18+ NSFW friendly blog! DO NOT FOLLOW IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18!!!!! OC Rp/Ask blog for Treble. Mun is: 31 / Pansexual / Non-Binary They/Them please.
⟢ tags: fluff, qifrey and reader make dumplings after kids go to bed, olly is away on work, apprentices being apprentices, kissing in front of the sink
⟢ a/n: can you tell i'm hungry 😐 (but i also wrote this to make up for whatever misbehaviour was 😫 i hope i haven't forgotten how to write fluff!)
The atelier's kitchen feels different, at night. Far removed from the usual chatter of dishes and voices, the fire burns low in the hearth, leaving only the soft glow from the phantasmal fireball lamp on the table. More hushed and still, a quiet ghost of its bustling self in the daytime—but it's not a bad thing.
Especially not when he's in it.
"Have the girls gone to bed already?" Qifrey looks up from the kitchen counter when you finally emerge from the stairs. You'd sent the girls to their beds right after dinner—it'd been a long day out in Kahln, with shopping errands, a sudden sunshower that had sent everyone running for cover, and far too many distractions along the way. But what had really stirred up the evening was the book Tetia had found in a corner bookstore: a romance novel with a battered pink cover, secondhand, and a title so flowery Qifrey had raised an eyebrow at you the moment he saw it. Tetia had firmly refused to sleep unless someone read it to her, and even Agott had lingered at the doorway with the other two girls, despite her insistence about having "no care for silly, sappy lovesick tales".
"It took quite some time." Between light threats, repeated goodnights, and one overly dramatic reading of the first page, bedtime had turned into a battle of attrition you hadn't intended on participating in. "But they agreed to sleep after I promised you'd read the rest to them tomorrow night."
Qifrey lets out a soft laugh, turning to glance over this shoulder as you round the table to stand by him at the counter. The soft blue of his visible eye catches in the firelight, your figure faintly reflected in the surface of his glasses.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"You committed my efforts without first seeking my agreement?"
"It was easy when you weren't there to defend yourself," you reply lightly, leaning in to inspect the vegetables beneath his knife. They're a little limp, colours dulled and beginning to brown at the tops. "Besides, Coco is very excited to hear you do all the voices. You wouldn't say no to her."
"Both that child and you severely overestimate my talent and willingness," Qifrey huffs, though you can see him fighting to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards. "Still, as a reward for successfully getting those little terrors to sleep… would you like some dumplings for supper?"
It's almost embarrassing how quickly the fatigue leaves your body. "Dumplings!"
Qifrey laughs quietly at your immediate enthusiasm. "Yes, yes. I'm making some now." He sweeps the chopped vegetables into a bowl with practiced ease, and only then do you notice the rest of the ingredients spread across the counter beside him: minced flying shrimp and meat, a little dish of carefully measured seasonings, and a neat stack of dumpling wrappers lightly dusted with flour. So that's what he'd been doing the entire time you were upstairs battling the girls into bed. "I was taking stock of the kitchen earlier and realised these vegetables needed to be used soon. But I haven't wrapped them yet, so you may have to wa—"
"—do them with you," you finish for him, already reaching for the wrappers before Qifrey can protest. "Double the hands make for half the work, don't they?"
Qifrey just sighs. He knows better than the argue by now. The sound is touched with quiet amusement despite the air of resignation he tries to maintain—helplessly fond, in all of its indulgences.
The two of you stand at the kitchen counter to wrap the dumplings. Quiet nights like these are often your favourite—not that you don't enjoy the company of the girls—but moments like these are made all the more precious in their rarity. Little stretches of time where it is only you and Qifrey, where he can simply be himself and not the witch or the master, the two of you sharing in the stillness of the sleeping atelier together.
Your hips bump together every now and then in the cramped space between the counter and kitchen table, and your fingers brush with murmured apologies neither of you truly mean when you reach for the same wrapper more than once. You watch Qifrey's hands while you work; long fingers pleating the dumplings shut with practiced ease, each one cradled lightly in the cup of his palm before being placed in neat rows upon the tray. There is something strangely tender about the motion—careful and familiar in the same way he handles all fragile things.
The same way he handles your heart.
By the time you finish wrapping the dumplings, the water on the stove has come to a rolling boil. Qifrey lowers a handful carefully into the pot while you gather the rest, sliding them neatly into the cold box to keep for another day.
When you turn back, Qifrey is already holding a single bowl in his hands, waiting for you. Steam curls upward lazily from the broth.
You glance up at him. "You're not having any?"
"Hm?" Qifrey hums lightly as he sets the dumplings down on the table. "I assumed we could just share. It'd be less to clean up."
The easy casualness of his words makes something warm unfurl quietly in your chest.
The two of you eat the dumplings at the kitchen table, shoulders brushing every so often as you pass the spoon between you. The dumpling skins turn almost translucent in the broth, pieces of shrimp glowing a faint pink under the lamplight like small crystals. Qifrey nudges the bowl slightly closer when he notices you slowing down, waiting patiently for you to take the next one before reaching for his own. Between bites, the bowl slowly empties until there is nothing but broth, and then, even that too, is gone.
"I'll do the dishes," you say as you gather the bowl and spoon, already beginning to rise from your seat. The quicker you get it done, the sooner you can return to his side. Qifrey's brow furrows behind his glasses.
"It was my suggestion to cook, so I should—"
"Qifrey." Your hands slip over his shoulders before he can stand, fingers idly combing through the soft hair at his nape as he peers up at you. "You already stayed up late last night preparing snacks for us and Olly's lunchbox. Let me."
He tries, regardless. "But—"
"Qifrey, dear," you interrupt, voice dropping into something unbearably sweet. You can already see the first signs of impending embarrassment creeping across his face. "My love, my moon and stars, the apple of my eye, the keeper of my heart, won't you please let me have the honour of—"
"Oh, stop it." Qifrey pulls away from you halfheartedly, one hand coming up to cover part of his face as though it might hide the warmth gathering there. His voice is exasperated, but weakly so—far too flustered to carry any real force behind it. "Do as you like."
You think you want to kiss him, then. Desperately, a little. But experience has taught you the moment your lips touch his, neither of you will accomplish anything you intend—so instead, you settle for a light peck to his cheek before carrying the bowl over to the basin. Warm water laps softly against your hands as you scrub at the porcelain, the quiet clink of dishes filling the kitchen.
Even so, you can still feel Qifrey's gaze lingering on your back. A few quiet moments later, there's the soft scrape of chair legs against the kitchen floor, and you barely have time to glance over your shoulder before his arms are slipping around your waist from behind, warm and loose. He folds himself against your back with a quiet sigh.
"I missed you," he murmurs into the crook of your neck.
"I was with you the entire day."
"Not like this."
Qifrey's lips find your neck first, trailing warm kisses along your skin unhurriedly in a way that makes your breath catch. Your head tilts back instinctively to give him more room, and you feel the gentle nip of teeth against the sensitive underside of your jaw before he finally turns you just enough to kiss you properly.
It starts off slow—soft, familiar in a way only Qifrey can be around you; careful without restraint, gentle without hesitation. Your breaths mingle warm and wet in the spaces between each kiss as your mouths part and meet again, his glasses nudging lightly against your cheekbone as he leans closer. To your dismay, your hands remain suspended awkwardly over the sink, dripping wet and a little soapy. You want to touch him properly, to turn fully into his arms, card your fingers through his hair, and tug just enough to earn that quiet little sound he always tries and fails to swallow.
Instead, you make a helpless noise against his mouth and Qifrey laughs softly into the kiss, like he already knows what you're thinking. He's leaning in again when—
There's a sudden creak from the staircase. The two of you freeze instantly, Qifrey's fingertips still gently cradling your jaw. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of whispering—poorly hushed, at that—followed by the muffled shuffling of feet retreating back up several steps in frantic succession.
You and Qifrey slowly turn to look at each other.
“…Were they spying on us?” you whisper, more amused than anything.
“I am choosing,” Qifrey says with an immense attempt at dignity, despite the lingering flush across his face, “to believe they merely came downstairs for water.”
Another loud whisper drifts from the stairwell.
“I told you they were kissing—”
"—really just like in the book—"
"—can we go back to bed now—"
“Shh!”
The last one is definitely Agott. You bite down hard on your laughter, glancing up at the man behind you. Qifrey closes his eye with the exhaustion of a man enduring profound and arduous trials, one hand coming up to rub briefly at his temple before he leans in to steal one last kiss.
“Tomorrow,” he murmurs against your mouth, “I'm teaching my apprentices the concept of privacy.”
This was not what you had planned for tonight. A quiet evening laying in bed and watching a movie was the plan. But then Qifrey had to walk in with that stupid compression shirt on—pecs looking so toned and biteable, biceps straining against the too tight fabric—which is how you ended up straddling his lap, rubbing your clothed cunt over his painfully erect cock. His hands held tightly to your hips, helping you grind back and forth. Your forehead pressed against his, heaving breaths mixing in the electric air. Each time you rolled forward, he whined, a soft gasp leaving his lips, and his eyes straining shut.
His grip on your hips tightened, “Darling, nghh, oh my god,” He moaned out, pressing you further into his lap.
“Qii,” You whined, his bulge hitting your clit perfectly, “wanna put it in.”
“Fuck,” He breathed out—a rare curse from your lovers lips—“Please, just like this,” His hips bucked up.
“Want more,” You pouted, though your face quickly contorted in pleasure when he once again pressed you further into his lap, rolling his hips to grind his cock onto your slit.
He was getting close, you could feel the way his cock twitched beneath you, and you weren’t any better. Both panting into the other’s mouth, but that didn’t stop you from wanting more.
“Greedy little thing,” Qifrey chuckled breathlessly, “Be a good girl and take what i’m willing to give you,”
You threw your head back, allowing him to move your hips. Sliding you back and forth against his cock, rutting up into you. You tangled your hands in his hair, the coil building in your lower belly threatening to explode at any moment. Your eyes rolled back, a wave of pleasure washing over you before you could even prepare. Qifrey rocking you to ride through the high. Your legs shook, crying out his name at the feeling coursing through you. The moment you said his name he was done for, groaning as he spilled in his pants, a wet spot appearing on the fabric, already mixing with the spot on yours.
You both panted, trying to catch your breaths. The room filled with the smell of sex and sweat, and the sounds of your breathing. So yeah, this surely wasn’t the plan for the night, but this seemed much better than the original.
A/N:I did not realize Qifrey calling us a “greedy little thing” would have me turned on the way it does until I wrote it.
*Please do not repost, copy, or use any of my works to feed your AI*
Summary: Qifrey really shouldn't be bothered. You're a decorated inventor, loved by witches and Unknowings alike. Of course people are drawn to you. Of course that man across the courtyard can't stop talking to you. Of course Qifrey has absolutely no claim over you whatsoever. None at all. The two of you are nothing. Right?
Tags: Jealous Qifrey, Pining, Slow burn, Mutual pining, Unresolved tension, Olruggio is the only sensible one.
Warnings: None, I don't think!
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Qifrey really shouldn’t be surprised.
You’re incredible. You were a decorated inventor praised for ground breaking innovations in survival magic. From linked bottles for long-distance communications, to water purification spells, and even a self mapping lantern, you had made ripples in the realm of magic– no, you had made waves.
So really, Qifrey shouldn’t be at all bothered by the sight of a man, no older than himself, engaging animatedly in conversation with you. Afterall, how many times had he sat by and watched you engage in similar exchanges with curious witches and unknowings?
How could he fault them? He too was enamored by you.
But still, he couldn’t help the slow heat curdling in his stomach at the sight of just how close the pair of you were.
Perhaps it was the way you were responding to the man just as passionately, laying a hand over his arm in your own excitement. Or maybe, it was the way your head would tip back in delight at a joke he had said. Not Qifrey, him.
Qifrey leaned against the stone pillar, arms crossed tightly in front of him. He felt his lip curl at the sight of the man leaning in to whisper something in your ear.
Truthfully, Qifrey had no right to be upset. It wasn’t as if the pair of you were exclusive.
He shook his head.
It wasn’t even as if the man you were talking to was making any advances towards you. He was just an Unknowing, infatuated with the idea of magic. How could he blame him for that?
Qifrey breathed deeply in attempts to compose his firing thoughts.
Regardless, Qifrey was only here in town to support you. The girls had run off to replenish their supplies with Olruggio and how could he leave you all alone? What would you do if you found yourself stuck in a dreadful conversation with no one to save you?
The sound of your bright laugh pulled Qifrey out of his thoughts. He couldn’t help the slow smile that spread onto his face at the sound before he remembered who had drawn that sound from you.
Perhaps it was him that needed saving.
You laughed again, a tinkling sound as you looked away from the man, bashfully. The man grinned at the sight pointing back to your latest invention.
Qifrey wondered what he was saying to make you so shy. Presumably complimenting the sheer brilliance of your mind.
He snorted, childishly.
He knew you were brilliant far before any Unknowing did. Is that what you wanted to hear from him? Because he would tell you day in and day out just how brilliant he found you if it meant you would look at him as sweetly as you were to him.
He shook his head, looking down towards his slightly scruffed Sylph shoes.
Qifrey was being unfair and he knew it.
He wasn’t going to say that there was nothing between the two of you because that would be a blatant lie. But had the two of you ever talked about the buzzing tension between you? Had anything been acknowledged?
If you asked any of the other inhabitants of the Atelier you would get a resounding no. Honestly, Qifrey was starting to think that your little back and forth dance might be entirely too much tension for poor Tetia.
Still, an embarrassingly large part of Qifrey couldn’t help but revel in the feeling of your fleeting gaze meeting his teasingly, or your lingering touches, or your waggling brows when you whisper a slightly sexual innuendo to him, so close to prying ears.
But officially, the pair of you were nothing more than house-mates– co-workers, even.
Qifrey looked up from his idle feet to find your eyes already trained on him.
He blinked.
Almost as if you had read his mind you gazed across the courtyard at him through narrowed eyes and a sly grin. The man from before was still talking spiritedly to you, seemingly undeterred by your lack of attention.
Qifrey smiled back, cautiously. He knew that grin. That was the face that greeted him right before he found a broken vase or children running wild in the Atelier.
That was the smile he saw when you were about to tease him.
You turned away from him to look back at the tall man in front of you, though this time, Qifrey could tell you held no interest for what it was he was saying, spurred by a new task.
You nodded, idly, smiling with mock shyness as your hands moved to rest at the curve of his bicep.
The man almost inflated under the heat of your affection, puffing out his chest as he kept talking, face resting in a ridiculous smirk that Qifrey would love to just wipe off.
“You’re really not going to do anything about that?”
Qifrey jumped at the sound of Olruggio’s drawl to the left of the pillar he was leaned on.
He clutched his chest, in shock, “Where did you come from?”
Olruggio shrugged, still staring at you and the man, amused. “The Starry Sword.”
Qifrey looked down, scanning the ground for four busy-bodied girls.
“They ran off somewhere.” Olruggio supplied, simply.
He nodded his head back to you, casting a sidelong glance at Qifrey, “Now, what are you going to do about that?”
Qifrey leveled him with an unimpressed look, turning back to face you. In the absence of his attention, the man’s hand had traveled to rest at the junction of your hip and waist.
Qifrey felt his teeth grit together.
“They’re a grown witch.” Qifrey grumbled, almost against his will.
“They’re your grown witch.”
Qifrey’s eyes widened, cheeks flushing as he rounded on Olruggio.
“They’re not my anything!” He spluttered, face reddening.
It was true. You weren’t his. But gosh did he wish you were.
His flush deepened at his own accusatory thoughts.
Qifrey could practically feel Olruggio’s blasé look aimed at him as he allowed a low, annoyed groan to escape him.
“The two of you are hopeless.” He deadpanned, turning to walk back towards the market, “Come find me when you finally come to your senses.”
He paused before turning back to glance at Qifrey once more, “And Qifrey? There’s something special about them. Make sure you act fast before someone else beats you to it.”
Qifrey stared at the back of Olruggio’s retreating form, contemplatively.
