What if someone at a market mistook Qifrey and Reader of the parents of one of the girls. Who would be the one to go along with it to escape, who would try and quickly correct them or would one or both of them be having an internal freak out.
This could work for both them being in a relationship or before hand
Qifrey and Reader getting mistaken as parents by a vendor!
Qifrey x reader
cw: none
AN: I'm alive, at least I think I am. After having to write my diploma which is 70 pages of nothing but science this was such a welcome change you have no idea. it's still just a blurb as I'm getting into writing fics again. Thank you for the request Anon and for being so patient with me 🤍🤍
"If it meant being with you"
The morning air is bright in that particular way it only ever is on market days—cool enough to wake you fully, warm enough to promise something sweet later. You can hear the town long before you see it: chatter spilling over itself, laughter ringing like little bells, the clatter of carts rolling over stone.
Behind you, footsteps shuffle.
“Teacher, wait—no, not like that, you’ll step on—”
A soft thud and a sharp “Ow!” follow, immediately answered by a chorus of panicked apologies.
You turn just in time to see Qifrey pivot gracefully on his heel, catching Agott by the sleeve before she fully collides with a stack of wooden crates. His movements are as precise as ever, a quiet magic to them even without a spell circle in sight.
“Careful,” he says gently, though his tone carries its usual edge of amused reprimand. “The market is not an obstacle course.”
“I stopped because you ran,” Coco adds, half exasperated, half delighted, her eyes already darting toward a stall selling ribbons dyed every color imaginable. “Teacher Qifrey said not to get separated!”
Tetia nods vigorously beside her, clutching the strap of her bag with both hands. “It’s so crowded… but also so fun!”
You smile at them, the expression coming easily. It’s rare to see all of them like this—relaxed, buzzing with curiosity instead of tension or fear. Market days are one of Qifrey’s few indulgences for his students, framed as “practical observation of everyday magic,” but really… it’s just a day to be kids.
Qifrey straightens, then glances toward you.
“Shall we proceed?” he asks, offering a hand in your direction—more habit than necessity, but you take it anyway.
His hand is warm. Always is.
You fall into step beside him as the group moves forward, the students fanning out just enough to look at everything while still staying close. Stalls stretch endlessly ahead: jars of glowing ink, bundles of herbs tied with twine, enchanted brooms leaning lazily against walls, pastries dusted with sugar that sparkle faintly under the sun.
Coco gasps every few steps.
“Look at that quill!”
“That bread is floating—!”
“Is that a charm for faster knitting?!”
Qifrey answers questions as they come, patient and attentive, but you can feel the shift in him today. He’s… lighter. Less guarded. The rigid line that often defines his posture softens as he walks beside you, shoulders easing, steps unhurried.
At one stall, Tetia tugs gently on your sleeve.
“Um—can I show you something?”
You lean down as she points to a tiny glass orb filled with swirling light. “It’s beautiful,” you say honestly. “It looks like a captured sunset.”
Her eyes light up. “That’s what I thought too!”
Qifrey watches the exchange, lips curving faintly.
For a while, everything is perfect.
Then it happens.
You’re stopped near a fruit stand—Agott arguing (politely, for once) with the vendor about the authenticity of a charm carved into the scale—when a woman nearby laughs softly.
“Oh,” she says, nudging the man beside her. “Look at them.”
You glance up, confused, just in time to hear her add warmly:
“What a lovely family.”
The words settle into the air like pollen.
Your brain catches up immediately.
Qifrey’s… does not.
You feel it through his hand before you even look at him—the sudden tension, the minute tightening of his grip. He stiffens, posture snapping back into that familiar, composed line, as if bracing for impact.
“P-pardon?” he says, polite smile strained just a fraction too tight.
The woman gestures vaguely toward the students, who are now clustered together, comparing fruit sizes with great seriousness.
“Your children,” she says. “They’re so well-behaved. You must be very proud.”
There’s a beat.
Then two.
You feel Qifrey freeze completely.
Oh.
Oh.
You bite back a laugh—not unkind, just… fond.
Before Qifrey can respond (or combust), you gently squeeze his hand and step forward, offering the woman an easy smile.
“Thank you,” you say lightly. “They’re a handful, but they mean well.”
The woman beams, satisfied, and turns back to her shopping as if she hasn’t just dropped a social spell of unprecedented power.
The moment she’s gone, Qifrey leans toward you, voice low and flustered.
“Y-you didn’t have to—!”
“It’s fine,” you murmur back, still smiling. “Really. It’s an honest mistake.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, adjusts his hat.
“…I see.”
His ears are pink.
The students, oblivious, continue their debate.
“Teacher Qifrey,” Coco says suddenly, “can we get these? They’re only a little enchanted!”
Qifrey clears his throat. “We’ll discuss it.”
Agott narrows her eyes. “You’re acting weird.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
You step in before that turns into something else. “How about we find lunch first?”
That settles it. Food always does.
You walk on, the market swallowing you up again—but something has shifted. Qifrey is quieter now, thoughtful in a way that pulls his gaze inward. His hand remains in yours, though, and he doesn’t let go.
Not once.
Lunch is eaten on the edge of a fountain, the students sprawled around with bread and fruit and far too much energy. Coco chatters about spell theory, Tetia shares bites of pastry, Agott pretends not to enjoy herself but absolutely does.
Qifrey watches them with a softness he rarely allows himself.
You watch him.
Eventually, he stands. “I’ll… be right back,” he says. “There’s something I need to check.”
You know better. It’s an escape, not an errand.
“I’ll come with you,” you say, rising smoothly.
He pauses, then nods.
You leave the students under Coco’s very earnest supervision and slip away down a quieter side street. The noise of the market fades to a hum, replaced by the soft creak of wooden signs and the distant call of gulls.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
Then Qifrey exhales.
“…I apologize,” he says suddenly.
You blink. “For what?”
“For being… unsettled earlier.” He adjusts his gloves, fingers precise but restless. “I should have corrected that woman.”
You tilt your head. “Did you want to?”
He stops walking.
Sunlight filters through the awnings above, painting his mask in soft gold. When he turns to face you, his expression is unusually open—unguarded.
“I was caught off guard,” he admits quietly. “The implication was… unexpected.”
You smile gently. “It happens. People assume things.”
“Yes,” he says. “They do.”
There’s something else there. You can feel it, hovering between you like a spell not yet drawn.
You wait.
Qifrey hesitates, then sighs—long and honest.
“…I did not dislike it.”
Your heart stutters.
He meets your gaze fully now, voice low but steady.
“The idea, I mean. Being seen that way. With you.” A pause. “As something… shared.”
The market breeze carries the scent of apples and ink and warm bread.
You swallow. “Qifrey—”
“I know it’s foolish,” he continues, quickly now, as if afraid to lose momentum. “And inappropriate, and I would never allow such assumptions to affect the students, but—”
You reach out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
“Hey,” you say softly. “It wasn’t foolish.”
He stills at your touch.
You smile, small and sincere. “If anything, it was kind of sweet.”
His breath catches.
“…Sweet?”
“Yeah.” You chuckle. “I figured brushing it off was easier than making it a whole thing. They didn’t mean anything by it.”
Qifrey studies you, searching your face.
“And… if they had?” he asks quietly.
You hold his gaze, steady.
“Then I guess I wouldn’t mind either.”
The silence that follows is full—not empty.
Qifrey’s shoulders relax, tension draining from him like a released enchantment. When he smiles, it’s soft, genuine, and just a little shy.
“…If that title meant being together with you,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I believe I would welcome it.”
Your chest warms.
You don’t rush it. You don’t need to.
You just step closer, resting your forehead lightly against his mask, laughter and market noise distant and irrelevant.
“Well,” you murmur, “we’d better get back before the kids adopt a goat or something.”
He laughs—quiet, real.
“Yes,” he says. “Let’s.”
And together, you turn back toward the sound of your very not-children waiting for you.
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