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My mind keeps going back to the little blurb I read where Qifrey and reader get caught making out by the girls and how they never get time to actually do anything fun(if YK what I mean) bc the girls always need him or Olruggio somehow catches them , I find it hilarious and I was wondering if you could do a fic like this bc the creator said that the blurb would probably never be continued

I would highkey give you my soul if you did this (but ofc if you don't wanna that's understandable!)

I seriously love your Qifrey fics tho 🤍🫶

hey, so i took way longer on this than i should have and i wrote far more than i needed to, so congratulations LMAO

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program

Summary: You would have to take a crowbar to Qifrey in order to pry him off of you. Hilariously, there are four children in the house who know the exact moment to interrupt you. Pairing: Qifrey/Reader, Qifrey/Original Female Characters Genre: Romance/Humor Rating: T/M Word count: 3239

Monday, 5:32pm

The kitchen is quiet, the children you just finished feeding are now off playing in the fields that surround the atelier. There’s a soft hum coming from one of Qifrey’s water spells as it rolls dishes within its sphere. You stand with your gaze towards the window, watching the birds catch the evening breeze. Every so often you hear laughter echo from the fields, the girls’ voices filled with nothing but amusement.

You’re drying plates over the sink but your hand stills when you feel an invisible weight bare down on your shoulders.

Hm, he’s staring again.

Qifrey sits behind you at the table, like he always does when a meal is finished, and watches. If he doesn’t need to start a lesson or have a pressing matter to attend to, he waits for you to finish. You adore it, truly. It gives you uninterrupted time with him, a moment to talk about the day and, well, gossip a little.

But right now, he didn’t seem to have the energy to chat but he did have the energy for other things.

Qifrey very rarely shows intimate affection publicly, even within the home he keeps it limited. A kiss on the cheek here, a hug there. Things that would be done in passing. He is…passionate, yes, but he has an excellent way of communicating his needs without outwardly expressing them. He’s all looks and innuendos and when spoken in that smooth cadence of his you melt every time.

He does have his moments, however, where his own desires become so overwhelming that they spill from him like a broken faucet. Running into a glass that can never be filled. And when that happens, he can’t help but act on them.

You never mind when he does, you quite like it when he loses a little control.

You feel Qifrey’s hand smooth over your hips and settle on your stomach. He presses into your back, his chest molding against you as he rests his head on your shoulders. He plants a kiss at the junction, his teeth skimming your flesh. You pull away, but only half heartedly, as you laugh, “Qifrey, enough. I need to finish this.” There is no bite in your tone.

Qifrey persists, his lips ghosting your ear as he chuckles. You feel a chill shoot up your spin. “You look beautiful.”

You snort, “I’m covered in cooking grease and smell like flour dough.”

“Still so very beautiful,” he mutters, trailing kisses down your neck and across your shoulder, pulling down your loose top so he can access it easier. You make no move to shove him off. You even lean into it, actually.

When you place your last dish in the clean pile beside you, you lay your towel down and turn to face your husband. Your hips rest against the stone counter, cool in comparison to the Qifrey’s heat.

The simple motion only fuels him more, and he pushes forward. You laugh and hold him back, “What has gotten into you!” He mutters something low and desperate and suddenly your lips are covered by his. You melt immediately, and curse your own weakness. His touch is hot and relentless and a soft moan leaves you when Qifrey’s hands float up and down your sides. Your hands rise to his face, cup his cheeks and you curl into him as he surges. You’re pressed so closely together that if you weren’t careful you would mold into one. Honestly, you wouldn’t complain if you did.

When he pulls away for a split second, you gasp, “Q-qifrey, what in the world—ah!” You gasp when he hikes up your right leg, leaving you unbalanced for a second before he wraps it around his waist. You rotate your hips to keep from falling, and he tucks his head into the crook of your neck again. You hear him groan as he adjusts and hooks the two of you together.

You feel his hand dance down the side of your curled leg. His fingers hovering before finding the end of her long skirts and slipping them beneath the layers. He pushes fabric up, inch by agonizing inch, revealing your embroidered stockings beneath. His hand searches and searches until he finds your warm thigh hidden beneath it all. His long lithe fingers wrap around your leg and squeeze. You jerk and scold him, “Qifrey!’ He does it again but this time it’s slow and tactile. You feel each pad of his fingers press gently into your skin before he caresses the side of your thigh. Outer, then inner, far too close to the heat of your body. You feel him smile when you whine.

Your head falls back and you let him do as he wishes, pushing and pulling against your body, biting steadily into your flesh. The one hand not supporting your weight against the counter finds purchase in his soft hair, you twirl the strands between your fingers, each light tug eliciting a sigh from him, his hands are creeping further up, tucking beneath your—

“Mama!”

The two of you scatter like there is a fire at your feet. Qifrey turns away from the door, covering his face as he hunches his shoulders. You can see the blush on his cheeks and the crazed daze in his eyes. His hands tremble and he cups them against his mouth.

You scramble to adjust your skirts, kicking out the bunched up layers and folding down your apron. You rush to pull your top back over your shoulder, just now realizing that the side of your chest was almost entirely out.

“Yes, Coco?” you smooth down your wild hair, and feign a calm demeanor. You hear feet pad against the wood and the small girl turns the corner.

She has dirt on her cheeks and leaves in her hair, a clear sign of her outdoor adventures. She’s a bit breathless but otherwise looks fine. She, unsurprisingly, has three brush buddies stacked on her person, two on her shoulders and one on the top of her capless head. That one’s eyes narrow as if it knows what you are up to. Perverts, it accuses. You ignore it.

“The brushbuddies got out again.” Her voice is light but clearly concerned.

You sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. Ever since Qifrey made a sanctuary for them they’ve managed to find every way to escape. Security spells be damned, nothing seemed to work. You glance at Qifrey and he’s suddenly found interest in one of the kitchen cupboards. He’s rearranging bowls that don’t need to be rearranged. The tips of his ears are red.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Make sure they don’t cause any trouble, okay?”

Coco smiles and nods, “we’re going to gather them all!” she goes to turn on her heel but pauses, “Oh, hello Master Qifrey!”

Qifrey turns to her, and you watch as he puts his hands behind his back to hide the trembling. “Hello, Coco,” he says gently, but there is a hitch in his voice. “Better hurry before our friends get lost.”

Coco gasps, “Right!” and she’s gone as quick as she arrived, taking her little companions with her.

You look at Qifrey and smile slyly, “Are you okay, Master Qifrey?” You tilt your head innocently. “You seem a bit…disheveled.” Qifrey looks at you from over his glasses, those bright blue eyes intense.

“Perfectly well, my dear.” His gaze roves over your figure and they linger on the marks he’s left along your neck, you subconsciously move to cover them better, “you best catch up to the girls, they’ll need your help.”

“Of course,” you leave, fighting the urge to look back.

You can still feel his gaze on you. You always do.

Thursday, 11:46pm

It’s dark out and the atelier is silent. The girls were sent to bed nearly two hours ago and the brushbuddies, surprisingly, stayed sheltered in their domicile.

You’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, a hand carved piece that was made by a craftsman in town. There’s a seal on the back that makes the edges of the glass illuminate with just a tap.

You see Qifrey is already settled in bed through its reflection. The candle light beside him flickers languidly. He’s focused on a book in his hands, flipping through pages slowly. Your gaze falls to his fingers, nimble and precise as you remember how they felt on your legs. You shiver, and adjust your gown, pulling it off the shoulders casually. The cool night air raises your flesh.

You stalk towards him but he makes no indication that he’s noticed. His lips move silently as he echoes the words in his book, his eyes trail each line. Left to right, left to right, as he flips to another page. There is something ethereal about him in this light, the way it shadows his chin and highlights his cheeks. It brightens his eyes in an intoxicating way.

You prowl around to your side of the bed and he, intuitively, lifts the sheets for you. When you crawl under them but do not lay, he pauses. He suffers from regular bouts of insomnia, so you waiting up for him to rest was not frequent. There have been nights you have slept with him reading and woken to him doing the same. The book he started with finished and another already began.

He looks at you curiously, “is something the matter?”

You say nothing as you pluck the book from his hand and straddle his waist. He doesn’t protest and he doesn’t pull away, but his eyes darken. He looks up at you as you shuffle closer, knees bunching the fabric at his hips. His chin rests on your collar as you tilt his head back and you lean down for a very deep and very anticipated kiss.

The first thing you notice is that he smells like lavender, and he tastes like mint. He moans, low in his throat as his hands travel to cup the back of your thighs. You jolt at the coolness of his touch but settle when you feel his hands find purchase just below your bottom.

You both rock into one another, it’s a steady rhythm. Slow, patient and practiced. Qifrey was never one to rush things in the bedroom. He said it wasn’t right, and that he always needed time to take you in. Savor you. He wanted you both to melt into each other before dissolving into the sheets.

You lean in, as close as your body will allow, lips pulling away just slightly to rotate your head and repeat it all over again. Tongue and teeth and nothing but heat are exchanged between the two of you. He’s louder than you are, and you smirk when he whimpers.

Your hands are glued to his face keeping him there but he doesn’t protest. He never does. You pull back for a split second to catch your breath and just as you push forward again—

“Master Qifrey? Mama?”

You hold back a groan of frustration as Tetia’s voice is heard on the other side of your door. Qifrey’s hands slide to your waist and you rock back to rest on his lap as you pull away. “Yes, Tetia?” Qifrey calls, “what’s the matter?”

“I-I can’t sleep—“ she sounds defeated and despite your clearly unsatisfied state your children’s needs always come first. Tetia has been having nightmares for the better half of the month. After a particularly nasty accident with a new spell falling asleep, and staying asleep, have been far more challenging than any new lesson.

You throw back the sheets and roll onto your side of the bed before leaning against the headboard. There’s a part of you that is irritated, you’ve been interrupted enough this week but the other part of you can’t be mad about it. The girls come to you and Qifrey with most of their troubles and you wouldn’t want to ruin that by turning them away.

You’d just have to act like a wild teenager on a different day of the week.

Qifrey sighs and stands, slipping his feet into a pair of slippers Agott made before shuffling towards the door. In one swift movement he opens it and Tetia barrels into his waist white knuckling his shirt.

“Tetia…” he tries to pry her hands off to get a look at her but she only buries herself deeper into his stomach.

“I keep seeing it,” her voice is muffled, “and I hate-e it but it won’t go a-away.”

“There, there,” Qifrey pats the top of her head as he closes the door. He leans down and picks her up, supporting her under her legs. She wraps them around his waist and her arms circle his neck before he waddles back to bed. She’s certainly too big to carry, but until Qifrey is physically incapable of doing so he will always hold them.

You lift your arms in invitation, and Qifrey gently places her in your embrace. You hum as you bring her close, moving aside her braided hair and adjusting her pajamas to lay comfortably. She clings to you like a kitten.

Qifrey settles on the other side, pulling the blanket over the three of you. You smile gently as Tetia nuzzles in closer and Qifrey offers an apologetic smile. You shake your head, the chimes outside of your window only emphasizing the movement. It’s okay, you say silently, she needs us more.

He turns and removes his glasses before delicately blowing out the rest of the candles, the room dips into a familiar comforting darkness and you further situate Tetia against the pillows. She curls into you instantly.

“Good night, girls.”

“Goodnight Master Qifrey,” Tetia whispers sleepily, you’re surprised she’s still awake. She’s usually out as soon as her head hits the pillows.

“Goodnight, my love.” You press your lips lightly to Tetia’s forehead, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Friday, 6:21pm

Qifrey rattles the table. Pushing every non-vital tool to the ground. Pens and paper scatter as he lifts you up and lays you across his work station. Your legs dangle, just barely brushing the floor as he shadows you. He’s moving so quickly you’re struggling to keep up.

“Don’t move,” he mutters against your lips. You hum and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in. You’re hidden beneath him but can still feel the warmth of the sun poking through the wooden window panes. Jars of ink slosh beside your head and you worry for a second that they will spill on you. Qifrey moves them away with one hand while his other cups your cheek, keeping your focus on him.

When every inanimate object is no longer in the line of fire, his hand tucks underneath the hem of your shirt, fingers brushing your navel. You gasp and squirm, laughter following when he bites your bottom lip. You try and sit up to push into him but he keeps you secured to the table, you opt to deepen the kiss from below.

You don’t know how it escalated to this. Really, it was all very quick. Okay, well maybe you do. But, what can you say? It’s been a long long week.

You’d both been sitting casually in his study only a few moments ago. You read quietly, happy to just be in his presence, while he sketched out new sigils on the large circular table. Qifrey was working diligently and you had found your way to his side. You’d needed a break, the chair was making your back ache after just a few hours of lounging.

You watched him over his shoulder, admiring the way his muscles moved with each steady stroke of his hand. When you stepped closer, hands held innocent behind your back, breath just ghosting over his ear, he snapped. The pen in his hand splintered in half and he pulled you under him.

Now you’re here. Flat against the table, hands exploring him with no thought other than his mouth molded to yours.

He’s got you so tied up in his affection that you don’t have the opportunity to do anything but cling to him. You know your lips will be swollen by morning and there'll be plenty more marks across your person to match the already fading ones.

“All week,” Qifrey mutters against your lips, “all week and this is the only time we have been able to—”

There’s a shuffle from the other side of the door, before you hear a placid, “What’s for dinner?”

Qifrey curses and buries his head in the crook of your neck. You hold back a laugh as you thread your fingers through his hair. Neither of you move, you don’t need to, the door is locked.

“Richeh, honey, I’ll be down to cook in a minute.” You’re a little breathless but manage to keep a steady tone.

“But we are—”

“Girls, how about we go out to eat. Your teacher is busy and needs your mother’s help.” You feel Qifrey’s shoulders relax as Olruggio’s voice floats under the door. He must’ve come by early, he usually joins the family for dinner this time of the week.

There’s a series of cheers and the sound of padding feet as the girls run to get their things. You’ll have to pay him back, those girls can eat their weight and then some when they’re hungry. Dinner won’t be cheap.

You hear a thud as Olruggio leans against the door, “You two owe me. We’ll be back in a few hours. Take advantage of that.”

“Thank you, Olly,” You say. Qifrey has already started kissing up the side of your neck. Biting every few paces. You grit your teeth to keep from making any sounds and tug at his hair to stop him. “J-just—Qifrey wait a second—hey! I said wait!” You yank his head back and snort at his expression. His pupils are blown out and there is a glaze over his eyes, but they’re honed in on you. He looks drunk and predatory at the same time. His eyes track every shift of your body. How your lips move when you speak, how your chest raises and lowers with each breath and how you glance at the door. Qifrey grumbles, fighting against your grip, desperate to get back to you. “Just let me know how much it is.” you finish, ignoring the ravenous man above you.

You’re impressed that he’s not moving without a command. He’s far stronger than you are and could easily break free. He’s simply not doing so out of respect, and well, obedience.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Olruggio mutters, “just get it out before we get back.” His footsteps fade but you can hear the pointed instructions he gives the children.

When the main door chimes its closure in the distance Qifrey takes it as a release and pounces.

“Now,” he pants, looking down at you, arms on either side of your head. All you see is him. Your chest heaves and he smiles slyly as you push yourself up on your elbows, tilting your chin towards him, so close your breath mingles, “where were we?”

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