I’m okay. Actually… you saved me. I think that's why the master brought you back here.” She says, much to the dark haired girl's detriment. 

“That’s enough.” She seethed, grabbing Coco’s wrist and pulling her away from the threshold. Coco ignored her. 

“Are you hungry, miss? You’ve been asleep for days.” Your stomach suddenly twisted at the mention but you were hung up on her words. You’d been asleep for days?

“She doesn’t deserve to eat.” The black haired girl hisses, yanking Coco another step back. Coco whirls on her. 

“Agott! Don’t talk like that.” She pleads kindly. “She's probably starving.”

“Good.” Agott growls. “You think for a second she had good intentions saving you? She probably just wanted to turn you into the Brimmed Cap’s herself.” 

The Brimmed Cap’s. 

Your head slams with memories. You were sent to track down Coco, given a half assed description of her. You were desperate to prove yourself, to gain power for selfish reasons. You’d played by the rules your entire life and that got you nowhere. You were desperate which so happened to be a perfect personality trait for the Brimmed Cap’s to swoop in and entice you into joining their side. You were no good. No good when you entered that rainy forest with murder on your mind. But one of the others found Coco and when you saw her… she was just a child. You hadn’t known she was going to be a child. 

“Miss… are you hungry?” Coco breaks through your thoughts. Now you remembered all but how you got here.

“Where am I?” You ask a tad forcefully. Agott stepped in front of Coco, such sharp angry eyes for a young girl. 

“That’s none of your business. Coco asked if you were hungry.” She says through gritted teeth. You cocked your head. 

“It’s none of my business where I am?” You ask and revel in the anger it brings the young girl. Yeah… you remembered who you were now and exactly why these girls were so fearful. Agott doesn’t step closer, her hands shaking at her sides. You rise from your chair. “Where’s your master?” You ask in an eerily calm voice. The girls were silent. “He’s not home?” You ask and they flinch. That was answer enough for you. But it couldn’t be so easy that you could walk out of this room, they were fretting about the threshold for a reason. There must be some kind of spell cast over this room that made it more of a prison than anything else. 

“What’re you doing?” the pink haired girl asked, voice wavering.

“You know… I am quite peckish.” You say, eyes looking around the room. The bottles of ink on the desk catches your eye. 

“You are?” Coco asks carefully. You nod your head. 

“Yes.” You say and try to soften your voice but it comes out wrong. No matter what you do you’re scaring these girls. The pink haired girl grabs Coco, they’re all practically holding onto one another as though that would ward off your evil. 

“We’ll go make you something then.” Coco says kindly as she starts to walk away and the girls scurry after her. You wait until you can’t hear their footsteps anymore before sweeping off towards the desk. You grab up the first bottle of ink and sigh. Completely dried out. You grab the next and sigh even louder. Also dried. You place the bottle back down. Your pen was conveniently missing and you attributed that to the master of this place. You walked towards the window, it was still dark out but you had no idea what time it could be. Asleep for three days.. The moments leading up to being brought here were foggy still. You remembered seeing someone capture Coco, she was screaming and crying and scared and just a child. You had raised your sword to the other Brimmed Cap before even realizing what you were doing.

“Traitor!” He had yelled as you ran him through. Then your memory stalled. 

What happened after that? You groaned and sat back on the bed, running a stressed hand through your hair. How did your sword break? And how come your clothes were so tattered? And how did you end up a prisoner in the same place as Coco with no master in sight.

“Miss?” Coco’s soft voice called from the doorway, it startled you. You hadn’t even heard her steps. You sat up. “Would you like hot tea?” You look at the young girl, she must’ve slipped away from the others for them to let her come up here alone. 

“How did I get here?” You ask, hoping with her being alone she’d be less wary. 

“Master brought you here… he said you’d die if we left you out there in the forest.” She explained, fiddling with her fingers. Slowly you nodded your head. 

“Because… I got hurt?” You guessed and she nodded her head. 

“Yes you… you got hurt.” She said smally, as if it was her fault. “You were trying to save me.” You looked at the young girl, something like guilt was eating her up. You weren’t bigheaded enough to think it was all directed at you but at least some of it was. 

“You don’t have to seem so sorry. I’m the villain here.” You said and her eyes snapped up to yours, she started to shake her head no but looked down at her hands instead. 

“I think… you’re a good person… deep down. It showed in the forest. Even my master must think so since he brought you here.”

“He trapped me here.” You point out and she sucks in a breath. “Though it’s definitely better than I deserve.” You laugh softly, shaking your head. She looks up quickly at the sound of your laugh, almost like she was surprised you could make that sound. You sigh into your hand. “Who’s your master?”

“Master Qifrey.” The amusement on your face died in an instant. 

You joined the Brimmed Caps when you were only a child. It was the same sob story as most others that joined probably. Your parents wanted perfection but you never had a steady hand. You failed the second test and that was the first time your father hit you. You had run away later that night to go to your grandma’s house near the edge of the village when a man approached you. He looked scary and called himself Iguin. He took one look at you then casted a spell, healing the bruise on your cheek. 

“Are you alright, young lady?” He asked, his voice scared you. Practically everything about him scared you. You couldn't see his face, just this eerie mask with a giant swirling eye staring at you. You felt dissected.

“I’m… alright.” You answered smally, pressing a hand to your cheek, it didn’t hurt any longer. He laughed and you wondered, scared if you had said something funny. 

“If you were alright you wouldn’t be out running scared this late at night.” He did a little movement with his hands and suddenly a sweet bun appeared in his palm. He offered it to you. “For you.” He offers and slowly you reach out and take it, taking a scared step back. “That’s your favorite, right?” You nod your head and shakily take a bite. It’s perfect, light and airy with peach puree in the middle, just like your grandma made them. You smile. 

“Thank you, mister.”

“Tell me… young witch, what would you do with unlimited power?”

“Unlimited?” You echoed and the masked figure nodded his head, procuring a book from his cloak. 

“Magic without restraints. Without pressure. Without fear.” He offered the book to you. You looked at the leatherbound thing in his hand and foolishly reached out and grabbed it. You never saw your family again after that day, nor did you ever make it to your grandma’s house. Over the years leading up to today you had faced a lot of the Pointed Cap witches and the only one that ever stood out was Qifrey. He seemed desperate for information the times you faced and lost to him. The last time you faced him was… muddy to say the least. But he wasn’t someone you felt comfortable trapped within their grasp. 

“Miss?” Coco’s voice snapped you back into this moment. You blinked a few times. 

“Qifrey, white haired witch?” You ask and the girl lights up a little bit. 

“Yes miss.” She answers with a little smile. But you had nothing to smile about. Iguin had warned you about this man and here you were, a prisoner in his home. 

“Do you have something stronger than hot tea, young Coco?” You asked and she furrowed her brows, not understanding, you sighed. “Hot tea will do.” 

“Yes, Coco, go fetch our guest some hot tea.” Both you and Coco startled when Qifrey appeared just behind her, all soft smiles. You looked away in an instant as Coco greeted him and padded down the stairs leaving you two alone. “I trust you aren’t trying to corrupt my apprentices.” He says and when you look back over at him that jovial smile from a moment ago has disappeared completely. It was a chilling sight. You cleared your throat. You were supposed to be the scary one here. You were the Brimmed Cap witch, you needed to act like it. 

“The night’s still young.” You answered with as much composer as you could muster. Qifrey cocked his head a little, one eye surveying you, you wondered why the other was covered up, wondered if there was even one there to begin with. 

“How is your head?” He asks. Surely he was speaking of your memories and not the constant pounding. He stepped past the threshold and it took everything in you not to move away from him. He showed you no fear. He treated and talked to you like an old friend. It was unnerving.

“I’m remembering, slowly.” You offer cautiously. 

“I meant pain. One of your fellow Brimmed Cap’s hit you rather hard. That could be why your memory is spotty.” He says and your brows furrow. So someone knocked you over the head, huh? You felt around your head until you pressed the base of your skull and gasped in pain, white hot pulses shooting through you. He wasn’t lying, someone did clobber you good. “Take it easy,” His voice was soft, you heard one of the girls call for him at the door and the rattle of a tray being passed from one hand to another. You blinked, eyesight blurry as Qifrey pulled the bedside table close to you and placed the food on it. “Eat. Slowly as to not make yourself sick.” He directs. Your head is still pounding but it is better than it was a few seconds ago. 

The wooden tray in front of you consists of some type of creamy stew, fluffy bread and a cup of steaming tea. Shakily you grab for the spoon and slowly stir it around the stew for a moment before spooning out some and bringing it to your lips. You paused. Delicious. Utterly delectable. “Is it alright?” He asked, sitting in the desk chair across from you. You cleared your throat awkwardly, not speaking but just nodding your head. The headache caused by hunger slowly subsided as you finished the stew and dipped your bread in the remainder of your broth. 

“Do you recall your name?” 

You spoke your name to him in between bites. 

“And how you got here?” He asks. To that you shake your head. 

“I remember…” You trail off. You were in the hands of the enemy, the more you spoke the more of a traitor you were becoming. You swallowed dryly and reached for your tea, now lukewarm. “How did I get here, witch?” At the sudden shift in your body language Qifrey responds in kind. 

“Ah.” As if he knows you're slowly shutting him out. “Well… one of your… team members, though I don’t suppose you can call him that now, saw you save my apprentice. Saw you kill to save my apprentice.” He emphasises. You flinch at the accusation in his tone. 

“I did no such thing.”

“I know Brimmed Cap’s lie but this is beneath you and frankly a waste of breath. I saw you save her.” He says and your eyes snap to him. He saw everything. Of course he did. And of course if he didn’t his little apprentice would tell him everything.

“I wanted the bounty for myself.” You lie. He sits back, closes his eyes and crosses his arms, as if tired of this conversation. 

“Then why didn’t you take her to your master then and there? Why did you whirl around and ask about her wellbeing? These are very contradictory actions as you can see.” He explains calmly. You glared, clenching your jaw but his eyes were still closed. Whatever ward he placed on this room kept you from using your magic, even the spells carved on your skin were useless. “You know… maybe you remember me before or maybe you don’t but I remember you. We’ve fought… three times, correct?” At this he opened his eyes to meet yours and smiled a little, as if recalling fond moments. You stared at him, not giving an inch to how rattled you were. “I beat you once, twice and… that last time… I beat you but only because… you hesitated.” 

You swung out your sword of fire, it sparked as it hit the brunt side of Qifrey’s blade, rain pouring like mad. You kicked out your booted foot, hitting Qifrey’s leg from beneath him as he thudded harshly to one knee and you swung your sword hard enough to cleaver him in half, his sword raised to meet yours, the force of your swing sending him sprawling back to the wet dirt. This is what Iguin talked about as you stalked the prey beneath you, that overwhelming taste of power, of beating a foe stronger than you. You stomped on his hand that held the blade hard enough that he gasped and dropped it, his wrist pinned beneath your muddy boot. You pressed your blade to his throat like you had with so many other foes. But instead of finishing the job, you hesitated. Qifrey broke loose and won back the upper hand just in time for the other Brimmed Caps to come to your aid. Outmanned Qifrey retreated but you had lost once again. 

“That’s a very… hopefully deluded outlook.” You said slowly, the memory dancing around your head like a jester taunting royalty.

“How would you describe it then?” He asks.

“Lack of bloodlust.” You say and a small smile grows on Qifrey’s lips, it was a scary sight. You tensed when he stood up. 

“Still hungry?” He asked, gathering up the things on your tray. 

“If you think kindness will get me to sell out my people then you are wrong.” You say sharply, hoping to break through that carefully crafted wall Qifrey hides behind. You sense he isn’t as happy go lucky as he likes to present. But he doesn’t take your bait. It was cheap bait anyways.

“You’re people left you bleeding out in the mud.” Qifrey says without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to him as he turns to walk out of the room. “I’ll make you another serving.” And with that he sweeps out of the room. Unfortunately you weren’t as closed off to bait as he was. You blew out a breath and walked towards the threshold. He walked over it with ease so you reached out your hand to test it, you felt the power emanating from the invisible air, crackling like lightning waiting to strike. You pulled your hand away and stepped back. Just one touch would probably send you flying across the room and you were already not in the best of shape. You walked to the circular window and reached out, feeling that same crackling of power, there wasn’t one inch of wall that he missed. You sighed and sat back on the bed just as you heard stairs creaking and Qifrey walked back into the room.

“What kind of spell is in this room?” You asked as he gently sat another tray in front of you with fresh steaming soup and hot tea, this time with two slices of bread. Your stomach lurched at the sight and you were reaching for the spoon in seconds. 

“A simple protection spell.” He says. You doubt it’s that simple. 

“Protecting me from what?” You asked, mouth full. 

“Protecting them from you.” He corrects and your eyes find him again. You were the villain, something you didn’t feel like getting fed in a prison on your own making. You felt more like a fool in a bear trap. 

“I’m not the trump card you think I am.” You say, getting back to your food. “I know you're desperate for information about the Brimmed Cap’s, my master told me so.”

“You’re master?” He asks and he’s unable to keep the interest out of his voice. You’ve ensnared him. 

“Yes. He taught me all that I know.” You look down at the bowl, you can’t remember having food this good in so long. “He carved my first spell into my arm.” Qifrey flinches, that placid look on his face faltering. You look back up at him, elated at having rattled him. You reach for your sleeve, start to pull it up when Qifrey moves across the room in the blink of an eye, hand grasping your wrist to stop you. The sudden movement upsets the table in front of you as your stew tips over into your lap, hot and stinging. You gasp as Qifrey stares at you, almost fearful for a moment. “You could’ve just closed your eyes, witch!” You growled, yanking your hand out of his grip. 

“Apologies.” He breathes out unsteadily. “Are you hurt?” 

“It’s fine, just stings.” You say and suddenly Qifrey sweeps out of the room as fast as he had moved to stop you from showing your arm. You stare after him, confused, then look down at your lap. It was silly to be upset over spilled stew but you wished that witch would stub his toe wherever he was going. You pushed to your feet and pulled off your trousers, using them to clean up the small bit that made it to the ground. Your thighs were fine, the trousers were pretty thick so it saved you from any last burns. When you pushed back to your feet Qifrey walked back into the room and paused at the sight of you. In one hand he held another bowl of stew, the other a spare pair of trousers. His eyes slammed shut, a furious flush spreading across his face. 

“Here.” He shoves the pants your way. Your hand brushes against his as you take them and he shivers, stepping back. You watch his expressions as you pull them on. He was clearly embarrassed. It was… amusing to see him this way. Then your gut slams. He’s your enemy. You grab the bowl of stew out of his other hand and his eyes peek open. Once he deems it safe he blows out a breath and both of you sit back down. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asks and you glare at him and get back to eating your stew.

“What led to me being imprisoned here?” You ask and Qifrey takes a breath, whatever strange state you saw him in a moment ago was smoothed over. 

“You’re not our prisoner.” 

“Oh I’m not?” You ask, almost laughing as you dip bread in the broth and take a bite. “So I can walk right out of that barrier?”

“Yes.” He says and you actually do laugh. 

“Yes… it will send me to my early grave as well?” You finish and Qifrey nods his head. 

“I only had it up while I wasn’t home to protect the girls. I am home now.” He says simply, not threatened by you, he was right not to be. Not only were you weak, your special sword was broken on the table. You shove to your feet, the bowl rattling but not spilling.

“Shall I test it?” You ask and he makes a gesture like be my guest. You walk over to it and pause. This was clearly a trick but if he wanted answers out of you then he’d have to bring you back from the dead. You walk forwards and flinch as you pass right through the threshold and… nothing happens. You turn back and Qifrey is smiling a little.

“Do you believe me now?” He asks, crossing his legs and leaning back nonchalantly. 

“Foolish witch.” You say before darting down the stairs. You were in some… cozy house. You spot the front door and rush to it, throwing it open and running outside into the pouring rain. You made it down the path when finally the moments that led you being taken here slam into your mind. The final piece of the puzzle. 

Qifrey sits calmly in the room and waits. He hears the front door open back up and squelching as you make your way back up the stairs, drenched from the rain. Qifrey stands, pulling out his paper pad, casting a spell that dries you right up. You don’t meet his eye as you shiver and make your way back to the table of food. Qifrey walks over, grabs a blanket and tosses it over your shoulders. You don’t bid him thanks because you have made a proper fool out of yourself. It wasn’t some random Brimmed Cap that busted you over the head. It was your own master. He’d seen you save Coco, he’d seen you betray him and he was the second one that day that called you a traitor. Qifrey didn’t have a protection spell over this room when he got home because he knew once that memory of yours jogged you’d remember that you have nowhere else to go. Iguin would be looking for you. He’d want to finish the job. All the Brimmed Cap would be on the same page. You were just as much a wanted person as Coco was, though for very different reasons. Very different deadly reasons. 

“I’m useless to you, Witch.” You say, absentmindedly stirring your soup. Qifrey furrows his brows. 

“How so?”

“One of the things you give up for unlimited power just so happens to be autonomy.” You explain. “I can’t speak his name. I can’t write his name. I can’t lead you to him. I can’t talk about our cause or where our base is because the moment he saw me as a traitor those facts must’ve been simply… plucked out of my head.” You say with a heavy sigh. “I’m no more use to you than my broken blade over on the desk.” Qifrey’s eyes move to the discarded blade, the very same one you had pressed to his throat months ago. 

“Blade’s can be fixed, reforged. Everything has uses, even broken things.” Qifrey says, reaching out and grabbing the hilt. It was weird seeing him hold it, he turned it around in his hands, traced the blade until it broke off at the end. “You told me a little. You may not be able to speak his name but you recalled that he was your master. That he carved into your arm, that he taught you all as you said.” You nod your head. “He wiped enough but not everything.” You laughed a little and he furrowed a brow at that sound. 

“It’s not really a wiping of memory. It’s a spell… or rather a curse. One that I agreed to when I was too young to know its purpose.” You explain as Qifrey sets your blade down. 

“What do you mean?” He asks as you get back to eating, not wanting the stew to go cold. 

“You never raise a hand to your master, never speak his name to hurt or uncover him lest you face death.”

“You’re saying this curse… if you speak his name you will die?” He pieces out. You nod your head and stuff a piece of bread into your mouth. Three days without food felt more like a week. Qifrey looks frustrated, he was finally seeing just how useless it was to risk his neck bringing you here. He took the biggest gamble. Bringing you to his atelier of all places. You could’ve been pretending to be on his side to reveal Coco’s location, playing double agent. You weren’t of course but still… risky move on his part.

“Sorry witch, it must sting to go through all this trouble for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” Qifrey responds absentmindedly, his mind was on something else entirely.

“It was.” You insist but he shakes his head, running a stressed hand through his hair.

“You’re alive, that was the purpose.” He says and pushes to his feet. You make a face, shaking your head. 

“Are you listening?” You ask. “I offer nothing. I can’t help you.”

“Fine.” He says. “That is fine. Although I wouldn’t say you offer nothing. You are an incredibly skilled witch, not only with spells but fighting style.”

“I can’t help you fight them.”

“But you can help me train my apprentices.” You freeze at his words. 

“Are you mad?” You ask incredulously, voice a little high pitched. He looks at you as though what he said was normal.

“I’m not mad.” He answers nonchalantly. 

“I think you might be. Maybe you're the one who was dealt a hefty blow on the head.” You say and when he says your name your heart stutters. 

“Coco likes you. She tended over you as you slept. Agott is enamored with your blade. Richeh… well it’s hard to know what she finds enthralling about you but she was in here just as much as Coco and Tetia. They might be scared of you presently but I think you have a chance to do some good. Witches shouldn’t solely rely on magic, sometimes learning basic combat skills and bladework will do good.” You look at him as though he sprouted another head. 

“I haven’t casted a spell normally in… in-- I don’t even know… over probably ten years at this point.” You stuttered. 

“It’s easy, you're adaptable.”

“And you are a complete fool! This is why the Brimmed Cap’s are outsmarting you regular witches! You’re too-- trusting! Too--- kind!” You huff, running a stressed hand through your hair. Qifrey stands and sits beside you on the bed. You stiffen at his proximity. 

“Yet you relied on my kindness after running away then coming back. Does that make you a fool as well?” He asks and it stings because it’s true. You had nowhere else to go. Walking into the forest to be tracked down and killed wasn’t enticing so you turned back, back to the warmth of this atelier. You didn’t deserve its warmth but still you came back. Living in the cold so long it was hard to pull away from that warmth. You bit your lip. 

“I’m… I’m not good with kids.” You say foolishly and Qifrey laughs. 

“Kids are wonderful, and very forgiving.”

“They know what I am. They’ll just fear me.” 

“Yet they made sure to watch over you as you slept.”

“You just have a counter for everything I say don’t you?” You shoot back and turn to look at him. He’s a lot closer now, he’s smiling a little, his eyes crinkled. You blinked at him. 

“Will you do it?” He asks softly. It wasn’t like you had anywhere else to go. Your eyes looked over his face for a moment and when your cheeks burned you looked back down at your food. “I can offer things to you. Things that your old master could never do.” That draws your attention. 

“What do you mean?”

“Protection. As long as you are in this atelier you’ll be safe from anyone that wishes you harm.”

“And outside these walls?”

“I will protect you myself.” He says and you look at him skeptically. 

“You’re full of it.” You say but some weak part of you trusts his words, or just craves something stable. He saved you once to no advantage and that didn’t sit right with you. It was hard to grasp why someone would stick their neck out for you only knowing you are their enemy. 

“I swear to it.” He lowers his head a little to meet your eyes at level. There was no trickery or deception in that look, none that you can tell at least. 

“You’re asking a viper to train mice.” You say and he nods his head. 

“I know.” He says foolishly. “Would you rather I beg and plead? I can.”

“You really are mad.” You blush, shaking your head unbelieving but he slides to the floor on his knees in front of you. Your eyes widen, cheeks burning. “Qifrey-”

“Ah. So you do know my name.” He smiles. Your stomach twists sickeningly. “Please… help me train my apprentices. I need them to be ready for what’s surely to come. I offer my protection, food and shelter to you in return. Please, I beg you accept my offer.” You could barely speak because your heart was effectively taking up space in your throat. You felt less like the viper and more like the mice. A blushing, foolish mess of a mouse. You had to look away, to cover your mouth. 

“Fine.” You answer and Qifrey breathes out in relief. 

“I was prepared for more pleading but thankfully you had mercy on me.” He smiled up at you. You felt sick. 

“Coco, straighten up a little,” You directed as Coco flushed, the wooden sword in her hand wavering in the wind. She straightens but her stance is still wide open, and her grip on her sword is practically floundering. Agott moves in, that girl took your lessons to heart, she was as flawless with a sword as she was with a wand. You were quite impressed. Coco raises her sword halfheartedly to stop Agott’s blow but the force of it cracks the wooden blade and it splinters in half. Agott smiles to herself, sensing an opening and juts her sword forwards right towards Coco’s stomach. You sigh and move in, catching Agott’s wooden blade in a flash before it can strike young Coco. Agott gasps, both girls impressed by your quick movements. 

“Miss?” Agott’s impressed look grinds into annoyance. “Why’d you stop me?” 

“Because we're just practicing, Agott, no need to go for a killing blow.” You say, letting her sword go. She steps back, huffing. You reach out and ruffle her hair. “I’m impressed with your tenacity. Your footwork has improved quite a bit.” You praise and watch in amusement as Agott flushes, trying to keep that annoyed twist to her face. You turn to Coco, her sword broken useless in her grip, she looks positively disappointed. You had been working with Agott a lot longer than the others and although Coco had only been at this for a little over a week, she sure beat herself up over it. You walked over and grabbed another practice sword. 

“Take this.” You say, keeping a softness to your voice. Qifrey had sat in on one of your first lessons with the girls and one of the only things he told you after you ended up making Tetia and Coco cry was to try talking to them softer, nicer. You hadn’t been around kids very much so it was a bit of an adjustment. It was hard not to lash out and berate them because that’s the way you were taught. But after that disaster of a first lesson you tried Qifrey’s way and was happy to find that you really were able to get through to them easier if you talked to them kinder… who would’ve guessed? 

Coco cautiously takes the intact practice sword from your hand as you toss away the broken one.

“Can you show me your ready stance?” You ask and step back. Coco slowly moves into a shaky stance, immediately your mind works at all the openings in her stance, the loose grip on her sword, her elbow extended a bit too much. You heard snickering behind you, Coco’s face fell a little and she flushed in embarrassment. You turned, eyes glaring. Tetia and Agott straightened as if caught. “You two go spar.” You say and they nod their heads quickly and fumble for their swords. Your eyes find Richeh who was currently inspecting ants in the grass. “Would you like to join us, Richeh?” You ask, she just shakes her head. You leave it be. That one was hard for you to figure out. You focus back on Coco, she looks dejected. “Don’t look so gloomy, Coco, you’ve only been at this for a week.” You say as she deflates even more.

“I know, Miss. But I just can’t seem to get the hang of it.” 

“May I ask what you were doing before studying to be a witch?” You ask as Coco lights up a little, nodding her head. 

“I worked in a fabric shop with my mother.” She says fondly. You nod your head. 

“You have to be rather precise while cutting fabric, am I correct?” You ask and she nods her head. “You have to hold the shears a certain way to keep them steady?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

“Think of the hilt of your sword like shears. Your swings will be messy and predictable the looser your grip. But the better your grip, the truer your strike.” You say and her face lights up, she liked your analogy it seemed. “So, show me your grip again.” 

The girls ate happily later that night, their chatter fluttering all the way up to your room where you poured over one of Qifrey’s spellbooks, your stew sat cold on the side of your desk. It had been years since you casted spells that weren’t used for harming others. Mundane spells, like how to heat up water or to shut a door from across the room. It was just busywork, also an excuse to keep a wall up and keep to yourself. You enjoyed teaching the girls but beyond that you weren’t really sure what your place was beyond these walls. What happens when Qifrey’s kindness ran out and you were turned out onto the streets? If the Brimmed Cap’s didn’t snap you up then surely the Knights Morales would. You needed more spells in your roster. Concealment spells, spells to keep food fresh for years on end, all spells you could use on the run. You were hoping one day you would work up the courage to ask Qifrey what spell he placed on your room the first night he brought you to this Atelier. Now that would be a useful spell. 

“Your food is getting cold.” Qifrey’s voice says from the threshold. It startles you but you don’t show it.

“It’s been cold.” You say, flipping to the next page of the book. 

“May I come in?” He asks, lingering at the door like a vampire. You shrug your shoulders. 

“Be my guest.” You say noncommittally. 

“Such pleasure.” He says and you hear his steps approaching you at your desk. “What’re you lost in now?”

“Nothing particularly gripping.” You say and he reaches over to your food and you don’t see him cast the spell but suddenly your food is steaming again. 

“I was thinking we could eat together, since you always eat up here alone.” He says, you turn to see he had his tray in his hand. You furrow your brow. 

“I don’t need company.” You turn back to your spell book. You weren’t one of his apprentices and you surely had no idea how to act around him. This all was too good to be true and in your experience things that were too good would always come to a swift end. 

“You might not need it but… I would like some.” He says and sets his tray next to yours, pulling up a chair. You feel how close he sits, your hair standing on end. You slam the spellbook shut and clear your throat, turning to glare. He’s so close, smiling so softly. “Ah, done studying? Perfect.” He says, pushing your tray towards you. So he wasn’t going to leave this alone. You sigh, relenting. Today’s meal was a pot roast you assumed, you weren’t much of a connoisseur and you sure weren’t picky either. Food was food. But also Qifrey had a gift for cooking, it was unnerving just how good he was at most things. 

“Is it to your liking?” He asks as you eat a spoonful, nodding your head with a full mouth. He smiles. “I tried some different seasonings.” He says and you give him a strange look. It was weird to be talking so casually like him. Months ago you had been moments from taking his life. Now he’s chatting to you about seasonings. Strange. 

“It’s… good.” You say, filling the air. He turns to you at your words. 

“That’s high praise from you.” He beams, you look away, that smile is too bright. “Oh! Almost forgot!” He says, pushing to his feet. “I need to grab something.” He sweeps out of your room and you watch after him, confused. He peeks his head back in a moment later. “Will you shut your eyes for me?” He asks and you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“What're you planning, witch?” You ask as you turn away, covering your eyes.

“Nothing nefarious, you have my word.” You hear him draw closer and your skin ignites. “Alright, you may look.” Slowly you turn around. The first thing that catches your eyes in the glint reflecting the light, it takes a moment for your eyes to understand your looking at your blade that had been hopelessly shattered the night Qifrey brought you here. Shattered no more, the blade was fully intact and beautifully sculpted. You sucked in a breath, slowly pushing to your feet. Your eyes bounced from the blade back to his eyes. Words failed you. “Here, take a closer look.” He offers it to you. Slowly you reach out, your cold fingers brushing the warmth of his hand as you take the blade offered to you. It’s hefty, a little heavier than what it was before but it felt entirely better made. You run your finger across the blade as a small sliver of blood blooms. Qifrey gasps and fumbles to grab a cloth from his tray for your finger. 

“It’s fine.” You dismiss, lost in the beautiful intricacies. The leather on the hilt had been replaced with something thicker and easier to gasp. You turn it over in your hand. Qifrey clears his throat. 

“It’s quite sharp as you can tell.” And you can tell he’s inching to take care of your wound. But really it is nothing. 

“Yes. Very.” You smile, meeting his eyes. He’s utterly awestruck at your expression, his breath catching. His cheeks burn impossibly red as you ignore him and look back at the blade. “Who fixed it?” You ask, looking closer at the small details. 

“It uh-- it was um…” He clears his throat. “A swordsmith in Kalhn.” 

“This blade is magnificent.” You beam, you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen something so beautiful. 

“Ah… so that’s what true praise sounds like.” Qifrey mumbles but your mind was entirely elsewhere. 

“What do I owe?” You ask, eyes darting up to him. His brows furrow. 

“Not a thing. It’s a gift.” He says. You shake your head in an instant, offering the blade back to him. 

“I can’t accept this, it’s too fine a blade.” He reaches out and gently pushes it back to you.

“You can accept it because it’s a gift.” He says. You shake your head as he’s nodding his. 

“Witch-”

“Qifrey.” He corrects with a slight smile, you glare. 

“Qifrey,” You say slowly, appeasing him. “I cannot accept it.”

“Why?”

“Why would you fix it for me?” You ask sharply.

“Does everything I do have to come with such close scrutiny?” He asks back. You don’t know how to answer that, not without sounding like the paranoid mess you were.

“No one does anything without wanting something in return.” You say, eyes just as scrutinizing as he described. “I don’t want your charity.” Qifrey sighs, he nods his head and thinks about your words, as if he’s mapping out how to talk to you without offending you. 

“This isn’t charity.” He says. “That blade means something to you, doesn’t it?”

“And what business do you have looking after my happiness?” You say, shoving the blade back towards him. “Do I walk around this Atelier like a wounded dog? Something you need to fix?” His eyes snap to yours. God… you so wish you could anger him into something truthful. You’ve sensed something simmering in him but he is so awfully careful with every aspect of himself. It's unnerving. You’d much rather anger, that’s real and tangible. More so than his false kind words and empty gestures. His breath catches, he’s measuring himself, thinking before he speaks. You strike before he can tailor a response. “What is your plan, witch? Hmm? Once I whip these girls into fighting shape, what then?”

“What? You think I’ll turn you out like a used good?” He asks, his voice wavering. You were getting to him. Good. You needed the truth.

“Yes.” You say. “Yes I do. Am I wrong?”

“Of course you are wrong.” He denies, shaking his head, his white hair moving then falling back into place as though a spell was keeping it perfect. “I have no secret ambitions hidden from you. I have been rather upfront with you from the start.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“That is fine. I don’t expect blind belief. But have I done anything to warrant disbelief in the slightest?” 

“Yes.” You’ve managed to anger yourself into feeling foolish. Attacking someone not worthy of your ire but something about him irked you to your soul. Maybe it was because you just couldn’t figure him out. Couldn’t read him like all the others. He set you off. He kept you on the edge. Your soul squirmed. He raises his brows as if to tell you to list examples. You annoyingly couldn’t think of anything and managed to annoy yourself enough that this conversation felt pointless. Breath wasted in the endeavor to push him over the edge. You wanted to make him squirm, wanted to irk him as much as he irked you. But it was unfair and frankly rude to attack without warrant. You pulled the blade back close to you. You looked at the glint of the steel. “Forget it.” You relent. “I accept if you still want to give this to me.” You say and Qifrey nods his head. 

“Please.” He says and you bite your lip. 

“Excuse my manners. It appears I haven’t any.” You say, placing the blade on your bed.

“I expected as much. Come, let us eat.” He offers, sitting back down, this time you see him cast the spell to warm up both of your stews. 

In the morning you wake to Coco milling about your door arguing with Agott. Their voices bring you annoyance at being woken. You weren’t an early riser. You pushed up, glaring. 

“Does my threshold look like the best place to argue?” You call out to them. The two jump at the sound of your voice, looking startled. 

“Apologies, miss.” Coco says quickly. You sit up, hair a mess, barely awake. You yawn, blinking slowly. “It’s just that… it’s almost past ten and Master Qifrey is still asleep and we're…”

“Hungry.” Agott finishes. You stare at the two of them. 

“Hungry?” You echo. They both nod their heads. “And you’re incapable of… remedying that yourself?”

“Well… Miss… you see…” Coco stutters. “Master Qifrey does all the cooking so we never really had to… learn I suppose.” You yawn again, bigger this time and it pitters out into an annoyed groan. 

“I’m not a skilled cook either.” You say. 

“You made us breakfast that one morning… the meat and runny eggs?” Agott offers. Bacon and eggs, you meant to cook the eggs fully but they ended up liking them. You groan, pushing the covers from your body. 

“Fine. I’ll be down in a moment.” You say and Coco breaks out into a bright smile. 

“Much thanks! We’ll prepare the ingredients.” She says, zooming out of the room. 

“Agott,” You call out, Agott pauses in the door. “Qifrey is still sleeping?” You ask and she nods her head, she can’t keep the worry out of her eyes. 

“Do you think he’s sick?” Agott asks. You think he might be. You never known a morning where Qifrey slept past six am. Sometimes you would still be awake when he’d stir, whistling as he readied breakfast. That was your cue to sleep when you’d hear his merry tune. It lulled you asleep most mornings.

“I’m sure he’s fine, go help Coco.” You say with a soft smile, Agott smiles back, nodding her head as she turns and leaves your room. You quickly brush out your hair, braiding it back out of your face, changing into something comfortable by not sleeping. You wash your face and clean your teeth. You rush downstairs, put on a jovial face and cook breakfast for the girls. You plate their meat and eggs, fixing each one of them something to drink before slipping back upstairs. You peek towards Qifrey’s door. You had to check on him. You swallowed down your nerves and knocked once and waited. You knocked twice and waited. 

“Qifrey?” You call through the door and wait again. Nothing. Your heart plunges to the depths of your stomach. “I’m coming in. Please god be decent.” You mumble the last part and twist the knob, pushing the door open. The room is dark, slivers of light dancing across the carpet from the cracks in the curtains. The room is warm, stagnant. You pad towards his bed, spotting his shape. The way he’s positioned it looked as though he barely made it to his bed before passing out. “Qifrey?” You say softly, gently reaching across the expanse, your hand is mere inches from his shoulder when his hand suddenly shoots out, grasping your wrist. You gasp in shock and his wild eye shoots to you. There’s a moment, a tense moment where you think he has no idea who you are then his grasp slackens. 

“I apologize, I didn’t harm you did I?” He asks, looking close at the part of your wrist he grabbed you at, his thumb gently sliding down a particularly visible vein on your wrist. You yank your hand away. 

“Are you alright? It’s nearly ten.” You say, rattled. His eyes widen, he shoves the covers from his body and pushes to his feet. He falters dizzily at the quick movement and falls forwards a little. Your hands shoot out instinctively, one hand bracing his shoulder, the other on his hip, fingers accidentally slipping beneath his black compression shirt. His skin is clammy under your touch. “Qifrey,” You admonish, pushing him back towards the bed. “Sit.” You say sharply. He does without argument and blink warily. 

“I don’t feel well.” He says, stating the obvious. 

“Yes, I see that.” You press the back of your hand to his forehead. It’s hot to the touch. He moves close to your touch, capturing your wrist. 

“Your hands are so cold.” He states, relishing in the cold as he presses your hand against his hot cheek. 

“Cold hands, cold heart.” You recite, his eyes shift up to yours. 

“Hm?”

“Something my father used to say.” You say and Qifrey’s expression drops. 

“You are not cold hearted.”

“It was a joke. Mostly.” You say. “Lie back.” You guide him back against his pillows, he still hasn’t let go of your hand. He’s quite clingy.

“What’s the diagnosis?” He asks. You pull your hand away and he pouts. 

“I’ll fix you some medicine and something to eat.” You say. “Can you manage a cold bath? It should help you cool off a bit.” You say as he nods his head. “Do that then. I’ll be back in fifteen.” You turn and he catches your wrist again. 

“Thank you.” He says and the warmth in his voice burns you all over. You were berating him just last night. How kind of you. 

“I’ll be back.” You say, pulling out of his loose grasp. You find your way down stairs, whipping up a recipe your grandma taught you years ago and something plain for him to eat so it wouldn’t upset his stomach. 

“Is Master Qifrey alright?” Richeh asks, startling you. You hadn’t heard her approach. 

“Ah… yes. He’s feeling a bit under the weather but I’ll have him fixed up in no time.” You smile down at her. 

“No doubt.” She says and smiles a little back at you before fixing another plate for herself. When you walk back up stairs you push open his door and falter. He’d just got out of the bath, a towel wrapped precariously around his hips. You startle enough that you just about drop the tray in your hasten to turn around. 

“Christ- my apologies.” You say quickly. 

“It’s alright. Not much to look at.” He tries to be funny. You didn’t see much but it definitely wasn’t ‘not much to look at’. You shake those thoughts out of your head. You can’t help the blush, can’t shake that away. “I’m decent.” You slowly turn back. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, red faced and pale. You walk over to him, feeling his face. He feels even hotter than before. 

“Did you take a cold bath?” You ask and he hums yes. You set the tray down. You grasp the medicinal bottle, handing it to him. “Down the whole thing.” You say, he takes it, doesn’t even question what it is. Just does as told. He makes a face. 

“It’s sweet.” 

“No doubt my grandma made it that way so she could trick me into taking it as a child.” You say as he moves closer to you. 

“Ah… family recipe?” He asks and you nod your head, handing him plain chicken broth, he takes it gratefully and sips at it. You watch him, his movements a little sluggish. 

“What happened? You were just fine last night?” 

“I… I'm unsure. It was quite sudden.” He says, popping a cracker in his mouth, chewing slowly. He got a little color back as he ate but his cheeks were still quite red. When he finished his food you took the bowl from him. 

“Alright, lie back.” He does as told as you turn, dipping a washcloth in cold water, ringing it out and turning to dab it on his cheeks and forehead. He settles, making a contented noise, relaxing entirely under your care. 

“You’re skilled at this.” He says. 

“My grandma got sick a lot.” You divulge. His eye squints open, as if he can’t believe you gave him something about yourself.

“Is she..?”

“Surely.” You say. “I’m… unsure though. I sort of… left in a hurry.” He knows what you meant. You had told him how you ran away and joined the Brimmed Cap’s.

“She could still be alive.” He says and you laugh a little. 

“Sure.” You pull back and redip the cloth, ringing it out again, you roll it up and place it on his forehead. “Rest. I’ll come check on you later.” You push up, yet again he catches your hand. 

“Wait-- the girls-”

“Fed. I’ll exhaust them in training. They’re fine.” You say, his hand slides to your fingers. 

“Thank you.” He says yet again. 

“Get some rest.” You say, pulling away yet again.

When you pop in to check on him later he’s fast sleep, the rag on his forehead has fallen off so you walk softly across the room and gently grab it. You feel his face and sigh in relief. He’s not hot to the touch any longer. You fix the covers over him and place the rag on the side table. Your eyes drift back to his face. Looking at him like this, unguarded, felt incredibly intimate, so much so you felt your face flush. He looked peaceful, wholly unguarded. Without thinking you reached out and brushed his hair off his forehead. His cheeks still had a bit of blush to them. Your thumb traced the curve of his jaw, when he stirred a little you yanked your hand back, heart stuttering. He swallowed dryly and his eyes fluttered open. You were standing away from him at this point, pretending to fix him something to drink when in reality you’d rushed to get away from him. 

“Ah… hello.” He greets, his voice rough with sleep. You fix him with a second dose of medicine and some honeyed tea. 

“Sleep well?” You ask, back to him. You hear him pushing up to a sitting position. 

“Yes… I feel… much better.” He says, you turn back and hand him the medicine. He doesn’t question a thing, just throws it back. Then you hand him the tea.

“I suspect the sudden illness was exhaustion.” You say and watch him slowly bring the cup to his lips, taking a sip. He savors it, breathing in the warmth wafting. 

“Yes, I’d agree with that.” He says.

“Have you not been sleeping?” You ask and he nods his head. 

“Not well enough it seems.” He offers a weak smile. 

“Remedy that.” You say at that fake smile. “You worried the girls.” The smile on his lips dies. 

“Oh… yes. I didn’t think of that.” He says, studying the inside of his half empty cup. “You told them I just needed some rest right?”

“Yes.” You say, gathering up the tray to leave. 

“Wait,” He calls to you, you pause at the door. “Can’t you stay? You don’t need to rush off.”

“I have to cook the girls dinner.”

“They are perfectly capable of cooking, they’ve done it time again.” He says. You furrow your brow slightly.

“But they said…” You trail off and he raises a brow. You sigh, setting the tray by the door. “Your apprentices are some tricksters.”

“Ah… did they tell you differently? It’s possible they just wanted some comfort since I wasn’t awake.” 

“I’m sure.” You say. He beckons you closer. You suddenly remember your thumb tracing his jaw when he slept, you didn’t walk any closer. His hand drops back to his lap, he swallows, clears his throat then speaks. 

“I can’t thank you enough.”

“You have. Three times now.” You say and he smiles at that. 

“You’ve kept count.”

“It wasn’t hard.” You roll your eyes and he smiles again, not that fake weak smile from before. A genuine smile and the way he looked at you that made you squirm in your skin. He looked at you the way your mother used to look at your father before times got hard. That blindly adoring look of love. “Is there anything else you need?” You say in a rush, eager to end this moment. 

“Yes,” He says, sitting up more. 

“What?”

“Come… sit with me for a moment.” He beckons you again. You bite your lip hard and walk across the small expanse of his room, you sit at the edge of his bed, he could reach out his hand and brush you with the tips of his fingers if he wanted. “How is the blade faring? Did you practice with it today?”

“It’s slightly heavier than my last one.” You say and he cocks his head. “The smallest bit of weight difference is easy to tell when you use a weapon your entire life.”

“Does that affect the way you use it?”

“No. Just that my swings have a bit more power than before.” You say. “It isn’t a bad thing.” He smiles at that. 

“We should spar.” He smirks, you roll your eyes. 

“I would wipe the floor with you, Witch.”

“I meant when I was better.” He laughs warmly. 

“I know what you meant.” You say and meet his eyes, his eyes light up at your tease. 

“I believe our scoreboard is two to one at this point.” He says and that makes you laugh. 

“I yearn to tie then break that tie.”

“So that’s what you yearn for? To best me?” His voice is rich. The room felt smaller at this conversation. He leans a little closer. 

“That’s my life's goal.”

“You wouldn’t have to do much to best me.” He says softly. When had he gotten so close? 

“Is that so?” You ask and he slowly nods his head. 

“You're rather distracting.” 

“What do you mean by that?” You ask and he reaches across the short distance between you both and tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. You freeze. You were the distracted one. 

“You muddle my brain.” He says. “It’s hard to think properly.” You felt that. You were aware of your breathing and how much you hoped it sounded normal and not as irregular as your heartbeat. Your legs longed to bolt but your body stayed bolted to the bed.

“Once you feel better the fog will lift.”

“It has nothing to do with sickness.” He says and his eye dips down to your lips, he savors the sight, as though he was never allowed to look at them before in such detail. “Though maybe it’s some kind of other sickness.” You freeze again. You dig your nails into your leg and will yourself to get a damn grip. You felt like the hazy one. You had no quips to give, no sharp words, you had nothing. You watch as his eye raises back up to meet your eyes. He doesn’t look caught out or embarrassed that he took his time studying you.

“And… What sickness would that be?” Luckily your voice didn’t sound as shaken as you felt. This time he’s the one that looks away, almost bashfully. 

“One that’s indescribable." 

“How mysterious.” You note, slowly reeling yourself back together. But then he says your name and you feel yourself unraveling. “Hm?”

“Don’t you feel it too?” He asks. 

“The sickness?” You clarify and he quickly nods his head, there was a kind of foolish hope in his eyes. You weren’t sure what you felt but it wasn’t something you’d let yourself explore. You shake your head. “I don’t feel a thing.” You say, pushing to your feet. “I’ll come check on you in the morning.” He catches your hand.

“Just… stay. Please.” He pleads, pulling you back towards the bed. You sit back down, cursing your traitorous legs for not carrying your wanting heart out of this room. It’s quiet, his hand is still holding yours. He speaks your name again before pushing up the sleeve on your arm, exposing warm, carved up skin. You flinch as his finger traces the spell etched into your skin. He’s not looking at it with fear or disgust, not flinching away from it like before. His touch is reverent and you let his touch you, unable to speak. He brings your arm close to him and presses his lips to the scar. You jolt, yanking your hand out of his grip. You burn all over, the soft press of his lips to your arm felt sickeningly good. You were sick. Likely with the same thing that ailed him. 

He speaks your name again then his hand is sliding on your hot cheek, thumb caressing you like you had done to him. You part your lips to admonish him but the thought dies when those gentle lips press against yours. Your heart topples out of your chest, you grip the blanket on his bed so as to not touch him as his lips slide against yours. You can’t stop him. You didn’t want to stop him. He cracked your lips apart and deepened the kiss, stealing away your breath and the last bit of your sanity. You grip the covers so hard that it was starting to hurt, you held onto your restraint like it was the last thing you owned. But it was all done in vain because you were kissing him back, you were making little embarrassing sounds to match his. His hand slid into your hair and he trailed kisses from your lips, turning your head as he trailed his kisses down to your neck. He breathed unsteadily against your neck as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Shall I stop?” He whispers against your skin.

“No.” Your answer was quick. Too quick to pretend and hurt yourself in the endeavor to keep your hands to yourself. He pulled you to him on the bed, you lost your grip on the covers, your cold hands flying to his face and hair as you pulled his lips back to yours, he laid back on the bed and coaxed you on top of him, his hands sliding to your hips as you straddled him, bodies pressed together as his tongue slid cleverly in your mouth. You pressed him into the comforter as the kiss grew from gentle and exploring into desperate and cloying. Hands touching anything they could as he mapped out your body, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. God everything was warm about him, his touch and the way he made you feel. This was wrong, you should’ve been able to show more restraint. Has he really bested you for the fourth time? Well really you were on top so maybe this was a win for you? You tug at his shirt.

“Raise your arms.” You direct and he does as told. He was always a good listener. You yank the useless thing over his head and toss it aside. His hands are already pushing up your own shirt and you let him pull it up over your head. He showers your exposed skin with kisses and flawlessly kicks off his pants, you hadn’t even noticed him doing it until he started working on your own.

“Lift your hips for me, please.” He pleaded and you were just as good a listener as he was. He pulled them off, likely tossing them in the same place as his. His fingers traced the outline of your underwear, his free hand coming up to pull your lips back to his. Your hips moved against his and he made a strangled sound against your mouth. Most unclothed and feeling foolishly hot just moments ago you said you didn’t feel anything. He called you on your bluff so flawlessly you hadn’t even known you were in a trap until it was too late. His arms wrapped around you, surprisingly strong. 

“This is a horrible idea.” You say against his mouth.

“You think so?” He asks. “How horrible?”

“Astrnomically horrible.” You lie. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” He questions, back to kissing your throat. 

“Yes… yes I do.” You groan, he sits up so your chests are practically pressed together, his bright eyes looking up at you adoringly. He worshiped you with kisses.

“How much?”

“How much… what?”

“How much do you hate me?” He asks breathlessly against your collar bone. You're unable to answer for a moment. “Hm?” He hums as you tug his hair a little and his hum breaks off into a whimper.

“So so much.” You lie again. “Sometimes it's all I think about.” 

“Yeah?” He mewls, hands cloying.

“Don’t you hate me the same?”

“Not one bit.” He answers quickly he’s on top now, burying you into the mattress, showering you with kisses. He’s unable to verbally spar with you anymore and you the same. He speaks your name like a litany and you hate that you don’t hate him at all. No… you like him more than anyone you’ve ever known. Though the word ‘like’ wasn’t nearly a strong enough word but thinking past that made your head hurt and right now it was muddled enough. Neither of you let the other leave the bed the entire night and when you woke in the morning, a soft light casting across the room. Qifrey laid pressed against you, his shirt had ridden up a little in the night and the clothes you had thrown back on to sleep in were rumpled. You were tangled with him beneath the covers, his chin laid against the top of your head. You let him soak up the last of the cold inside you and listened to the soft rhythmic sounds of his breathing. You moved a little and he stirred, his arms tightening around you, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Almost can’t believe you're still here.” He says softly against the top of your head. 

“It’s not like you're giving me much space to leave.” You throw back and feel him smile against you. “You seem moments away from casting that spell to keep me trapped in your room again.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” He speaks warmly, his voice a little deep from sleep, his accent soft on his tongue. 

“I should leave. Before the girls wake up.” You say and his arms tighten around you.

“Don’t go. Not yet.” You remember all those months ago walking up alone and confused in his room, a spell casted to keep you in. There didn’t need to be a spell now, you didn’t want to leave. But you also didn’t want to scar little witches. You push up and he pouts and groans.

“Someone has to be the mature one.” You say, warm feet hitting the cold hardwood flooring. You gather the rest of your clothes and walk towards his door. Qifey follows and gently stops you before you can slip away. 

“This… meant something to you, right?” He asks nervously. You almost laugh. You kissed him back. You pulled his clothes off. You stayed in his bed in his arms until morning. What about any of that made him think you didn’t care? You weren’t the best with words but you felt your actions were pretty clear. 

“I’m sick. Same as you.” You say and hope he gets the meaning. Which he does because the smile that fits to his lips is filled with relief and adoration. He steps in the way of the door and bends slightly so he can kiss you once more. But then it’s twice and thrice and you drop your stuff on the floor and stumble back to bed.                                     

[pronouncingitwang]

at some point in your life you will be boiling fruit, water, sugar, and lemon juice in a pot to make a syrup or jam. the instructions will tell you to simmer for a certain amt of time. your timer will go off and you will look at the pot and go, "hm, this doesn't look thick enough. maybe i'll let it go for another 10 minutes." this is the devil speaking. it's only so liquid right now because it is at boiling point. it will thicken when it cools down. learn from the follies of my youth and do not let this happen to you

[yokowan]

at some point in your life you will be making a sauce or a stew in which you need to add cornstarch to thicken it. and you will prepare a slurry of starch in cold water and think "this looks like way too little starch to thicken this amount of liquid." this is the devil speaking. cornstarch instantly polymerizes at 95°C and if you add too much it will turn into an impossibly thick goop.

[le-jardin-inculte]

at some point in your life you will be making some sort of cream based dessert that requires gelatin to thicken it. and you will soak some gelatin sheets in water and think "this is too few gelatin sheets for this amount of cream." this is the devil speaking. it will thicken in the fridge and if you add too much you will end up with milk jelly

[shithowdy]

at some point in your life you will be baking cookies. you will take the sheet out after twelve minutes as the recipe instructs and the cookies will still be glistening and soft. "these don't seem cooked enough," you will think to yourself, "i should place them back into the oven until their edges are nice and golden." this is the devil talking. this is how you get dry, overdone cookies. the cookies will continue to bake on the warm sheet for several more minutes and then harden up after sitting on a rack for a while. trust the process. trust the process.

[whitachi]

at some point in your life you will be adding a small pasta to a soup and you will think "that is not enough small pasta." this is the devil talking. the pasta will absorb the stock and expand. this is how you end up with a soup that is a solid mass of soggy ditalini.

[araceil]

At some point in your life you will be adding garlic to a dish and you will think "that is not enough garlic." These are angels speaking. They are correct. Add more garlic.

[yokolate]

BELDARUIT Witch Hat Atelier (Season 2 Teaser Trailer)

[yinyuedijun]

@elysiumae

[zozo-01]

@elysiumae

[limitless-satoru]

What can I do to help?

Summary: Satoru tries to help you relax after a bad day, but you can’t focus your brain enough to orgasm.

“Toru—fuck.” You pulled on his hair, his mouth latched onto your clit as your body stole yet another orgasm from you.

You kicked your legs, “Come on,” You groaned. You enjoyed when Satoru edged you, but this was getting ridiculous.

It started with a bad day at work, you couldn’t focus and quite frankly just being there was draining; so Satoru offered to help ease some of your tension, which is how you ended up with him between your legs, but every time you got close your body went somewhere else and stole it away from you. You had inadvertently edged yourself five times now and you were going to go insane if you didn’t get some relief soon.

“Alright, baby,” Satoru popped up, wiping the slick off his chin on the back of his palm, “Do you wanna talk about your day?”

“No, I wanna cuuuuummmm,” You whined, pouting your lips.

He rubbed his hand back and forth over your inner thigh, “I feel you getting close and then you just don’t fall apart, maybe talking will help.”

“I don’t want to talk, I just want to feel good.” Your bottom lip quivered.

“Okay,” He chuckled, “Your mind is clearly elsewhere, so we need to get you focused on the sensations. How about I kiss you while I finger you and see if both actions can keep you focused on your release enough?” He tilted his head to the side.

You nodded, sniffling.

You groaned as his fingers eased into your tight hole, curling against your gummy walls. You moaned out and Satoru swallowed it, crashing his lips onto yours. You ground into his hand, moaning into his mouth each time he curled his fingers in that special spot inside you. Slick dripped down his palm, pooling onto the bedsheets below you.

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” Satoru pulled away for just a moment, diving back into your lips. The burn in your lower belly intensified like a coil wrapping tighter and tighter, getting ready to snap. He moved his fingers at a relentless pace, his tongue exploring inside your mouth. Your hands slid up the nape of his neck, fingers curling into his hair. Fuck, you were so close. This was working.

“There ya go,” He pecked your lips, “Cum for me, baby, you can do it.”

You arched your back, just about to fall over the edge, and then you lost it.

“Fuck!” You cried out, frustrated with yourself, “I think i’m broken.”

“You’re not broken,” He kissed you, “We’ve done this a million times, you just had a bad day.”

You pulled him onto you and leaned into his chest, “Please do something.” You pouted, so desperate for any semblance of relief.

He laughed, kissing your earlobe, “I’ve got another idea.”

"Where are you g--"

He scooted off the bed and walked to your bedroom door, "I'll be right back."

He returned to the room with his blindfold, a pair of headphones, and an ice cube that was quickly melting in his hand. "I'm going to put my blindfold and these headphones on you to help dull those senses so you can focus on the pleasure more."

"But I like to hear you." You pouted.

He chuckled, "Trust me pretty, I know. My voice makes your pussy so wet," He slid the headphones over your ears, "These are those fancy ones that block out alternate noises but you can hear voices, you can hear me, right?"

You nodded, allowing him to lift your head and tie the blindfold over your eyes, "Are you okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," You swallowed, "You're doing all of this for me?"

"Of course, baby. Unless you don't want to cum anymore?" His fingers slid under the hem of the blindfold, but you quickly grabbed his wrists and stopped him. He chuckled, "That's what I thought."

He slid down the expanse of your frame, his hands roaming down your torso, before landing on your hips.

“Ready?” He asked, though his voice was slightly muffled.

“I think so.” You said.

He chuckled, before latching his mouth onto your clit. Your back arched off the bed; he had put the ice cube in his mouth and was using it to circle your clit, switching between that and his tongue, the two different temperature sensations overloading your brain.

“Toruuuu,” You moaned, gripping the sheets.

“Mmmm you taste so sweet, baby.” His tongue fucked into your hole, two fingers rubbing your clit back and forth.

“Oh, god,” You cried out, reaching for his hair.

He groaned into your pussy as you yanked on the white strands, grinding into his face.

“That’s right, baby. Use me, I’m here for your pleasure only.” He groaned, the vibrations sending jolts into your body.

“Please pleaseee,” You whined, grinding harder onto his tongue.

Two fingers plunged into your hole and he reattached his tongue to your clit, teeth grazing over it slightly causing your back to arch. He curled his fingers, attacking that gummy spot inside you, hitting it over and over and over again.

“Cum for me, show me what this pretty pussy can do.” He praised, tongue flatting out over your slit.

“Fuckkk.” You swore.

You were building up rapidly, eyes rolling back, practically panting as uncontrollable moans escaped your mouth. After being denied so long, the build up was almost painful, blinding white pleasure clouding your vision.

“There she is.” Satoru purred, your pussy clenching around his fingers, “Let go baby, let it all out.”

And that’s exactly what you did. Back arching and screaming out as your orgasm overtook you, shouting his name so loudly you swore the neighbors were going to call the cops. He rode out your high, slowing down the pace of his fingers, before he pulled out entirely.

You panted, trying to catch your breath. Satoru crawled up the expanse of your body, planting a kiss on your lips, “You okay, baby?”

You nodded, smiling up at him, “Thank you.”

“Anytime. Do you wanna talk about your day now?” He chuckled.

“No,” You breathed out, “But I would love to get you off next.” Your hand slid down his torso, gripping what you thought would be an evident bulge, but you were met with a wet patch and a soft cock.

His face reddened, “I might’ve cum in my pants,” He swallowed, “You’ve never screamed my name that loud.”

You giggled, “Maybe let’s just take a bath and watch a movie?”

“Sounds perfect, my love.” He leaned down to plant another kiss on your lips before picking you up to carry you to the bathroom.

I have been in such a writing rut. I have so many drafts of ideas and I start them and can’t finish so at least I finished something. I’m also gonna add more to the layout of my fics. I like my banners but i’m gonna start adding images too. We’ll see how I like it. Anyways hope you enjoy, this in fact happens to me all the time when i try to have sex with others. My brain takes that shit away so fast, no idea why.

*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*

[calicoed-cat]

Oh Euini...

[qifreyswifee]

Washing Machine Heart

Summary: Living with Olruggio and Qifrey—the love of your life—things have never been better and when Qifrey finally asks you to marry him, you're the happiest you've ever been, until you realize perhaps you shouldn't be. Word Count: 5.5k~ Warnings: Could be spoilers for Manga, Angst, betrayal, chronic migraines, mentions of reader getting hurt Idea Creds: @shhhhhhxoxo125 (Don't worry, we hate ourselves for writing it too. Please Enjoy :)

Electricity crackles along your scalp, settling behind your eyes with a deep, nerve biting pain. Over the past year, you have suffered with intermittent migraines, but within these past six months, the timing and intensity has increased, you can’t go more than two weeks without an episode. Luckily, your doting lover, Qifrey, is here to nurture you back to some sort of normalcy. Helping you to the bathroom when the nausea becomes so unbearable your own two feet simply won’t hold you up, rotating your ice packs in the freezer so you always have a fresh one ready, even filling your water each time it’s close to empty–stating that dehydration will only make it worse. And when you are finally ready for him to hold you–knowing how touch can sometimes amplify the pain when your nerves are firing so intensely–he will cradle you to his chest and apologize for the pain. No matter how many times you tell him it’s alright and it’ll pass, he continues to apologize, knowing exactly what you are going through and wishing he could do more to help. 

Light shines in from the rising sun through the break in your curtains, a lingering ache in your skull from the day before. You turn over to find Qifrey’s side of the bed empty–as usual–he knew how much you valued your sleep and he liked to get started on his day bright and early. Your water bottle is freshly filled with ice cold water and a small pill sat in front of it to help with your remaining pain. 

You swallow the pill and use the bit of strength you had to push yourself from the bed, knowing some breakfast will help restore your energy. The atelier was quiet, the birds singing outside the only sound echoing through the stone halls; until you reach closer to the kitchen and the soft humming of your lover hits your ears. 

“Hello, love,” You wrap your arms around Qifrey’s waist and he startles, sucking in a breath. 

“You gave me a fright,” He chuckles, looking over his shoulder at you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” You laid your cheek against his back. 

“It’s quite alright,” He said, setting down the knife he was using to chop, “How’s your head?” He wipes his hands off with a towel. 

“Much better, thank you,” You release his waist and stand on your toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“There’s still warm soup in the pot over there if you are hungry,” He points to the table in the corner. 

“Would you like to sit with me?” You ask. 

“I really need to–”

“Qifrey,” Olruggio walks into the kitchen, face a bit red. 

“Olruggio,” Qifrey wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, “Is everything alright?” 

“I need to speak with you.” Olruggio looks between the two of you. 

“I’m sure it can be said in front of [name],” Qifrey lays his head on top of yours. 

“It’s a private matter,” Olruggio looks down at you, “Apologies [name],” 

“No worries, I need to eat something anyway,” You pull out of his embrace, making your way to the table to make a bowl of soup, “I’ll be here when you return,” You smile at Qifrey. 

“Alright, but come find us if you need anything,” He walks to the space where Olruggio stands, “I love you,” He calls out as they walk through the threshold of the door. 

“I love you too,” You call back.

Making yourself a bowl of soup and sitting down, you wonder what the two of them could be discussing. Olruggio also seemed a bit odd, almost nervous. His face was red and he had been sweating, but you assumed it happened to be a hot day outside. You don’t remember him ever being so standoffish with you, like your mere presence alone was an inconvenience. Perhaps you were overthinking it, he just wanted to have a private conversation with Qifrey, they’ve known each other far longer than you’ve been around, it’s not like they can’t have conversations about private matters. 

But the fact that he needed to have it right now did peak your curiosity. You took another bite of soup before deciding you simply need to know what they were talking about, and you could ask Qifrey when he returns, but you doubt  he would give you all the information. So against your better judgement, you stood from the table and made your way to Olruggio's room to snoop on their conversation. 

His door was cracked, but you would’ve been able to hear the annoyance in Olruggio's voice even if it wasn’t. 

“Qifrey, you can’t be serious.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Qifrey says, his typical soft spoken demeanor laced with frustration. 

“But I know you,” Olruggio sighs, “You may love her, but you’re not in love with her,” 

Your eyes widen, why the hell would Olruggio say something like that?

“You’ve never been in love Olly, How would you even know what it looks like?” Qifrey spits out. 

“For your information, I have been in love,” Olruggio takes a breath, “But that’s not the discussion we are having.” 

Qifrey takes a deep breath, “Olruggio, I understand your concerns, but I’d appreciate it if you did not get involved in my relationship.” 

“Because you know I’m right?” Olruggio asks.

You hold your breath, awaiting Qifrey’s response as if it couldn’t come quick enough. 

“Because you are being irrational,” Qifrey clears his throat, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make sure the love of my life is feeling alright.” 

“If anyone is being irrational, it’s you,” Olruggio calls after him. 

You run back to the kitchen before you could be caught, out of breath and ears ringing as you sit back down at the table, filling your bowl with more soup to be less conspicuous. 

“How’s the soup?” Qifrey asks, flattening out his cloak as he enters the kitchen. 

“Delicious,” You smile. 

“Wonderful,” He walks back to the counter and starts to slice the vegetables he had been working on earlier. 

You stare at his back, a pit forming in your stomach. He did love you, right? You had met him and Olruggio at The Great Hall, becoming quick friends, and when you mentioned wanting to leave, they offered you to stay at their atelier. You hadn’t planned to get attached, and you surely had not planned to fall in love with Qifrey, but life has a funny way of things. However, Olruggio had known Qifrey since childhood. They were practically inseparable when you first met them, before they had a falling out a few years ago—at least that was what Qifrey told you, Olruggio doesn’t seem to remember what they fought about—but the two of you had grown closer since then, which is how you ended up dating and well, falling in love. But maybe Qifrey is having doubts. Surely he would talk to you about them though? You both were incredibly honest in your relationship, it was one of the key factors that made your relationship run smoothly. You took a deep breath, perhaps Olruggio was feeling left out, wanting to be as close to Qifrey as he once was. Yeah, it had to be an insecurity thing. You trust Qifrey. 

You threw your wand across the room, the wooden piece smacking against the wall. No matter what you did, your hands shook. The shaking started around the same time as the migraines, making it harder to draw, and ultimately hindering your power as a witch. The days after an attack tended to make the shaking worse and it would typically subside in a few days, but that didn’t ease your frustration. You would like to go to a doctor to understand what was happening, but if the knight's moralis found out, they would consider you a hazard to witch society and surely erase your memories. Tears streamed down your face, you worked incredibly hard to get to where you were, you were a strong, competent witch, so to feel your body betraying you like this… well some days it was more than you could bear. 

As if right on cue, Qifrey walks through the door. 

“What happened?” He rushes to your side, kneeling in front of you. 

“My stupid hands won’t work,” Your bottom lip quivers.

He sighs, “Why don’t you take a break? Get some fresh air.” 

“Because I want to draw Qifrey! I can’t be a witch if I can’t draw. I don’t understand why this is happening to me!” You shout. 

He flinches as if you’ve struck him, “You don’t deserve this, any of it,” He takes a deep breath, “How about I help you?” 

He grabs your wand from the floor, placing it in your hand before holding you steady, helping you to draw the sigil, runes, and the finishing circle. A ball of flame hovers over the paper and though it's a small spell, you feel your shoulders relax a bit. 

“See? You just needed some assistance. Perhaps we can come up with something to help your hand stability.” He smiles, kissing the top of your head. 

Olruggio clears his throat in the doorway. 

“Oh, Olruggio, how long have you been there?” Qifrey smirks. 

“Long enough, I wanted to speak with [name],” Olruggio says. 

Why did he want to speak with you? Was he going to try to convince you next that you didn’t love Qifrey?

“Do you have the item I asked you for?” Qifrey questions. 

“Soon,” Olruggio assures him. 

“Soon then.” Qifrey stands, helping you up from the floor, “Are you alright?” 

You nod, “Yes, just a bit tired.” 

“I can help her,” Olruggio steps into the room, linking his arm with yours. 

“Really, I’m alright,” You laugh. 

“Doesn’t hurt to be careful,” Olruggio assures you, “I’ll bring her back in a bit and we can have dinner, yeah?” He asks. 

“I’ll finish preparation.” Qifrey trails behind the two of you before turning to the kitchen. 

“Let’s go out to the garden, the flowers are blooming beautifully,” Olruggio says. 

Neither of you says a word on the walk, the spring breeze littering goosebumps across your skin, the cherry blossom petals swirling around you. Olruggio helps you to sit on the bench in the center of the garden. 

“How’s your head? Qifrey said you had a rather nasty headache yesterday,” Olruggio asks. 

“It’s better, though I’m still fatigued,” You hold up your shaky hands. 

“That’ll get better, you know it,” Olruggio assures you, knowing how you feel about your hands not working. 

You always enjoy talking to Olruggio. Besides Qifrey, he was one of your closest friends. You knew he had your back no matter the circumstance, even if he was feeling insecure at this time, you knew if the need arose he would be there for you. 

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior as of late,” Olruggio says. 

“What do you mean?” He didn’t know that you snooped on his and Qifrey’s conversation, so you’re not sure of the behavior he was referring to.

“I’ve been a bit distant and standoffish towards you, and that’s not fair. I care for you and I don’t want you to think otherwise.” Olruggio huffs, “I’m not exactly sure why I've been acting that way though.” 

“While I appreciate your apology, I hadn’t exactly noticed,” You rub the back of your neck. 

“I am glad to not have hurt your feelings with it at least,” Olruggio laughs nervously. 

Though he did hurt your feelings with his conversation with Qifrey, you surely couldn’t say that and reveal that you snooped.  

“Leave it behind us?” You asked, smiling up at him. 

You didn’t want that to affect your friendship with him, surely him apologizing now, meant he felt bad for that conversation as well. 

“I think we can do that,” He smiled, though there was a deep sadness in his eyes. 

You tilt your head, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about?” 

“No, that was it,” He stood from the bench, “We should head inside, I’m sure Qifrey has dinner ready by now,” He held a hand out for you to take, “And you need to keep fed.” 

You giggle, taking his hand, “Keep fed?” 

“You need to get your strength back,” He led you back to the atelier. 

You sigh, “I’m not sure I’ll ever get my full strength back, Olly.” 

“Be patient with yourself. You’ll figure it out, even if you need to adapt.” 

Qifrey had the table practically set when you both arrived, grabbing the bowls from the cabinet to finish up. He offers you both a smile. 

“Smells delicious,” Olruggio sniffs. 

“Why thank you, Olly,” Qifrey sets the bowls down on the table, snaking an arm around your waist and helping you into your seat. 

Olruggio doesn’t waste a moment piling the food into his bowl and then into his mouth, making you giggle. 

“Slow down,” You say. 

“I’m starving,” He mumbles with a mouth full of food. 

“You’re going to choke,” Qifrey chuckles, rather amused with Olruggio. 

He sits down next to you, pulling your chair closer to him without a word before diving into his food as well. 

This is exactly how you liked it. A peaceful evening eating dinner with the two most important people in your life. 

Olruggio was thoroughly drunk by the time dinner ended, Qifrey having to help him back to his room, even though Olruggio insisted he was fine. You had made yourself ready for bed and snuggled under the covers by the time Qifrey came to the room, his own cheeks rosy from the alcohol. 

“Olly had a bit much, huh?” You giggle. 

“We nearly collapsed halfway to his room,” Qifrey laughs, getting into bed next to you. 

You turn to his side, lying on his chest, “Do you ever think he gets lonely?” You asked, remembering back to Olruggio saying he’d been in love before. 

Qifrey sighs, “I sure hope not,” A hint of sadness in his voice. 

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but the room was pitch dark when you awoke. Qifrey stood near the open window, the moonlight outside casting a glow over his silhouette. 

You stood from the bed, wrapping your arms around Qifrey’s waist, “Come back to bed, my love.” 

Qifrey sighs, “What do you think Olly stays up so late doing?” 

“Huh?” You look out the window, a dim light coming from Olruggio’s window, “I imagine he’s working on spells or some sort of contraption.” 

“He really should get proper sleep,” Qifrey says, not removing his eyes from the window. 

“He’s a grown adult, Qifrey,” You giggle, “I’m sure he knows how to look after himself.” 

“We all need someone to look after us, even in adulthood,” He sighs, a far off look in his eye. 

You crinkle your brows, “Is everything alright, Qifrey?” 

“Yes, why don’t you head back to bed? I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay,” You turn to go back to bed, pausing to look over your shoulder at him. 

His arms were crossed and his shoulders slumped, as if something had upset him. You trust he would tell you when he was ready. 

The next morning was rather chaotic, Qifrey seemed on edge, as if he needed to have his brain constantly stimulated. You were feeling much better than the previous day and chose to take the time to draw some spells, being able to fill your entire palm quire. Your hands were sore and cramping by the end of it, but you took it as a win that they worked long enough to accomplish that.

With a sense of pride in your chest, you went to look for Qifrey, wanting to tell him about it. The atelier was awfully quiet, and you couldn’t seem to find him. Perhaps he was with Olruggio, but when you checked his room, peeking through the door, Olruggio was mumbling into some paper on his desk, looking rather frustrated, and you chose not to bother him. 

The only other place you thought Qifrey would be is the garden, so you decide to look there. What you hadn’t expected to see, was an incredible display of light in the sky, an array of flowers, fireworks, and even different birds floating about. You smile up at the sight, looking down to the end of the garden where Qifrey sits on the bench. You sit down next to him, watching as he twiddles with his thumbs. 

“What’s all this about?” You ask, placing your hand over his. 

“You deserve something special,” He smiles up at you, “In fact, you deserve so much more than I think I’ll ever be able to give you,” He takes a deep breath, “But I'd like to try,” he stands from the bench, kneeling down on one knee in front of you, “Since you came to our atelier, I’ve always felt drawn to you, like this invisible force pulling us together. I know we’ve had our struggles in the past, but there’s no one I’d rather go through them with. I love you, I have loved you so much longer than you’ve ever known,” he pauses, “You are my person. The one I want to spend the rest of my life with. [name], will you marry me?” His hands shake as he pulls a box out of his pocket, opening it to reveal an oval cut blue gem, with a golden winding bridge, resembling the roots of a tree as they lead up to the gem. 

Tears brim over your waterline, “Yes! I would love to marry you!” You squeal, allowing him to place the ring on your finger, holding your hand in his as he admires it, looking up at you and sighing. 

He stands, allowing you to practically jump into his arms. “It’s beautiful,” You say, holding it up behind his back. 

“It certainly has meaning,” He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close. 

He sniffles and you pull away to see tears streaming down his face.

“Aww, Qifrey,” You smile, wiping his tears, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.” 

“The rest of our lives,” He says, “Tethered together for eternity,” He chuckles, tears still streaming down his face, “You’re stuck with me now,” He jokes. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with,” You laugh, kissing his lips. 

“I’d surely hope not,” He smiles, though you swear there’s something else there that you can’t quite place. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Olruggio freezes, “I didn’t know you were out here.” 

“Olly look!” You run up to him, holding the ring out, “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

“That it is,” He looks up at Qifrey, offering him a smile, “I see congratulations are in order,” He looks back down at you, “An excuse for me to have another drink.” 

“As if you need an excuse,” Qifrey chimes in, wiping his tears and wrapping an arm around your waist, “Olly made that ring for you, with my specifications of course.” 

“Well you did a wonderful job, Olly,” You smile, unable to look away from the rock on your finger. 

“Thank you, I’m glad it’s made you happy,” 

“So very happy,” You lean further into Qifrey’s side. 

Qifrey kisses the top of your head, lingering there for just a moment. 

“Perhaps I’ll make dinner tonight, as a gift of sorts,” Olruggio says. 

“And kill us all with your cooking, I don’t think so,” Qifrey teases. 

“It’s not that bad,” Olruggio says.

“Oh it is,” Qifrey chuckles. 

You smile up at the two of them, always enjoying when they pick on the other. You love seeing the two of them so close, there was a bit of time there when it wasn’t like this and you hope it never had to be that way again. 

The night air left a cool breeze in its wake, sending goosebumps across your skin, but Qifrey insisted on eating a candlelit dinner outside, thinking it would be romantic. Though it started out that way, now you were cold. 

“Qifrey, it’s fr-freezing,” Your teeth chatter. 

“Just a few more minutes,” He lifts his head, allowing the cool breeze to blow through his hair, “I want to feel the air a little longer.” 

As if right on cue, Olruggio shows up with a bottle of wine, “This’ll warm you up.”

“I shouldn’t be drinking, it worsens my headaches,” You purse your lips. 

“One drink shouldn’t do any harm, right?” 

“Alright, just one.” You smile, taking the glass from Olruggio. 

Well, you were now four drinks in, thoroughly warmed up and giggling as Olruggio and Qifrey fought over Olruggio's terrible cooking. Olly swears up and down that his cooking is good and Qifrey recalling a time when the pegasus’ wouldn’t even eat his food. You were laughing so hard, you hadn’t noticed how close they were, how Qifrey’s hand lingered a moment too long on Olly's leg, how their faces were mere inches apart, until you did. 

“What’s up with you two?” You tilt your head, the alcohol making you a bit more confident. 

“What do you mean?” Qifrey pulls away from Olruggio, face red. 

“You were awfully close there for a moment, and then just the other day,” You took a sip of your drink, “When Olruggio claimed you didn’t love me.” 

“Did you snoop on our conversation?” Olruggio furrows his brows. 

“That’s not like you,” Qifrey says, “And of course I love you, we’re getting married.” 

“It’s not like the two of you to have private conversations either, I was simply curious,” You shrug your shoulders, your head beginning to pound. 

“Where is this coming from, Qifrey and I have had plenty of private conversations since you’ve been here,” Olruggio says. 

“Not that I recall.” 

Qifrey huffs, “Perhaps you’re not thinking clearly because of the alcohol.” 

“Or maybe I’m seeing things more clearly than before,” 

Though Qifrey had turned his head, him and Olruggio were still incredibly close, and you knew they were friends, but this was different. A hand brushing his thigh, the closeness of their faces earlier that if one moved even an inch their lips would be touching, even Qifrey staying up at night to stare out the window and worry about Oruggio's sleeping habits. It was all so different from what you remember. You remember Qifrey pushing Olruggio away, not wanting to be as close to him as before and saying it was because he wanted to nurture his relationship with you, but was there more he simply wasn’t telling you? Or were you truly not remembering it correctly? 

You didn’t have a moment to ask another question before you were blasted to the side by some sort of light. 

“[name!]”, Qifrey shouts. 

A brim hat witch floats at the top of the atelier, looking down on the three of you. 

“What do you want?” Qifrey stands from the ground. 

“I was looking to have a bit of fun,” The witch laughs. 

“You need to take her and get out of here,” Olruggio steps in front of Qifrey. 

How could you be so stupid? Yes, your life was in danger at the moment, but how had you not noticed the two of them? Even now, Qifrey looks at Olly with more longing in his eyes than he has ever looked at you. Qifrey was in love with Olruggio, and he had to have felt the same. So why was he with you? Why choose you over someone he felt so deeply for? Your mind spiraled, trying to remember when his feelings changed, when he fell in love with Olruggio, but you couldn’t seem to muster a memory. Had it always been this way? Were you simply naive? 

A clash of spells battered back and forth between the witches, neither willing to back down. Olruggio was struck by lightning falling to the side. You’d never seen such an angry look as the one that donned Qifrey’s face in this moment. Pulling out his book, he began to draw something quickly. But not quick enough as the brim hatted witch threw another fireball his way. You used all your strength to pull yourself up as quickly as possible, your hands still cramped from drawing earlier and barely having the strength to write, but you were not willing to allow Qifrey to be hurt. It didn’t matter how he felt about you, you knew exactly how you felt about him and watching the man you love be injured was not something you could live with. You jumped just in time for the fireball to strike you, a scream of pain leaving your mouth as you crumbled to the ground. A blast of water shot past your peripheral before you faded to darkness. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

Your head is absolutely pounding and an almost chemical smell invades your nostrils as you come to. Your eyes flutter open, squinting as they adjust to the light around you. Qifrey sits next to your bed, except he’s not facing you, he hasn’t noticed you’ve woken up yet. He is looking at Olruggio in the bed parallel to you, holding his hand to his forehead, mumbling something you can’t quite hear with the ringing in your ears. Your eyes adjusting to the light and focusing on the sight in front of you, a wave of hurt floods your system as you remember the events from before you passed out. Qifrey was in love with Olruggio and this moment right here was proof enough of it. Without a word, you muster all the strength you can and shove the blankets off of you, Qifrey turning his head with the noise. 

“[name],” He turns to face you, “You’re awake,” He reaches for your hand. 

“Don’t touch me!” You shout, as much as you can with the hoarseness of your throat. 

“W-what?” His eye widens, blinking rapidly, “Here drink this,” He grabs a cup of water from the side table, but you shove his hand away, “Leave me alone.” 

You push up from the bed, a bit wobbly on your feet, but too determined to get out of there. As if the world was closing in on you, the room spinning in circles, you need fresh air, you need to get away from Qifrey, you can’t even look at him right now. 

“Hold on, you should be in bed,” He grabs your wrist.

“I said don’t touch me!” You scream, pulling away from him and ultimately falling to the ground. 

“Let me help you,” He leans down and you pull yourself away, pathetically crawling on the floor at this point, “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re in love with Olruggio, aren’t you?” You seethe.

He pauses halfway down, “No, not again,” He mutters under his breath, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Don’t lie to me,” Tears prickle in your eyes. 

You make it to the door, using the handle to pull yourself up and holding on for stability. 

“Do you love him?” Your bottom lip shakes. 

Qifrey sighs, “[name,]”

“DO YOU LOVE HIM?!” You shout, tears streaming down your face, “Am I not good enough for you?” You cry. 

“You are,” His lips wobble, “You’re just…You’re not… him.” He turns to Olruggio, still unconscious on the bed behind him. 

“How long?” You scoff. 

“Longer than you remember,” Qifrey reaches for the top of his hat, unclasping the button at the top, the flap falling down to reveal a spell you never thought you’d see drawn again, your stomach lurching up to your throat as he lifts the cap off his head. 

“Qifrey,” Your voice shakes, taking a step back. 

“I’m sorry,” Tears stream down his face, “But if I want to keep him safe, I need you.” He stalks towards you. 

“Why? Just be with him, I won’t stop you!” You damn your legs for being so shaky, for barely holding up your weak form. 

You want to run, do anything to get away from the clearly insane man coming for you, but your body won’t move. 

“It’s more complicated than that, I can’t allow myself the happiness, and by being with you, I feel guilty for hurting him,” He turns back to look at Olruggio once more, “Because he loves me just as much as I love him,” He sniffles, standing right in front of you, not doing anything just yet, because he knows you can’t move. Like a predator stalking its prey, he has you exactly where he needs you. 

“Did you ever love me?” You whisper. 

“I do love you,” He leans in and attaches his lips to yours and though you want to fight so badly, you can’t help but melt into his touch, your heart pounding against your chest, aching with how much love overflows within you for him, how much you want him to love you back, and maybe you can pretend just a little longer. 

But when he pulls away, and the expression on his face morphs into something cold, something sinister that you have never seen from the man you love before—or perhaps you have and can’t remember correctly. 

You swallow, accepting the fact that you are not escaping from this, “At least do me the courtesy and tell me how many times you’ve done this to me,” You hold your head high, trying to be strong. 

“I’ve lost count,” He sniffles, “But none of them are easier than the last,” He huffs a breath, “And watching you decay further after each erasure… it’s agony quite honestly.” 

“You don’t do this to someone you love,” Your top lip curls. 

“I suppose you’re right,” He glances at Olruggio, “But if it keeps his brain intact, I will do anything to keep him safe.” 

“I can pretend,” You try to talk your way out of it, glancing down at the spell in Qifrey’s hand, “I won’t tell Olruggio, I’ll be happy with you and he’ll never need to know.” 

He sighs, “I trusted you with that once. The moment I left you alone, you told Olruggio everything. Once is enough for him as far as I'm concerned.” 

“And what about me? What if this is the time that kills me and my brain can no longer take it?” You gulp. 

“I’m sorry, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take, for him.” He lifts his hand and it’s as if the motion is slowed down, your brain processing it at a frame a second. 

You have no idea what will become of you after this, not knowing how far he is truly willing to take this, and if your life really does mean that little to him. You can’t escape, your legs won’t allow it, not that it isn’t already too late. You won’t remember this moment, you’re not even sure how far back he’s erased you, how much of your life has been stolen from you. But the one thing that hurts the most, is you still love him, even knowing what he’s done to you, you are still in love with him, and if it means being erased for eternity and dealing with the consequences; you’d accept your fate so that he could have his sliver of happiness with Olruggio, even if it was from afar. And that’s exactly what you did, accepted as he placed the cap on your head, a stab of pain in your head before you blacked out once more. 

You wake up snuggled under the covers of you and your lover's bed, a piercing pain behind your eyelids. 

“Good morning,” Qifrey crouches at your side, “You had a bit too much to drink last night,” He chuckles, “Something about trying to keep up with Olly.” 

You groan, holding your forehead, “Remind me to never do that again,” You place your arm over your eyes. 

He laughs, “I’ll do my best, why don’t you get some rest and then we can start wedding planning?” He wiggles his brows.

You smile, remembering the ring on your hand, remembering what you were celebrating last night, and why you had drank so much. 

You nod, grabbing his hand, and kissing his palm. You were going to marry the love of your life. The kind of love that is only found in fairytales, the kind of love that transcends lifetimes. You couldn’t remember a time when you weren’t in love with Qifrey, and you hope you’d never have to. 

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” He cradles your face, eye softening as he meets your gaze, “The rest of our lives, tethered together for eternity."

Divider by: @/strangergraphics

*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

Even having played a part in this it still hurts so fucking good😭🖤 Sarah’s a mastermind

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

This is the kinda shit that lead to this story ☠️☠️☠️

As Mae said…

It’s going to be a group project in pain 🖤

IF I HURT YALL GOTTA HURT WITH ME

Also I love fucking with Sarah 🤭

[limitless-satoru]

This feels wrong

Warnings: Somnophilia

Satoru sat up in bed, cock achingly hard from the dream he just had about you. And yet there you were, sound asleep. Lips parted slightly, your chest rising and falling with an even rhythm, what kind of boyfriend would he be if he woke you up right now?

You had had this conversation with him countless times; both of you agreeing if the other woke up horny, you were free to use their body as needed.

But he felt wrong about it. He so badly wanted to be inside your tight cunt, but you looked so peaceful. Would he feel better if he woke you first to ask, probably not, but that didn’t mean the thought didn’t cross his mind. And oh you looked so beautiful, hair splayed across your pillow—just waiting to be grabbed by him—mouth slightly parted as quiet snores escaped—lips looking oh so kissable—and your—no his shirt—riding up to reveal your bare pussy because you insisted on not sleeping in panties. Not that Satoru typically minded, but in this moment, it was absolute torture.

He groaned softly, deciding to give into his desires. He gulped, but ultimately wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled your hips closer. He froze, sucking in a breath when you groaned, but when you didn’t wake up, he continued. He gripped the back of your thigh, lifting your leg and giving him a perfect view of your slick cunt. He slid his fingers through your arousal and you whined, arching into his touch. He couldn’t help but chuckle, always so reactive to him even in your sleep. He wondered what you were dreaming about that had you ready for him already.

He freed his cock from his boxers, groaning as he rubbed the tip through your folds, eyes rolling in the back of his head. “Fuck, you feel so good,” He moaned, “My pretty baby,” He really was trying to be quiet, but he had a feeling once he sunk into your warm cunt he wouldn’t be able to hold back his noises. You had always encouraged him to be loud, but you were asleep and he was being a little selfish right now. Though the way your hips practically chased his cock when he pulled away slightly told him you had to be enjoying this too, even if it was subconsciously.

He lined up his head with your entrance, easing in slowly. His breath hitched, biting down on his bottom lip to stop the pornographic moans from escaping his mouth. You mumbled something incoherent, before settling once more. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he sunk further in, “So fucking tight,” He winced, your gummy walls pulsing around his cock.

He froze when he bottomed out, feeling your warm walls try to somehow suck him in further. Your arousal dripped between the two of you, coating his balls and the sheets below. He groaned at just how soaked you were for him. “You’re so perfect,” He praised, gripping your hip to steady himself.

He eased out slowly, before thrusting back in, holding you steady. You sucked in a breath, letting out a low moan. Your eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. He continued his motions, chasing the feeling of you squeezing him. Laying his head in your neck, chest heaving as sweat collected on his forehead.

“Like this pussy was made for me,” He grunted into your neck, softly biting down on your shoulder.

“T-Toru,” You moaned, only half awake.

“Baby, I’m—fuck—so sorry—ngh, couldn’t wait,” Hips pistoning in and out of your cunt as he neared his release.

You moaned out, lacing your fingers in his hair. Knowing you were awake, he reached between your legs and circled your clit, wanting you to experience just as much pleasure as him.

“Oh, gOd,” You cried out, arching into him.

“That’s my girl,” He praised, hips stuttering as he released inside you, not stopping his movements in order to get you there too, even if it meant overstimulating himself.

Your walls clenched around him, coil building in your belly before it snapped unexpectedly and you cried out, screaming Satoru’s name as he continued to rub your sensitive bud, hips slowly their movements inside you.

He tried to catch his breath behind you, a grounding hand still laid on your hip.

“I love you so much,” He mumbled out, placing a kiss on your neck.

“I love you, Toru,” You yawned, sleep threatening to engulf you once more.

“Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll clean us up.” He kissed the spot beneath your ear lobe.

He finished cleaning up the mess you both made, and with his cock no longer aching against his thigh he was ready to let sleep overtake him once more. Climbing into bed beside you, pulling you flush to his chest, and resting his head atop yours before lulling back to sleep.

Hi friendos! I finally finally had the motivation to finish one of these drafts. And it’s a good one :))

*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*

[limitless-satoru]

Just one time

“Satoru, pleaaasseee.” You begged, waiting on the bed with your legs spread as he grabbed a condom from the side table drawer.

“Baby, I am not risking getting you pregnant.”

“Just one time, Toru. I wanna feel you.” You whined, throwing your head back.

“You can feel me perfectly fine with the condom.” He argued.

“Noooooo,” You groaned, “I wanna feel you without the barrier. Don’t you want to feel me clench around you without it?” You pouted.

He took a deep breath, “Baby, you are making this so hard for me.”

“I know what else i’m making hard.” You looked between his face and his erect penis up against his tummy, “I think he agrees with me. He wants to feel me.”

“And if I start thinking with him, we’re going to end up pregnant.” He side-eyed you, slipping the condom over his cock.

“ughhhhh,” you kicked your feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum, “so you hate me?”

“Quit being a brat.” His palm came down harshly onto your clit, and you squealed.

“I wouldn’t have to be anything if you took that stupid thing off.” You glared at his cock.

“Quit looking at my dick like you wanna bite it.” Another harsh slap landed on your slit.

“Toru, fuck.” You groaned, “Maybe I do wanna bite it, anything to get you to remove the condom.”

“Ovulating y/n is so needy. I’m especially not taking it off when you’re like this. No babies for us.” He shook his head, rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds.

You threw your head back, “Just put it in then.”

“That’s not how we ask.” He pinched your clit and you squealed trying to pull away from him.

“Toru, please put your cock inside me.” You said monotonously.

“At least you added please, but I know you can do better than that.” He lined up with your entrance, pushing his tip in before pulling out over and over again, until your juices were dripping down his length, the squelch of your pussy filling the room each time he pushed inside.

“Need more.” You whined.

“Not until you ask, nng nicely.” He stuttered as you clenched around him, “Don’t do that.” He slapped your slit once more, earning a cry from you.

“Toruuuu,” You whined, “Please fuck me, I need you so bad.”

“There’s my good girl.” He bottomed out in one hard thrust, his balls smacking against your ass. Your back bowed off the bed, crying out as his tip hit your cervix. He pushed down on the bulge in your belly, “If you look this good with my cock in you, I do bet you’d look perfect pregnant though.”

Your legs wrapped around his waist, “Please move.” You whined.

He pulled out halfway, thrusting in harshly over and over again until stars clouded your vision. His hand came down to rub circles on your clit.

“Oh baby, I love this pussy so much. She’s taking me so well, fuck,” He groaned, “Look at her sucking me in.”

You lifted your head to look between the two of you, a sticky white ring forming around the base of his cock each time he pushed back in. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the sight, clenching around his length.

“Nnnghhh, mm’ getting close.” The pattern of his thrusts became sloppier, his fingers speeding up on your clit as that familiar coil built in your belly.

“That’s it, my girl. Cum for me, let me feel you cum all over my cock.” He groaned.

His words sent you over the edge, blinding white pleasure taking over your vision, crying out so loudly you were sure the neighbors would hear and you didn’t care. Your own climax gave him the extra sensation that he needed to fall as well, hips sloppily pistoning back and forth as he rode out his high.

You whined as he pulled out, laying on his back next to you, trying to catch his breath. Fuck, you were still so horny, and Satoru next to you, glistening with sweat and his chest heaving post orgasm, you could eat him alive.

“Would you stay with me if I got pregnant?” You asked.

“Of course, baby,” He breathed out, “I’m not a dick.”

“And if I baby trapped you?” You looked down to his cock growing once more.

“What are you telling me right now?” He narrowed his eyes.

“That I am about to rip that condom off of you, and ride you until I can’t see anymore, is that okay with you?”

“Baby.” He warned, “What if you get pregnant?”

“Then we will handle that later. I need your cock now.”

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, “Alright, but you’re doing all the work.”

That was all the answer you needed as you jumped up, practically ripping the condom off, and plopping yourself down on his dick without so much as a warning.

“Fuck,” He winced, “M’ still sensitive. Could’ve given me a second.” He chuckled.

“Couldn’t wait.” You moaned, rocking your hips back and forth.

His hands wrapped around your hips and you grabbed his forearms, “Nope, you said I have to do all the work.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He threw his hands up before situating them behind his head.

You splayed your palms over his chest, bouncing up and down on his cock, throwing your head back in ecstasy. This was so much better without a stupid condom. You could feel every ridge, every vein of his cock grinding against your gummy walls. You didn’t think Satoru would admit it, but from his blissed out expression, and the bit of drool on his chin, he felt the exact same way. You leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips, “Thank you, Toru.” You whispered against them.

“For what?” He laughed, letting a groan slip right after.

“For letting me feel you.” The pressure was building in your lower belly again at an alarming speed, and the twitch of his cock inside you let you know he was close again as well.

“Mmm, Toru.” You cried out, reaching between your legs to rub your clit.

“There ya go, baby. Make yourself cum on my cock, you’re doing such a good job.” He groaned out.

You threw your head back, screaming while you continued to grind down on his cock, feeling the way his seed filled you as he came undone below you, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily.

His hands landed firmly on your hips once more, “I hope that was worth it.” He breathed out.

“Was it not for you?” You ground down once more making him wince.

“You’re an evil little thing.” He chuckled, a smile gracing his beautiful face, “You satisfied?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded.

“Cool, call me when I need to pay child support.” He lifted you off of him, setting you aside and going to stand up.

“Satoru.” You whined, grabbing his arm.

“I’m just kidding, baby.” He laid back down, smiling as he kissed you, “I would avoid the child support, probably run away to somewhere remote.”

You rolled your eyes, slapping his chest, “You couldn’t get away from me even if you wanted to.”

His tongue poked through his teeth, “Well trust me, I don’t want to.” His breath ghosted over your mouth as he placed another kiss on your lips.

You sure hoped he meant what he said when two weeks later you were looking at a pink stick with two distinct lines on it.

This is still not the fic I had planned to write today. I haven’t even started that one. Oh well. This one consumed my thoughts.

*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

Guys…not being the first like on my other half’s post would’ve genuinely made me crash out. I CANT BE CAUGHT LACKING THATS NOT RIGHT 💔 it would throw off the balance of the world.

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

FUCK I WAS CAUGHT LACKING MY LOVE FORGIVE ME ON MY KNEEEEEESSSS @qifreyswifee

[qifreyswifee]

I’m banishing you to the shadow realm

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

Yes your honor😔

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

Guys…not being the first like on my other half’s post would’ve genuinely made me crash out. I CANT BE CAUGHT LACKING THATS NOT RIGHT 💔 it would throw off the balance of the world.

[shhhhhhxoxo125]

FUCK I WAS CAUGHT LACKING MY LOVE FORGIVE ME ON MY KNEEEEEESSSS @qifreyswifee