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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This is not as well developed but just some thoughts I had
Qifrey, who usually acts very sweet and caring, has a strong need for control in all parts of his life.
Idea for a sweet submissive omega reader has no attraction to alphas. They fit so many of society's expectations for omegas, being soft, sweet and good with children, but they, in fact, do not want any alpha.
I love the idea of people assuming one of the omegas and alpha Olruggio are the lovers rather than the two omegas. Reader looking at the person, kinda offended because no way would they be with Olruggio, he is a lovely guy, but just their friend.
Give omega Qifrey, who has a more dominating scent, who started scenting Reader because that's what friends do. A reader who is a bit oblivious or even in denial that Qifrey and Reader could be anything more than friends or even packmates. Qifreu, who is obsessed with Reader always smelling like him.
Qifrey is trying to woo the Reader when they moved into the atelier, only to realize they've been stealing clothing for their nest already. Qifrey becomes rather bold in his pursuits following this. He absolutely lures Reader into his nest, and would love to keep them it in forever. Unfortunately for Qifrey, reality is not so kind as to allow this.
Qifrey and very clumsy Reader, who at times can be a bit forgetful. At the same time Reader is a highly accomplished witch, could be a crafty inventor or maybe a skilled combatant. Anyhow just the contrast between Reader at home and relaxing, when compared to protecting others or working on projects.
I bet he would find it very endearing how they have to quickly run back in to grab another thing when taking the girls out for the day. I have this amazing image of Qifrey just gently catching Reader before the fall or trip
A silly idea I had was Coco being super excited to meet Reader but Agott making some about Reader not being how she expects. What would make it even sillier is if Agott actually really likes Reader, even in her clumsiness.
I am now 🦭 anon (don’t know if I have already claimed that or not)
Our very own Tinkerbell
Qifrey x reader
cw: none
AN: I love Agott, can you tell? Anyway 🦭 anon I hereby declare you as my most loyal requester because the amount of asks I have from you in my inbox is actually insane
Before meeting you, Agott had very specific expectations about the kind of person who could possibly manage to impress Qifrey.
Considering your reputation, nobody could really blame her. Stories about you traveled easily among witches. Some spoke about your inventions with near disbelief, describing intricate magical tools capable of shielding entire villages or dismantling dangerous spells in seconds. Others talked about watching you fight, about the terrifying precision of your magic and the way you could cut through hostile creatures so quickly it barely looked real. Coco had once overheard a group of older witches discussing you in hushed voices at the market, and afterward she spent nearly an hour excitedly telling everyone she was absolutely going to meet “the amazing witch Qifrey knows.”
So naturally, Agott expected someone impossibly intimidating.
Then you arrived at the atelier carrying three bags, tripped on the front step almost immediately, and would have fallen face-first onto the wooden porch if Qifrey had not caught you by the waist without even looking up from the book in his hands.
“There you are,” he said calmly, like this happened every single day.
You blinked at him in surprise while clutching his sleeve. “I didn’t even see the step.”
“I know.”
Behind him, the apprentices stared in complete silence.
You straightened quickly, visibly embarrassed, before trying to regain some dignity and offering them all a warm smile. “Hello. I brought pastries.”
Then one of the bags split open because you had apparently forgotten to tie it properly.
Pastries rolled everywhere.
Coco loved you instantly.
Agott, meanwhile, looked deeply confused.
This only became worse over the next few hours. You forgot where you placed your gloves three separate times despite holding them once while actively searching for them. You walked directly into a doorway because you got distracted explaining a spell theory to Coco. At one point, you ran halfway out the front gate with everyone before suddenly freezing in horror. “I forgot the maps,” you announced. Then you rushed back inside. Less than a minute later, you returned looking triumphant before stopping again. “No, wait. I forgot my satchel too.” Agott watched this happen with increasing disbelief while Qifrey stood nearby looking entirely unsurprised.
“Does this happen often?” she finally asked quietly.
Qifrey smiled faintly over the rim of his tea. “Constantly.”
Sure enough, five minutes later you reappeared in the doorway holding your satchel, your maps, and somehow also one of Qifrey’s scarves because you apparently forgot which belongings were yours halfway through gathering everything.
“You took my scarf,” Qifrey pointed out gently.
You looked down. “...Ah.”
There was a pause.
Then Qifrey reached over and fixed the scarf around your shoulders properly anyway.
Agott did not know what to make of the fact that one of the most accomplished witches she had ever heard of kept nearly walking into furniture.
The strangest part was how quickly the contrast became obvious once you actually started working.
Because the moment magic entered the equation, you became someone entirely different.
It happened during a small outing with the girls a few days later. The trip had been peaceful until a spell device sold at the market malfunctioned nearby, sending unstable glyphs spiraling wildly through the street. Before anyone else could properly react, you moved.
Agott would remember that moment for a very long time afterward.
One second you had been laughing softly while trying to remember whether you packed enough ink. The next, your expression sharpened with frightening focus. Your movements became precise, immediate, practiced in a way that felt almost unreal compared to your usual absentminded softness. You stepped directly in front of the apprentices without hesitation while glyphs bloomed beneath your hands in smooth rapid patterns. The unstable magic collapsed instantly under your control. Every line you drew was perfect. Every movement deliberate. Within moments, the damaged device safely unraveled into harmless sparks.
The entire street had gone silent.
Then you blinked once, looked down at your hands, and sighed quietly. “Oh no,” you murmured. “I think I dropped the pastries.”
Sure enough, the pastry box sat upside down several feet away.
Coco burst out laughing first.
Even Agott had to look away to hide her expression.
Qifrey, however, looked unbearably fond.
It was almost embarrassing how obvious it became whenever he watched you. His gaze softened constantly around you, warm amusement lingering even during your most chaotic moments. Whenever you forgot something, he already had it ready before you realized it was missing. Whenever you stumbled, his hand appeared at your waist or against your arm with perfect timing, steadying you so naturally it seemed practiced.
Which, unfortunately, it absolutely was.
One rainy afternoon, the apprentices witnessed perhaps the worst example yet.
You were carrying supplies through the atelier while distractedly explaining a new invention to Qifrey, speaking quickly with animated gestures while he listened with patient interest beside you. “—and if the pressure release rune activates too early, the whole thing destabilizes, so I had to redesign the inner cir—”
Your foot caught against the edge of the carpet.
Agott physically saw disaster approaching.
Without interrupting your sentence, Qifrey caught you smoothly against his chest before you could fall. One hand steadied the supplies while the other rested securely at your waist. You blinked up at him mid-conversation like nothing unusual had happened.
“Thank you,” you said automatically before continuing, “—which means the copper wiring has to be layered differently—”
Qifrey nodded attentively. “Mm. That makes sense.”
The apprentices stared.
“You didn’t even pause,” Tetia whispered.
“We stopped pausing months ago,” Qifrey admitted.
You looked mildly offended. “I am not that clumsy.”
At that exact moment, you nearly stepped backward into a stool.
Qifrey caught you again immediately without even turning around this time.
Agott covered her face with her hand.
The truly unfair part was that despite all of this, she ended up liking you far more than expected. Maybe it was because you never acted embarrassed about your accomplishments despite how extraordinary they were. Maybe it was because you treated the apprentices seriously, listening carefully to every question Coco asked and praising Agott’s precision with complete sincerity. Or maybe it was simply impossible not to grow attached to someone who could dismantle dangerous magic in seconds yet still forget where they left their own shoes.
One evening, Agott found you asleep at the workshop table after spending hours helping Richeh repair damaged tools. Your notes were scattered everywhere in messy overlapping stacks. One of your sleeves had ink smeared across it. Qifrey stood nearby watching you with quiet affection while gently lifting your glasses from where they sat crookedly against your face.
“She fell asleep looking for her own notebook,” he said softly.
Agott stared at you for a long moment before muttering, “She’s weird.”
Qifrey smiled knowingly. “Very.”
There was a small pause before Agott crossed her arms and looked away.
“…I understand it, though,” she admitted quietly.
Qifrey’s expression softened immediately because he understood exactly what she meant.
Because somehow you were both things at once. You were terrifyingly skilled and hopelessly forgetful. Brilliant and absentminded. Capable of protecting everyone around you without hesitation while still needing Qifrey to remind you where you placed your coat five minutes earlier. And perhaps the strangest thing of all was how naturally those pieces fit together.
Especially to him.
Especially when he caught you against his chest after another near fall and you instinctively relaxed there for half a second longer than necessary, smiling up at him with sleepy trust while he steadied you carefully like it was the easiest thing in the world.
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Hello! I’d love to request a Qifrey x Reader who’s also a teacher and has an atelier of her own with three little apprentices that are also around the girls age, I imagine a cute little playdate between all the girls and Qifrey and Reader are just on their own for awhile <3
3 is fun but 6's a party
Qifrey x reader
cw: none/this is pure fluff
AN: I saw this come in and vividly remember my excitement upon reading it, this is such a cute idea. anon your brain is so big thank you for blessing us with this 😌
Spring had settled gently over your atelier, not in a sudden bloom but in quiet persistence, soft green unfurling along branches, petals scattered like forgotten thoughts across the grass, the air carrying that delicate warmth that lingered on skin without ever becoming heavy, and your home stood open to it all, windows wide, curtains stirring lazily as if they too wished to wander outside. Your three students were gathered near the doorway, trying and failing to remain composed, their excitement spilling into hushed giggles and restless shifting, the promise of new companions far more captivating than any lesson you could have given them that day.
“You may greet them calmly,” you reminded, though your tone lacked any real strictness, and they nodded quickly, only to lean forward the moment movement appeared beyond the trees.
When Qifrey finally stepped into view, the moment felt almost storybook in its timing,
sunlight catching faintly on his figure as he approached with his own students close by, their curiosity as bright as yours were eager, and the stillness lasted only a heartbeat before it broke into motion, the children meeting somewhere in the middle with hesitant introductions that quickly dissolved into laughter, names exchanged, small displays of magic attempted and corrected and admired all at once, until they drifted naturally toward the open meadow beyond your atelier, drawn by space and sunlight and each other.
“They won’t stay near us long,” you said, watching them go.
“They shouldn’t,” Qifrey replied, a faint smile touching his voice more than his lips. “Days like this are wasted on supervision.”
You glanced at him then, amused. “And yet here we are.”
He met your gaze, something lighter in his expression than you had seen before. “Perhaps not entirely.”
The breeze carried the scent of blossoms between you, and without needing to say more, you gestured toward the path that curved away from the atelier, leading not to your usual garden but further, toward a place less often used.
“There’s a clearing by the river,” you said. “It’s quieter there.”
He inclined his head, and together you walked, the sounds of the children fading into the background, replaced by rustling leaves and the distant murmur of water, the world narrowing into something softer, something more shared.
The river clearing opened slowly between the trees, sunlight scattering across the water in shifting patterns, the surface broken gently by the current, while wildflowers grew freely along the edges, unstructured and bright, bending slightly with the breeze as if greeting your arrival. It was less carefully tended than your garden, but perhaps because of that, it felt more alive, more willing to breathe.
“I come here when they become too loud,” you admitted, stepping closer to the water’s edge.
Qifrey followed, his gaze moving across the clearing with quiet appreciation. “It suits you.”
You glanced back at him, a small smile forming. “Untamed?”
“Unrestricted,” he corrected gently.
The distinction lingered, warm rather than sharp, and you turned your attention to the river again, kneeling briefly to trail your fingers through the cool water, watching the ripples spread outward, distorting the reflection of the sky.
For a while, you simply existed there together, not speaking, not needing to, the quiet filled with small sounds, the wind shifting through branches, the distant echo of laughter, the steady presence of someone who did not demand conversation to remain close.
“They’re good children,” you said eventually. “Yours.”
He stepped nearer, though still not quite beside you. “They are. Though not without trouble.”
“They shouldn’t be without it,” you replied, glancing up at him. “It means they’re trying.”
That drew a softer expression from him, one that lingered just a moment longer than usual. “You speak as though you’ve never struggled.”
You let out a quiet breath, standing again, brushing your hands lightly together. “I have. I simply learned not to fear it.”
His gaze settled on you more fully then, attentive, thoughtful. “That’s not an easy thing to learn.”
“No,” you agreed. “It isn’t.”
The breeze shifted again, stronger this time, carrying petals loose from nearby branches, a few catching briefly in your hair before falling away, and without thinking, his hand lifted slightly, hesitating only a fraction before brushing one from your shoulder, the touch light, careful, but undeniably present.
“Sorry,” he murmured, though he didn’t immediately step back.
“It’s alright,” you said softly, and for a moment neither of you moved at all.
The distance between you had changed, not visibly at first, but in the way your awareness of it sharpened, the space no longer empty but filled with something unspoken, something waiting, and as you both shifted slightly, it was toward each other rather than away.
“You carry a lot,” you said quietly, your voice thoughtful rather than questioning. “More than you say.”
He exhaled, the sound almost lost to the wind. “And you see more than you should.”
“Perhaps,” you allowed, a faint hint of amusement in your tone, though it softened quickly. “It looks heavy.”
There was a pause, not uncomfortable, but deliberate, as if he were deciding how much to let you see.
“It can be,” he admitted finally. “But it’s… necessary.”
You studied him for a moment, the steadiness of his posture, the restraint in his voice, the way he held himself as though always prepared for something unseen.
“Not all of it,” you said.
His gaze shifted, meeting yours more directly now. “No?”
You shook your head slightly. “Some of it… you’ve just gotten used to carrying.”
The words settled between you, not challenging, not forceful, but true in a way that was difficult to dismiss, and something in his expression softened again, the edges of his composure easing just enough to reveal what lay beneath.
“You make it sound simple,” he said.
“It isn’t,” you replied, stepping a little closer without quite realizing it. “But it can be… lighter.”
The space between you narrowed again, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm, the contact subtle but grounding, and this time neither of you pretended it hadn’t happened.
“You speak from experience,” he observed.
You nodded slightly. “From choosing it.”
He considered that, his gaze lingering, not searching but understanding, and when he spoke again his voice was quieter.
“I don’t think I’ve allowed myself that choice.”
“Then maybe,” you said, your voice just as soft, “you could start with something small.”
There was no immediate answer, but he didn’t look away, and the silence that followed felt fuller than any words could have made it.
The light had begun to shift toward evening, the gold of afternoon deepening into softer hues, the air cooling just enough to be noticeable, and the sounds of the children had grown more distant, their energy settling into something calmer, though still bright, still present, and yet it felt as though the world had drawn inward around you, narrowing to the space you shared.
“I think this counts,” he said after a while.
You tilted your head slightly. “What does?”
“A small start.”
Your smile came easier now, softer but more certain. “I think it does.”
The moment lingered, stretching gently, neither of you rushing to fill it, and when his hand moved this time it wasn’t hesitant, his fingers brushing yours before settling, a quiet, intentional contact that sent a subtle warmth through you, and you responded just as naturally, your hand turning slightly to meet his, the connection simple but steady.
He stepped closer then, closing what little distance remained, his gaze lowering briefly before returning to yours, as if giving you time to stop him, to question it, to change your mind, but you didn’t, your breath catching just slightly as you held his gaze, the world around you softening into background.
“You’re very calm about this,” he murmured.
“I don’t feel very calm,” you admitted, a faint warmth touching your voice.
That drew the smallest hint of a smile from him, and then he leaned in, slow and careful, the movement unhurried, deliberate, and when his lips met yours it was gentle, a quiet warmth rather than anything overwhelming, the kind of kiss that felt like a question answered rather than one asked, your hand tightening slightly against his as you leaned into it without thinking.
It lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough, enough to settle something between you, enough to make it real, and when you parted there was no awkwardness, no uncertainty, just a quiet understanding that hadn’t been there before.
In the distance, laughter rose again, one of the girls calling out loudly, the sound carrying easily through the trees, and you both glanced toward it before looking back at each other, something lighter now in both your expressions.
“We should go back,” you said, though you didn’t move immediately.
“Yes,” he agreed, equally unhurried.
For a moment longer, you stayed where you were, hands still loosely connected, the river continuing its quiet path beside you, petals drifting past on the breeze, spring unfolding gently around you as if acknowledging what had begun, and when you finally turned back toward the meadow, you walked side by side, close enough that your shoulders brushed again, this time without hesitation, without question, the space between you no longer something to be crossed, but something already shared.
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Hello there first time requesting from this acc, i have read your work. It is truly amazing how you capture the scene, so i am here to ask for a request ! :)
It is quite a silly one but how about a fem!reader who gets mistaken for a brimmed hat. It would be hillarous well atleast to me, maybe the girls see her and tell Qifrey.
The Brimhat Incident
Qifrey x reader
cw: none/wholesome chaos
AN: wrote my English finals today, at this point I'm surprised I was even able to write this. I'm a bit scared about Qifrey being ooc for this one ngl but I knew I wanted to write this because it seemed so fun (and chaotic) Lamb, I have no idea how you came up with this idea but I'm glad you did because this was genuinely a joy to write
The little hat shop was warm in the most comforting way imaginable, full of amber candlelight and the quiet smell of old parchment, polished wood, dried lavender, and fabric that had been carefully cared for over many years. Dust floated lazily through golden shafts of evening sunlight spilling in from the tall windows, and every wall was crowded with hats arranged like treasures: elegant traveling hats with soft feathers pinned to their bands, wide-brimmed sun hats stitched with lace, pointed witches’ hats decorated with tiny charms and beads that chimed faintly whenever the breeze touched them. It was the sort of place that felt untouched by time, soft and sleepy and peaceful, and Qifrey looked deeply suspicious of it the moment you stepped inside.
More specifically, he looked suspicious of you.
His hand remained lightly at the small of your back while you wandered farther into the shop, fingers brushing curiously over velvet brims and silver embroidery. “You’re being entirely too quiet,” he murmured behind you, voice smooth with amusement and caution all at once. “That usually means trouble.”
You glanced back over your shoulder with a smile that made his expression immediately soften despite himself. It always happened so quickly with you. One second he would be wary or exasperated and the next he would be looking at you with that unbearable tenderness in his eye, like fondness lived in him so naturally that he could not help it. “Maybe I’m simply appreciating the atmosphere.”
“Hm.” He didn’t sound convinced. “And maybe you’ve already spotted something you intend to torment me with.”
You laughed quietly under your breath because, unfortunately for him, he was correct.
The brimhat sat near the back of the shop atop a dark velvet stand, dramatic and elegant beneath the candlelight. Unlike the lighter, friendlier hats surrounding it, this one looked almost severe in its beauty, with a broad curved brim that shadowed the face completely and intricate silver stitching circling the crown like moonlit vines. It was gorgeous in a way that made it difficult not to stare.
Qifrey noticed your attention immediately and sighed so softly it was almost affectionate. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“I do.”
“I only want to try it on.”
“No.”
You turned fully toward him then, clasping your hands together. “Please?”
His visible eye narrowed slightly beneath the brim of his own hat, though there was no real severity in it. Qifrey could never maintain genuine sternness with you for very long, not when you looked at him like that. “Love,” he said patiently, stepping closer, “you are asking the one person in the world least likely to encourage interest in brimhats.”
“But look at it,” you insisted softly. “It’s beautiful.”
“That,” he replied immediately, “is exactly the problem.”
Still, even as he spoke, his fingers drifted unconsciously along your wrist in a slow absentminded touch, affectionate despite his disapproval. You tilted your head at him hopefully, and after a long moment he exhaled through his nose with quiet defeat.
“One moment,” he warned. “That’s all.”
Your smile lit your entire face so brightly that Qifrey looked away for a second as though struck by it. “You spoil me.”
“I survive you,” he corrected gently.
You lifted the brimhat carefully and settled it onto your head, and immediately the heavy brim dipped low enough to cast your entire face into shadow. The effect startled even you when you turned toward the mirror nearby. The hat transformed you completely, obscuring your eyes and softening your outline into something mysterious and unfamiliar. You almost looked like another person entirely standing there beneath the dim golden light.
Then the shop door opened.
The sound of Coco and the others entering reached you only a second before the atmosphere changed completely. You turned instinctively toward them, but the brim still concealed your face, and all four girls froze dead the instant they saw you standing there beside Qifrey.
The silence lasted exactly three seconds before panic erupted.
Not loud, chaotic panic exactly, but the kind full of alarmed confusion and frantic overlapping questions while Coco looked horrified and Tetia nearly climbed into Agott’s shadow in distress. Richeh stared openly at you with wide eyes while Agott looked ready to physically intervene if necessary, and through all of it Qifrey stood there with the exhausted expression of a man wondering why the universe insisted on testing him specifically.
You tried explaining immediately, but the brim obscured your face too completely, and somehow that only worsened the situation.
Qifrey pinched the bridge of his nose briefly before finally stepping toward you with a soft sigh. “Enough,” he murmured, though his voice carried effortlessly through the commotion. The girls quieted almost immediately.
Then he looked at you. And the exasperation melted away at once. It always did.
The candlelight caught faintly against his pale hair as he approached, robes swaying softly around his legs, and there was such helpless fondness in his expression that your chest tightened painfully around it. Even now, even while dealing with this ridiculous situation, he looked at you like you were something precious to him. Something adored.
“You’ve frightened them terribly,” he said quietly, though amusement tugged gently at the corners of his mouth.
“I think Agott was preparing to fight me.”
“She may still.”
You laughed softly, and Qifrey’s gaze lingered on the sound of it for a moment before he finally reached toward you. His touch was impossibly gentle from the very beginning, fingertips brushing beneath your chin with such care that your breath caught immediately. He tilted your face upward slowly, almost reverently, while his other hand lifted the brim just enough for the shadows to slide away from your eyes.
“There you are,” he murmured.
The affection in his voice made your heart ache.
Behind him the girls realized their mistake all at once, but their embarrassment faded into background noise because Qifrey was still holding your face in both hands now, looking down at you with an expression so soft it nearly unraveled you completely. His thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone beneath the edge of the hat, tender and lingering, and his visible eye crinkled faintly with warmth.
“You really wanted to try it on that badly?” he asked quietly.
“It’s pretty,” you whispered.
His smile deepened immediately, small and helpless and terribly fond. “You would be beautiful in anything,” he said, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Though I admit this may not be my favorite look.”
You laughed softly again, and something in Qifrey’s expression changed at the sound. The affection there grew deeper somehow, warmer, until it filled his entire face with such unmistakable love that it almost became difficult to look at him directly. He leaned closer without seeming to realize it, his forehead nearly brushing yours beneath the brim of the hat, and for a moment neither of you spoke at all.
Then, very slowly, he kissed you.
It was gentle at first, impossibly sweet, the softest brush of his lips against yours while his hands cradled your face like he was afraid of handling you too roughly. The kiss lingered instead of ending, warm and patient and full of quiet devotion, and when you melted toward him instinctively, Qifrey made the softest sound against your mouth, something fond and breathless and completely gone for you.
The brimhat tilted back farther as he kissed you again, deeper this time but no less tender, his thumb stroking slowly along your cheek while the other hand slid carefully to the back of your neck. It was the kind of kiss that stole all coherent thought from your mind, not because it was hurried or desperate but because of how achingly loving it felt. Every tiny movement of his lips seemed deliberate, lingering, affectionate in a way that made your chest feel painfully full. Qifrey kissed you like someone savoring something precious, something beloved beyond words.
When he finally pulled back, it was only barely. Brimhat sneakily taken off your head before you could notice, remaining in his hand.
His forehead rested against yours while both of you breathed the same warm air, and the smile he gave you afterward was so unbearably soft that it nearly made your knees weak. “Mm,” he murmured quietly, brushing one last lingering kiss against the corner of your mouth, “perhaps I understand the appeal slightly more now.”
He wasn't talking about the hat, was he?
Somewhere in the background Coco groaned in exhausted disbelief while Tetia made a distressed squeaking noise, yet Qifrey paid no mind. His attention remained fixed solely on you, hands still warm against your skin, eyes full of so much tenderness that it almost hurt to be looked at that way.
And honestly, standing there in the golden light with his lips still lingering sweetly against yours and his expression so openly adoring, you thought you might wear the terrible hat forever if it meant Qifrey would keep looking at you like that.
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Heyyy! So I dunno if your reqs are currently open but your Qifrey fics are absolute gold! And I wanted to come on here and request a fic where Qifrey and reader get caught kissing in their room by the girls because they were snooping and somehow they all end up on the bed together, cramped but happy and sleeping
If you don't wanna do this or cant do this, thats understandable but I would I like a reply on wht if thats the case so I know for future reference:)
Thank you for your service to the Qifrey fangirls🫶🫶🫶
"I knew it!"
Qifrey x reader
cw: none
AN: I'm sorry for replying so late. I swear I read your request and wanted to start writing immediately. Unfortunately I'm in the middle of finals so writing outside of school tends to be a bit tedious
:( Still, I gotta keep my Qifrey fangirls/boys and theys fed ✊
The lamplight in Qifrey’s room was soft and golden, casting warm shadows along the wooden walls. You sat beside him on the edge of his bed, a book open between you, though neither of you had turned a page in quite some time. The quiet felt different tonight. It was heavier, but in a comforting way, like something unspoken was waiting to be acknowledged. Qifrey glanced at you, then at the book, and let out a small breath of amusement.
“You haven’t been reading,” he said gently. You huffed, trying to defend yourself, but your voice lacked conviction. “Neither have you.”
He smiled at that, slow and knowing, and closed the book with a soft snap. The sound seemed louder than it should have been, like it marked a shift between you.
“Perhaps I’ve been distracted,” he admitted. His eyes lingered on yours, and your heart skipped in response.
You weren’t sure who leaned in first. It felt like it happened at the same time. The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, as if both of you were savoring the moment instead of rushing it. His hand lifted to your cheek, warm and steady, and you felt yourself melt into it.
“Is this alright?” he murmured quietly against your lips, giving you the chance to pull away. You shook your head just slightly. “Don’t stop."
That was all the encouragement he needed. The kiss deepened, still gentle, still careful, but full of warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.
“Master Qifrey?” Coco’s voice came from the doorway, followed by the unmistakable creak of it opening wider. The two of you sprang apart immediately, turning to see all four girls standing there. Coco blinked in surprise. Tetia’s face lit up instantly with excitement. Agott looked scandalized, and Richeh simply observed in silence. “I knew it!” Tetia squealed, rushing into the room. “I knew something was going on!” “You should knock,” Agott snapped, even though she clearly hadn’t. Coco covered her mouth, half-laughing, half-apologizing. “We didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said quickly, though her curious gaze said otherwise.
Qifrey cleared his throat and straightened slightly, though there was a faint flush to his ears. “It seems you’ve all discovered something a bit earlier than intended,” he said, attempting composure. You hid your face in your hands for a moment before laughing despite yourself. “There’s no saving this, is there?” you muttered. “Nope!” Tetia chirped happily, already climbing onto the bed as if she belonged there. The others followed soon after, the room filling with chatter, teasing, and far too many questions. Qifrey sighed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned back, clearly giving up on maintaining any sense of order.
Eventually, the energy softened. The lantern burned lower, and one by one, yawns interrupted the conversation. “It’s late,” Coco said, rubbing her eyes. “We should probably go.” “Or we could just stay,” Tetia suggested immediately, already curling up in the blankets. “It’s warm here.” “That’s not proper,” Agott began, but her voice wavered as another yawn slipped out. Richeh simply settled down without comment, which seemed to settle the matter.
Blankets were pulled out and layered across the bed until it became a soft, crowded nest. Somehow, all of you fit. It was messy and unorganized, but it worked. Coco ended up tucked beside you, Tetia sprawled comfortably near the center, Agott reluctantly settling in with a quiet sigh, and Richeh finding space near the edge. Qifrey was behind you, his arm resting loosely around your shoulders. It felt natural, like it had always been there.
“Goodnight, everyone,” he said softly. “Goodnight!” Tetia mumbled, already half-asleep. Coco smiled sleepily. “Goodnight, Master Qifrey… goodnight,” she added, glancing at you with a knowing look. You squeezed Qifrey’s hand beneath the blankets, and he returned it gently.
The room slowly grew quiet. The earlier embarrassment faded into something warm and safe. You leaned back slightly against him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing. Around you, the girls shifted closer together, drawn by warmth and comfort. It felt peaceful in a way that words couldn’t quite capture.
As your eyes drifted closed, you heard Qifrey whisper softly near your ear, “We’ll talk about this properly tomorrow.” You smiled faintly. “We will.” And with that, surrounded by soft blankets and the quiet presence of everyone you cared about, you fell asleep, warm and close, knowing this moment would stay with you for a long time.
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AN: writing this as chill as possible as if I wasn't begging my mutual to write this scenario 🤞 @omniprescent
The stories about Brimhats were always the same: dangerous, deceptive, consumed by forbidden magic and darker paths.
You had long stopped caring. Let people whisper. Let them stare. Still, out of everyone, one person's judgment irritated you more than it should have. Qifrey. Calm, intelligent, endlessly composed Qifrey with his gentle smile and eyes that seemed to see right through people. He looked at you with caution every time your paths crossed, and you found that expression increasingly irresistible to ruin.
Your meetings became strangely frequent after the first one. Forest paths, market corners, quiet villages at dusk—it was almost ridiculous. Every time, Qifrey would stop, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly at the sight of your broad brim hat and dark cloak. Every time, you'd catch that little pause before he remembered to look annoyed. And every time, you smiled. "You know," you told him once, leaning lazily against a tree while evening light filtered through the branches, "you stare at me an awful lot."
"I absolutely do not."
"Oh? Then perhaps I've imagined it every single time."
"You have."
You grinned. "Liar."
Qifrey narrowed his eyes immediately. "You enjoy provoking people."
"No," you corrected smoothly, stepping closer. "Just you."
Silence. Wonderful, wonderful silence. Because for a split second he looked completely caught off guard before his expression hardened again. Yet despite all his irritation, despite every sharp response and sigh and glare, he never walked away first. Never. And you noticed things. The way his posture shifted when you stood too close. The way his eyes flickered away before returning. The way his patience around you seemed stretched thinner and thinner each time.
That evening beside the old river bridge, violet twilight spread across the sky while cool wind danced through the trees. Qifrey stood with his back partially turned when he heard your footsteps, and the look he gave you over his shoulder nearly made you laugh. Immediate irritation. Immediate defeat. "You again."
"You sound disappointed." "I am." "Liar."
His eyes narrowed. "Stop saying that."
You hopped down from the bridge railing and walked toward him slowly. "Why? Because I'm right?" You stopped directly in front of him, close enough now to see the faint tension in his shoulders. "You keep acting like you can't stand me, but somehow you're always here."
"You assume too much."
"And you avoid too much."
For a moment neither of you moved. Wind brushed softly between you, carrying the scent of rain and distant flowers, and Qifrey's gaze held yours steadily. There was frustration there. And something else. Something that had been growing for weeks, maybe longer. You looked down briefly then, eyes catching on the belt around his waist, and before he could question the look on your face, you hooked your fingers there lightly and tugged.
Just enough. Qifrey stumbled half a step forward. Suddenly there was almost no space left between you. You felt him freeze instantly.
His eyes widened. Just slightly. Enough.
Enough for your smile to slowly spread.
"Oh?" you whispered softly. "Interesting."
Qifrey stared at you.
You could practically feel the tension snapping tighter and tighter between you, his composure hanging by threads. Yet you only tilted your head and smiled wider. "What's wrong?" you murmured. "You look flustered."
"I'm not."
"No?" You leaned in just slightly closer. "Then why haven't you moved away?"
Silence. Absolute silence. Then suddenly his hand caught your wrist. Not rough. Not angry. Just certain.
His eyes searched yours for a long moment, and for the first time all evening, there was no irritation there. No careful distance. Just something startlingly honest breaking through all those walls he kept around himself.
"You never stop," he said quietly.
Your smile softened. "No."
Another beat of silence passed.
Then Qifrey sighed—small and defeated, like someone finally losing an argument he'd been having with himself for far too long.
And before you could tease him again, before another smug remark could leave your mouth, he leaned forward and kissed you.
Not because he planned to.
Not because he meant to.
Because after all that tension and frustration and denial, there simply wasn't room left for anything else.
For a split second you forgot how to think entirely. Then your eyes slowly closed.
And somewhere beneath violet skies and river light, Qifrey finally realized—with complete horror and absolutely no hope of denying it anymore—that he had made a terrible mistake.
Because now you were smiling against the kiss.
And that meant you were never letting him live this down.
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Hi! Can I make a request? (Just to clarify, I’m new to the fandom—I’ve watched the first few episodes and am just starting to read the manga, so sorry if this request seems silly.) I was thinking about Qifrey and a reader who uses forbidden magic. You know, forbidden love, fighting against principles, and all that stuff, haha 👀
a forbidden kind of Love
Qifrey x reader
cw: spoilers for the manga, not directly but heavily implied, angst, miscommunication, hurt w/ comfort
genre: angst/fluff
AN: Hi Anon, don't worry I've noticed a bunch of new people on here ever since the anime came out and I couldn't be happier that witch hat atelier is finally gaining recognition again. I haven't watched the anime yet - how is it? Anyway the request isn't silly at all I quite enjoyed writing this in contrast to my usual stories that are mostly fluff. I'd be happy to see you around more!
The night felt quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that pressed gently against your ears until even the smallest sound seemed too loud. You sat alone, hunched over your work, carefully tracing ink along parchment with more focus than you’d ever admit out loud. The circle beneath your hand wasn’t like the ones you’d practiced before—this one felt different, the lines sharper, more deliberate, like they wanted to connect in ways you hadn’t been taught. You hesitated for only a moment before finishing the final stroke, and the instant you did, something in the air shifted. Not dramatically, not violently—just enough to make your breath catch. The ink shimmered faintly, as if responding to you, and a quiet thrill ran through your chest before you could stop it. It was wrong—you knew it was wrong—but it was also beautiful.
“…You shouldn’t be doing that.”
The voice came from behind you, soft but unmistakable, and your heart immediately jumped into your throat. You didn’t turn right away—you didn’t necessarily want to—but there was no pretending you hadn’t heard him. Slowly, you shifted, already reaching to smudge the circle with your sleeve as if that could undo what had already been done. “It’s just practice,” you said quickly, too quickly, like if you spoke fast enough it would sound true. “I made a mistake.” A hand caught your wrist before you could ruin the ink, not harsh, not forceful, just steady enough to stop you, and that alone made your chest tighten more than if he’d been angry. “Don’t erase it like that,” Qifrey murmured, his gaze already lowered to the circle. “You could make it unstable.” His tone wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t gentle either—it was something in between, something careful, and that somehow made everything worse.
You swallowed, watching the way he studied the lines, the way his stillness seemed to deepen instead of ease. He knew. Of course he knew. “It’s not what you think,” you tried, even though you weren’t entirely sure what that meant anymore. He didn’t look up right away, and when he did, there was something quieter in his expression, something that made it hard to breathe under his gaze. “You understand what this is, don’t you?” he asked, and you hated how soft his voice had become, like he already knew your answer. “…Yes,” you admitted after a pause, and the word felt heavier than it should have. For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence stretching thin between you until it almost felt fragile.
“You shouldn’t have learned this,” he said, and there was no anger in it—just something tired, something weighed down by more than just you. That stung more than anything. “I wanted to understand,” you replied, more defensively than you meant to, your fingers curling slightly as if you could still feel the ink beneath them. “Why is it forbidden? Why hide something like this if it can be controlled?” His expression shifted at that, subtle but unmistakable, something sharper flickering beneath the calm he always carried. “Because it can’t always be controlled,” he said, and the way he said it made it sound less like a rule and more like a memory.
You looked at him, really looked this time, trying to read something past the surface he always showed. “I can learn,” you insisted, quieter now but no less certain. “If someone teaches me properly—” “No.” The answer came too quickly, cutting through your words before you could finish, and you flinched despite yourself. The word lingered in the air, heavier than before, and for a moment he seemed to realize how sharp it had sounded. He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady something inside himself. “You’ve already gone too far,” he said more quietly. “You’ve seen too much.”
Your chest tightened, not because you didn’t understand what he meant—but because you did.
Still, you didn’t look away. “…And what if I don’t want to forget?” you asked, the question slipping out softer than you intended, but it hung there all the same. That made him pause, just slightly, but enough for you to notice. His gaze shifted from the circle back to you, and for the first time since he’d walked in, there was something uncertain in it. It wasn’t obvious—most people probably wouldn’t have caught it—but you did, and that only made your heart beat faster for reasons you didn’t want to examine too closely.
“You’re not thinking about the consequences,” he said, though there was less certainty in his voice now, like he was trying to convince both of you. “Then tell me,” you replied, almost pleading without meaning to. “Not as a teacher—as you. Why is this so wrong?” The question lingered between you, quieter than everything else, but heavier in a different way. He didn’t answer right away, and in that pause, something shifted—something unspoken, something fragile. You didn’t move, didn’t press further, but you didn’t retreat either. And for a moment, it felt like the conversation had stopped being about magic at all, like it had turned into something else entirely—something neither of you quite knew how to name yet.
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty—it felt full, like something waiting just beneath the surface. Qifrey looked at you as if weighing something he couldn’t quite put into words, his gaze softer than before but far more complicated. “Some things aren’t forbidden because they’re misunderstood,” he said at last, quieter now, “they’re forbidden because they change people.” You tilted your head slightly, your fingers brushing faintly over the edge of the parchment without touching the circle again. “Then why does it feel like I finally understand something?” you asked, and that seemed to catch him off guard in a way your earlier questions hadn’t.
“You think understanding is enough?” he replied, though there was no sharpness in it this time—just a quiet kind of disbelief. You hesitated, then shook your head slightly. “No… but it’s a start, isn’t it?” That almost sounded hopeful, and maybe that was the problem. His expression shifted again, something softer flickering and fading too quickly to fully catch. “It’s a dangerous start,” he said, and this time it sounded less like a warning and more like concern.
You let out a small breath, your shoulders relaxing just a little despite everything. “You’re worried,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him, but he heard it anyway. He didn’t deny it. That alone made your chest tighten in a different way. “Of course I am,” he said, and the honesty in it made you look up at him again. “You’re treating this like it’s just another lesson.” “Isn’t it?” you asked lightly, though your voice didn’t quite carry the same ease. “Something I don’t understand yet, something I can learn with enough time…” You trailed off when you noticed the way his gaze sharpened—not angry, but intent.
“You’re not supposed to learn this,” he said, and there it was again—that line, that boundary he refused to let blur. But this time, instead of backing down, you stepped a little closer, just enough to close some of the space that had formed between you. “And yet I did,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes. “So now what?” The question lingered, heavier than anything before it, because neither of you could pretend it didn’t matter anymore.
For a moment, it almost felt normal—like one of your usual conversations, like he might sigh and explain things the way he always did, guiding you back onto the “right” path. But he didn’t. He just watched you, and the longer he did, the more something unspoken seemed to build between you. Your heartbeat picked up again, though you weren’t sure why—nothing had happened, not really, and yet it felt like everything had shifted.
“You should have told me,” he said finally, and the words were softer than you expected. That caught you off guard. “Would you have listened?” you asked before thinking, and the moment the words left your mouth, you felt the tension snap tighter instead of easing. He didn’t answer immediately, and that was answer enough.
“…No,” he admitted after a pause.
You let out a small, humorless breath, looking away for a moment. “Then it wouldn’t have changed anything.” The quiet between you returned, but it wasn’t the same as before—it felt heavier now, edged with something fragile and unresolved. When you looked back at him, he hadn’t moved, but there was something different in his expression again, something closer to conflict than calm.
“You don’t understand what this could lead to,” he said, though his voice lacked its earlier certainty. “Then help me understand,” you replied, softer now, the edge in your tone fading into something more earnest. “Don’t just tell me ‘no’ and expect me to stop. That’s not how this works.” You gestured faintly toward the circle, though you didn’t touch it again. “You taught me to question things. You can’t take that back now.”
That made him pause.
Not visibly, not dramatically—but enough.
Your chest tightened slightly as you watched him, realizing that for once, he didn’t have an immediate answer. And somehow, that felt more significant than anything he could have said.
“…There are consequences for knowing this,” he said eventually, and his voice had gone quieter again, more careful. “Not just for you.” You frowned slightly. “What does that mean?” He didn’t respond right away, and something about that hesitation made a faint unease settle in your chest.
“You trust me, don’t you?” he asked instead.
The question came out of nowhere.
You blinked, caught off guard, your thoughts stumbling over themselves. “…Of course I do,” you said, though it came out softer than you intended, like you hadn’t expected to have to say it out loud. His gaze didn’t waver, and for a moment, it felt like he was searching your expression for something specific—something he needed to hear, or maybe something he was afraid of.
“Even now?” he asked.
That made your breath catch.
You hesitated—just for a second—but it was there.
“…Yes,” you said anyway, because despite everything, it was still true. You trusted him. Even if you didn’t understand him. Even if something about this felt like it was slipping out of your grasp.
Something in his expression softened at that, but it didn’t look like relief.
It looked like it made things harder.
“…I see,” he murmured, almost to himself.
And for the first time since he’d walked in, a quiet, uneasy feeling settled fully into your chest—like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t quite see yet, but knew you wouldn’t be able to step back from once you crossed it.
That quiet unease didn’t fade—it deepened, settling into the space between you like something neither of you wanted to name. Qifrey lowered his gaze for a moment, and when he lifted it again, there was a kind of resolve there that made your chest tighten instinctively. You didn’t move, but your fingers curled slightly at your side, like your body already knew something your mind hadn’t caught up to yet. “…If you trust me,” he said slowly, “then you need to listen to what I’m about to say.” The carefulness in his tone made your stomach twist. “You’re making it sound serious,” you tried to lighten it, but your voice didn’t quite cooperate.
“It is.”
The answer came gently—but firmly enough that it stilled any attempt at brushing it off.
You swallowed, the earlier curiosity giving way to something quieter, something more uncertain. “Then just say it,” you replied, softer now, watching him more closely than before. He didn’t answer right away, and instead reached into his coat, the motion slow, deliberate—familiar. Your breath caught before you could stop it when you saw what he pulled out.
His pen.
It shouldn’t have felt different. You’d seen him use it countless times—teaching, guiding, correcting small mistakes with patient precision. But now, the sight of it in his hand made something cold settle in your chest. You didn’t step back, not yet, but the air felt heavier, harder to breathe through.
“…Qifrey?” you said quietly.
He stepped closer.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said, the same calm tone as always, but there was something under it now—something strained, something that didn’t quite match the steadiness he was trying to maintain.
That was when it clicked.
Your chest tightened sharply. “…No,” you said under your breath, the word barely audible at first, like you didn’t fully believe it yet. He didn’t stop. The distance between you closed too quickly, and now there was nowhere left to pretend this wasn’t happening. “Wait,” you said, louder this time, your voice catching as you took a small step back. “You don’t mean—”
“You’ve seen too much,” he said softly, and there it was again—that same line, but now it felt final.
Something in your chest cracked.
“You’re serious?” you asked, disbelief creeping into your voice despite the evidence right in front of you. “You’re actually going to—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. The words felt too heavy, too unreal.
He didn’t look away.
And that was answer enough.
A sharp breath left you, your hands tightening at your sides. “I told you I wouldn’t use it again,” you said quickly, the words rushing out now, uneven. “I’ll stay away from it, I won’t draw anything like that again, I’ll—” “It’s not about whether you use it,” he interrupted gently. “It’s about the fact that you know it.”
“That’s not fair,” you shot back, the hurt slipping into your voice before you could stop it. “You can’t just decide that for me. You can’t just take everything because of something I understand.” Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep going. “What about everything else? Being here, learning with you, the others—does none of that matter?”
His hand tightened slightly around the pen.
“It does,” he said, quieter now.
“Then don’t do this,” you whispered.
For a moment—just a moment—he hesitated.
You saw it.
But then he stepped closer anyway.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
Your heart pounded. “No.” The refusal came out instinctively, your gaze locking onto his. “If you’re going to do it, then don’t pretend it’s something gentle.” Your voice trembled despite your effort to keep it steady. “Don’t pretend it’s not taking something from me.”
Something flickered across his expression—quick, almost imperceptible, but there.
The pen lifted.
You could feel the magic gathering, faint but unmistakable, like a pressure building just beneath your skin. Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as you fought the urge to step back again. “Qifrey…” you said, softer now, not arguing anymore—just… saying his name.
His hand stopped.
The tip of the pen hovered just inches from you, the faint glow of the spell beginning to form—but it didn’t complete. It flickered, unstable, like it was waiting for him to commit.
But he didn’t.
His hand trembled.
It was small, barely noticeable—but you saw it.
Your breath caught.
“…Why are you hesitating?” you asked quietly, the fear still there, but now mixed with something else—something fragile, uncertain.
He didn’t answer.
His gaze had shifted, not focused on the spell anymore, not even entirely on what he was about to do.
It was on you.
And something in it had changed.
His hand didn’t move.
For a long moment, nothing did—the air, the spell, even your breathing felt suspended in that fragile space between what should happen and what could. Qifrey stood there, pen hovering, magic flickering weakly at its tip like it was waiting for a decision he couldn’t make. You could hear your own heartbeat now, loud and uneven, your chest tight with fear—but also something else, something softer creeping in at the edges.
“…Why are you hesitating?” you asked again, quieter this time.
His gaze didn’t leave you. “If I do this,” he said slowly, like each word had to be chosen carefully, “you won’t remember any of it.” The magic dimmed slightly. “Not this moment. Not the atelier. Not the others.” His voice faltered—just barely. “…Not me.”
The words settled between you, heavy and real.
“I know,” you whispered.
“And you trust me anyway,” he continued, almost like he was trying to understand it himself. His hand trembled again, more noticeably now. “Even knowing that.”
Your throat tightened. “…I did,” you said softly.
That made something in his expression crack.
The magic flickered again—then weakened.
“I’m supposed to do this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “This is what protects everyone.” His grip on the pen shifted, like he was trying to steady it, trying to force himself forward—but it didn’t work. The glow faltered, breaking apart at the edges.
“…Then why aren’t you?” you asked.
Silence.
Then, almost helplessly—
“…Because I don’t want you to forget.”
Your breath caught.
The magic vanished.
Just like that.
The pen lowered slowly, his hand falling to his side as if it weighed more than it should. He looked at you—not as a teacher, not as someone enforcing rules—but as someone who had just chosen something he didn’t fully understand yet.
“I can’t erase you,” he said quietly. “Not like that. Not when it means losing… this.” His gaze softened, though there was still conflict beneath it. “Everything we’ve shared. Every moment you’ve been here.”
Your chest ached.
“…You were still going to do it,” you said.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry.
But it hurt.
He didn’t deny it. “…Yes.”
That honesty cut deeper than anything else.
For a second, neither of you moved. Then you took a small step back—not out of fear this time, but distance. Emotional distance. Your hands tightened at your sides as you tried to steady your breathing.
“I trusted you,” you said quietly.
“I know,” he replied, just as softly.
“But you were going to take that away from me.” Your voice wavered slightly, though you didn’t let it break. “Everything. Without even asking.”
“I thought it was the only way to protect you,” he said, and there was no defensiveness in it—just quiet regret.
You shook your head faintly. “That’s not protection.”
The words lingered.
And this time, he had no answer.
After that, things changed.
Not suddenly, not dramatically—but in the quiet ways that mattered most.
You still stayed. You still learned. You still stood beside him when lessons were given and the others laughed and filled the space with warmth. But something between you and Qifrey had shifted, like a thread pulled just slightly too tight. You spoke less. Avoided his gaze more often than not. When he approached, you found reasons to leave. When he explained something, you listened—but you didn’t lean into it the way you used to.
And he noticed.
Of course he noticed.
The absence of your presence beside him—the way you no longer hovered close, no longer asked questions just to hear him answer, no longer looked at him like he was someone you could rely on without hesitation—it left something hollow in its place.
He hadn’t expected that.
He hadn’t expected how quiet it would feel without you.
The atelier was still full—the girls’ laughter, their curiosity, the warmth they brought into his life—it all remained. It always would. But even surrounded by it, there was something missing now. Something small, but constant.
Something that only you had ever filled.
And now it was gone.
(a few weeks later)
It took time before he approached you properly again.
Not as your teacher.
Just… as himself.
You were alone again when it happened, though this time there was no circle, no forbidden ink—just you, sitting quietly, lost in your own thoughts. You didn’t notice him at first, not until he spoke.
“…You’ve been avoiding me.”
You stilled slightly, then looked up. “…I haven’t,” you said, though the answer came too easily to be convincing.
He didn’t call you out on it.
“I understand why,” he said instead.
That made you pause.
He stepped closer, but not too close—leaving space this time, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed any less.
“I broke your trust,” he continued, his voice calm but quieter than usual. “Even if I didn’t go through with it.”
You looked down at your hands, fingers curling slightly. “…You almost did,” you murmured.
“I know.”
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as tense as before. Just… heavy.
“I can’t change that,” he said. “But I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen either.”
You swallowed, your chest tightening slightly.
“…Then what do you want?” you asked.
He hesitated—just briefly.
Then, honestly—
“I want you to trust me again.”
The words were simple.
But they carried more weight than anything else he could have said.
You let out a small breath, your shoulders sinking slightly. “That’s not something you can just ask for,” you said quietly.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m not asking for it back all at once.”
You blinked, surprised by that.
“I’ll earn it,” he continued. “However long it takes.”
Something in your chest shifted at that—not enough to fix everything, not enough to erase what had happened, but enough to soften the edges.
“…Why?” you asked, almost before you could stop yourself.
He looked at you, and this time, there was no hesitation.
“Because something feels missing without you,” he said.
Your breath caught.
“The atelier is still full,” he went on, quieter now, “but it’s not the same.” His gaze softened slightly. “You’re not the same.”
You looked away quickly, your heart beating faster than you wanted it to. “…That’s not fair,” you murmured.
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But it’s true.”
Silence fell again, but this time it felt different. Warmer, even if it was still fragile.
“…I don’t know if I can trust you the same way,” you said after a while.
“I don’t expect you to,” he replied.
You glanced at him, surprised again.
“But I’d like the chance to be someone you can trust again,” he added.
Your chest tightened slightly.
You studied him for a moment—the calm expression, the quiet sincerity, the way he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t trying to close the distance too quickly this time.
And slowly… you stepped just a little closer.
Not much.
But enough.
“…Then don’t make me regret it,” you said softly.
Something in his expression eased—not fully, not completely, but enough to be real.
“I won’t,” he said.
And this time—
you chose to believe him.
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