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Oneshots Below

Bakugou Oneshots

Sero Oneshots

Todoroki Oneshots

Midoriya Oneshots

Kirishima Oneshots

Ashido Oneshots

Zenitsu (KNY) Oneshots

Sanami (KNY) Oneshots

Mammon (Obey Me) Oneshots

Shirou (BNA) Oneshots

Jinshi (Apothecary Diaries) Oneshots

Inuyasha (InuYasha) Oneshots

Ranma (Ranma ½) Oneshots

Qifrey (Witch Hat Atelier) Oneshots

Olruggio (Witch Hat Atelier) Oneshots

Full Fics

[Olruggio, WHA]

gender neutral reader

x reader, fluff, angst

requested by anon!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The first time you met Olruggio, he corrected your grip on a pen without saying a word.

You had been trying to draw a stable pyro-ball sigil for nearly an hour, hunched over the work desk while your mentor (Beldaruit) lectured Qifrey about controlled water balls. Your wrist cramped. Ink stained your finger tips black.

Then a hand reached over yours. "Too stiff," he murmured.

You looked up. A boy around your age stood beside you, dark hair tousled, expression carefully neutral despite the faint soot smudged across his cheek. He pointed to the curve of your line.

"The circle's frightened of you and you didn't close the ring."

"What?"

"The spell." His shoulders lifted slightly. "You're drawing like you expect it to explode."

"That's because it did explode previously." You stared at him.

Then, very quietly, he added, "Maybe a few times."

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head as his friend, Qifrey, called him over.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Your mentor oversaw two Watchful Eye apprentices in total. You and Olruggio. And one witch, Qifrey. You were always too cautious. Olruggio was too sharp for his own good. And Qifrey whom you never spoke to. You would observe him, but you weren't as fond of him as Olruggio was.

So for a long time, it was mostly just you and him. Qifrey was always called to be around Beldaruit. You and Olruggio were just two children learning how to observe the world without interfering in it.

You copied reports side-by-side at midnight while candles burned low. You learned to decipher hidden inks together. You practiced memory exercises until you could reconstruct entire rooms from a glance.

Sometimes Beldaruit would test you unexpectedly. When Qifrey had gone off, claiming he was only trying to get fresh air. "How many people went into the window way into the great hall today?"

"Seventeen," Olruggio answered immediately.

"Sixteen," you corrected.

Olruggio would frown.

"There was a child that wandered in here by accident. The knight's moralis took care of them," you said.

Beldaruit hummed approvingly while Olruggio stared at you with narrowed eyes.

Afterward he muttered, "I hate when you're right."

"You hate when I'm right specifically?"

"Yes." But he walked beside you all the same.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Watchful Eyes were not trained for comfort.

You learned how to disappear in crowded streets. How to gather information without attachment. How to leave quietly when your assignment ended.

"Connections cloud judgment," Beldaruit often said.

You hated that lesson most.

Despite everything, despite the rules and distance and discipline, you and Olruggio became inseparable in all the tiny ways that mattered. He left half-finished tea beside your notes when you worked too long.

You fixed the tears in his cloak because he never noticed them before, things that would happen while him and Qifrey played. He'd sit near you during long horse rides between towns when you'd finally be able to leave the great hall, shoulder barely brushing yours, both of you pretending not to notice.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The year you graduated, it rained for three straight days.

Beldaruit handed each of you separate assignments with the same detached calm he used for everything else. The only time he wasn't calm was for Qifrey. Olruggio would become a Watchful Eye under Qifrey, who went on to take in students.

You were assigned farther north. Farther away from Olruggio. Father away from those you'd grown close to.

Different ateliers. Different lives.

You remember standing right outside the window way. The crisp breeze in Kahln seemed to be where you were parting. It's almost as if the wind knew.

And unfortunately, neither of you knew how to say goodbye. You've never had to say "bye", it was always "until next time".

"So," you said finally.

"So," he echoed.

You wanted to ask him not to go, or to ask him to take you with him. The thought died inside just a small bit. You couldn't do that to him, or yourself.

Instead you asked, "Do you still think my circles are scared of me?"

A tiny smile appeared. "No," he said. "Only because... you stopped being afraid of them."

The carriage arrived too quickly after that.

You helped him load his things. One bag. That was it. One large bag that he claimed could carry the entire world.

When he climbed aboard, he looked like he wanted to say something too. But instead of saying something he wanted to say, he swallowed it whole and instead said, "Don't get yourself killed."

You snorted softly. "You first."

Then he was gone.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Years passed strangely after that. You ended up leaving your atelier to go to a different one, you left a lot on business, reported on the ateliers that were terrible. 

Sometimes months passed without hearing his name. Some journeys you caught traces of him accidentally. He would pop up drinking at bars and parties with his clients.

Whenever you saw him, something warm and painful bloomed in your chest. You wondered if he still drank tea too hot. You wondered if he still forgot to weargloves every winter.

You wondered if he ever thought about you at all.

Probably not.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

The next time you saw him in person was during the second examination near the caves.

The gathering of young witches and apprentices crowded the area with noise and lanternlight. Mentors spoke in clusters while students prepared nervously for the trial ahead. It was Qifrey and Olruggio, with all 4 students of their's. 

You turned around from talking with your witch, making sure the children that were testing were properly set up. There he was.

Older and taller. And... he had a scruffy beard now?

His features are sharper now, dark cloak hanging neatly from his shoulders. He looked more composed than the boy you remembered. He looked... good. Your face flushed pink, just slightly.

All that composure cracked for half a second when he almost ran into you.

"...Oh," Olruggio said softly.

You forgot every prepared thing you might've said over the years.

"You cut your hair," was what came out instead.

His hand rose instinctively to the back of his neck. "You noticed that first?"

"It's shorter."

"That's usually how haircuts work."

You laughed before you could stop yourself. It felt horribly, painfully familiar. No time had passed at all.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Moonlight silvered the edges of his cloak as the two of you waited at the end for the apprentices.

"You disappeared," he said without turning around.

You leaned beside him. "You did too, I couldn't find you."

"Hm. You were looking for me?" Wind moved gently through the trees below. Then, quieter, he admitted, "I used to look for you."

Your breath caught. He still wasn't looking at you.

He clarified quickly, feeling ashamed for admitting something so honest. "I mean.. hearing for your name from other witches or around The Great Hall."

"Oh."

"I heard you became very good."

You tried smiling. "You sound disappointed."

"I am." Finally, he glanced sideways at you. "Now I can't win arguments against you anymore."

The laugh that escaped you felt fragile. The distance between your shoulders seemed unbearably small.

And yet impossible to cross. You belonged to different paths now. Maybe that was simply how Watchful Eyes lived: always observing, rarely reaching.

Still, when you looked at him beneath the moonlight, you thought very strongly about it.

If there had been another life for the two of you, maybe it would have been a quieter one. Where neither of you had learned how to leave so well.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more olruggio ⟢

requests ツ

[Qifrey, WHA]

x reader, angst

-----

The kettle clicked softly above the fire. You watched it, waiting for the whistle, although... watching it never sped it up. Somewhere upstairs, brushes clinked in a jar where one of the girls was late night studying. It was probably Coco, to be honest. She always studied late.

The atelier was quiet enough that your thoughts had nowhere to hide.

You sat cross-legged on the floor near the low table, your gaze snapped back to what you were working on. Sorting through stacks of parchment and half-finished spell diagrams while trying very hard not to look at Qifrey.

Which, unfortunately, was difficult.

He sat opposite you, hair spilling over one eye as he carefully repaired a student's practice page. Candlelight softened the sharp edges of him. His visible eye moved slowly over the page, thoughtful and patient.

You had spent years beside him now. Years teaching together. Traveling together. Fixing problems around the towns together. Sharing meals at impossible hours because neither of you remembered to eat until midnight.

Somewhere in all those ordinary little moments, your heart had ruined you.

“You’re staring again,” Qifrey said lightly without looking up.

Heat rose immediately to your face. “I am not.”

“You are.”

“You can’t prove that.” You huffed, looking away immediately.

A smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Mm.”

You hated how fond that sound made you feel.

The rain outside grew heavier. It hit rough against the windows and the wind blew which rattled the frames.

You forced yourself back to organizing papers, though your hands had started trembling again. Ridiculous. You had faced tattooed witches before., difficult students, injuries, exhaustion. The brimhats themselves.

And somehow this was worse.

Qifrey finally closed the book in his lap with a soft thud. “You’ve been restless all day,” he said. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

“That was sooo convincing.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose.

He tilted his head slightly then, studying you more carefully now. Concern settled into his expression almost immediately. It always did when it came to you.

Qifrey cared. Qifrey cared too deeply. He remembered your favorite tea without asking. Sat beside you when nightmares kept you awake. He deeply and utterly cared about you.

Anyone would mistake it for love. You already had.

Your fingers tightened around the parchment in your lap. “Qifrey,” you started.

He hummed softly.

Then the words died in your throat. Coward.

“You know,” he said after a moment, voice warm with amusement, “usually when someone says my name like that, they’re about to confess to something terrible. Olruggio does it and Coco...”

Despite yourself, you laughed quietly.

“There,” he said. “Better.”

It didn't feel better. He eased tension like it was second nature. Smoothed rough feelings before they could fully emerge.

“I think,” you said slowly, “I’m in love with you.”

The room became still.

Qifrey’s expression did not change immediately, which somehow made it more painful. The candle crackled softly between you. Rain against the windows. Your own heartbeat growing louder and louder.

Then Qifrey smiled. Devastating. “Oh,” he said quietly. Qifrey set the repaired book aside carefully, buying himself time. You watched the movement of his hands instead of his face. “I care about you very much,” he said.

There it was.

The beginning of the end.

You swallowed hard and nodded once, trying to save him from having to continue, but Qifrey always insisted on honesty when things mattered.

“You’re one of the most important people in my life,” he continued softly. “And I think… perhaps because of that, I should be truthful with you.”

Your chest hurt.

“I don’t feel the same way.”

The words were gentle.

You looked down immediately because your eyes had already started burning.

“Oh,” you echoed faintly.

Silence settled again.

Qifrey shifted forward slightly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I think I should.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looked like he wished that were true. Your throat tightened painfully. You stared at the paper in your hands until the ink blurred.

This was humiliating. Some awful hopeful part of you had believed he wouldn’t. All those late nights. All those soft looks. The way he always sought you out first in crowded rooms.

You had built a home out of crumbs and convinced yourself it was real.

“I don’t want things to change,” Qifrey said quietly.

You pressed your lips together hard before speaking. “They probably will for a while.”

His visible eye softened immediately with guilt. You hated that too. Hated making him look at you like you were wounded.

“I should’ve kept it to myself,” you muttered.

“No.”

“But—”

“No,” he repeated gently. “I’m glad you told me.”

You shook your head, smiling weakly despite the sting in your eyes. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Qifrey fell silent. He was a fool.

The candlelight flickered across his face, and for a brief moment something unreadable crossed his expression. Something tired. Then it vanished.

“I know this hurts,” he said.

“You don’t know that.”

Another silence.

Qifrey’s gaze had drifted downward. His fingers rested loosely against his arm, almost tense beneath the fabric.

There was a distance in him suddenly. A wall.

You had noticed it before over the years, in brief moments like this. Times when he looked like he was standing very far away despite being right beside you.

You had never known why.

“I wish…” He stopped himself.

The sentence dissolved unfinished.

Qifrey looked toward the rain-streaked window instead of you. “There are parts of me that make this difficult.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“I know.” A faint smile touched his mouth, tired around the edges. “But I don’t want you thinking you were foolish for caring about me.”

You suddenly thought of all the things Qifrey never spoke about. The way he redirected questions about himself. How he smiled through conversations that became too personal. The careful distance he maintained even with those closest to him.

There were locked doors inside him you had never been allowed near.

Perhaps he believed if you ever reached them, you would leave. The realization hurt almost as much as the rejection itself.

“You really are terrible at letting people love you,” you said quietly.

Qifrey let out a soft breath that almost resembled a laugh. “Yes,” he admitted.

Tears finally spilled over despite your efforts. Embarrassing, awful tears you immediately wiped away with the heel of your hand.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“You never have to apologize for crying.”

“That sounds like something you tell the children.”

“It’s something I tell everyone.”

Qifrey watched you carefully, helplessness flickering briefly across his face. It looked unnatural on him. “I don’t expect you to just stop feeling this,” he said after a moment. “But… it’ll pass.”

The words were meant kindly. But that didn't mean they hurt any less. You stood abruptly before you could embarrass yourself further.

“I think,” you said carefully, voice unsteady, “I’m going to go home.”

Qifrey rose immediately too. “Should I...” He couldn't even finish before you interrupted him abruptly. Too quickly.

“No.”

His expression dimmed slightly.

You closed your eyes briefly, then sighed. “No… I just need a little space tonight.”

“…Alright.”

He respected distance better than anyone.

You gathered your cloak with clumsy hands and moved toward the door. The rain outside could already be heard against the wood.

Before leaving, you paused. Qifrey still stood near the table watching you quietly, candlelight glowing around him.

He was beautiful, and kind. Gentle and now? He was unreachable.

“I don’t regret loving you,” you said softly.

Something fragile crossed his expression. “…Thank you,” he whispered.

You nodded once and stepped out into the rain before he could see you cry again.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more qifrey ⟢

But would you be able to perhaps write qifrey/reader fic where reader has very weak immune system and gets sick easily and the illness sticks to them HARD.

Ofc no pressure! Thank you!

hi! i actually (personally) exclusively take sfw requests through here: https://forms.gle/WTWBKTvBjKvZNnvG8

as said in my pinned ! request box is for nsfw requests only :3

[Olruggio, WHA]

female implied, afab (period pain)

x reader, fluff, one sided crush (olly)

-----

The first thing Olruggio noticed was that you were quiet. Not the kind where you sat in the corner with a book and hummed under your breath while organizing the ink jars from the girls or cleaning writing tools. This was a tired kind of quiet. The kind that dragged behind you like wet fabric.

He noticed because you nearly dropped a kettle on yourself. The searing pain in your abdomen distracting you.

Olruggio caught it before it hit the floor, fingers steady around the handle. Steam hissed softly from the spout as the water lightly sloshed about inside.

“You’re distracted,” he muttered.

“Sorry.” You reached for it again, but he angled it away from you slightly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses.

“You’re pale.”

“I’m fine.” A lie. An obvious one.

Olruggio had never been particularly good at comforting people. Qifrey somehow made concern look graceful and warm, like sunlight through curtains. Olruggio, meanwhile, tended to stare at problems until they either solved themselves or became too intimidated to continue.

Or he killed them with his fire and burned them away.

Unfortunately, you looked entirely unintimidated by your suffering.

You pressed a hand subtly against your abdomen again when you thought he wasn’t looking. He noticed that too. “…Cramps?”

You froze. How did he know? Then, you sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Olruggio went still for a second, processing. His ears pinkened almost imperceptibly beneath dark hair. “Oh.”

You looked embarrassed now, which somehow made him feel worse. “It’s not a huge deal,” you mumbled quickly. “I can still work.”

“You look like you’re dying.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You almost poured boiling water onto your hand.”

“Fair.” You scoffed and moved back from the stove, removing the spell from underneath the grates that had the tea kettle on. He clicked his tongue softly and turned away before you could see the conflicted expression crossing his face.

Periods weren’t exactly unfamiliar territory to him. He’d spent enough time around witches, apprentices, and people in general to know what they were. But understanding something and knowing how to handle it were completely different matters.

Comforting people required a level of softness he wasn’t convinced he possessed.

Still.

You looked miserable.

And that feeling in his chest twisted unpleasantly. It wasn't that he entirely hated it, but the annoying tightness that appeared whenever you smiled at him too long or thanked him too sweetly was going to catch up to him.

“Sit down,” he said abruptly.

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re swaying.”

“I am not.”

“You are. I don't wanna catch your ass.”

You opened your mouth to argue further, only for another cramp to visibly hit you. Your shoulders tensed instantly.

Olruggio pointed sharply toward one of the cushions near the low table. “Sit.”

The command startled you enough that you actually listened. He disappeared into the adjoining room before you could protest again. You stared after him, confused.

A few minutes later, he returned carrying an armful of blankets that looked aggressively overstuffed.

“What’s all that?”

He ignored the question entirely and dropped everything onto the couch beside you. “Move over.”

“Olruggio.”

“Move.”

"Olly..." You scooted aside.

He crouched near the pile, muttering under his breath while sorting through the blankets. His long fingers moved carefully, pulling out one thicker quilt from the middle. Then he reached for a small crystal slab.

You tilted your head. “What are you doing?”

“Trying something.”

That honestly could have meant anything with him.

Olruggio pressed his writing wand lightly against the crystal slab, dipping it in ink every now and again. Thin lines of magic drawn on the surface.

You remembered the pattern, the sigil. It's a snugstone. He showed you that one once. His work in progress, but he actually finished it? Your eyes widened slightly.

“…Oh.”

"Hopefully it's warm enough." He sounded irritated with himself already. But when he draped the blanket carefully over your lap, warmth spread instantly across your aching stomach and lower back.

You nearly melted on the spot. “Oh, that’s heavenly.”

Olruggio looked away too fast. “It’s basic.”

“I think I love you.”

The words slipped out thoughtlessly.

His entire posture locked up. You blinked, realizing what you’d said. “I mean— not like—”

“I understood what you meant.” His ears were definitely red now.

You sank lower beneath the blanket in embarrassment while Olruggio stood stiffly beside the couch, suddenly fascinated by literally anything else in the room.

After a long silence, he cleared his throat. “…Does it help?” He was distracting the both of you from what just happened.

“A lot.” You sounded softer now. Relaxed. That strange tightness in his chest eased slightly.

Without another word, he disappeared again. This time, he returned with food. Actually, it wasn't "food". It was a lot of sweets he had baked for the girls earlier. Or was it really for the girls?

“You hate sweets.” You grumbled, looking at the sweet bread.

“I tolerate them.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound quieter than usual but genuine.

Olruggio carefully set everything down on your blanket.

There were small frosted pastriessugar-dusted bread twists, little chocolate biscuits, and even candied fruit skewers.

“You absolutely did not have to do all this.”

He shrugged awkwardly. “You said once that sweet things help.”

Your expression softened. Olruggio immediately regretted existing. You looked at him with such warmth that it made him feel oddly vulnerable, like standing too close to a cliff edge.

He adjusted his his spot next to you unnecessarily. “Well. Eat something.”

You picked up one of the pastries slowly. Olruggio became acutely aware of your presence immediately.

“You don’t have to babysit me,” you murmured between bites.

“I’m not babysitting.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You made me a heating blanket and bought enough sweets to feed a festival.”

“…You looked pathetic.”

You snorted. “There it is.”

“What?”

“The Olruggio version of concern.”

“I’m concerned that you’ll collapse and become inconvenient.”

“Mhm.”

He frowned faintly at the obvious disbelief in your voice. The room settled into quiet after that. Comfortable quiet.

The blanket continued radiating warmth over your aching body. The cramps hadn’t disappeared entirely, but they’d dulled enough that you could finally unclench your muscles.

Olruggio picked up a random book, pretending to read a book. Pretending very poorly.

Every few minutes his eyes flicked toward you over the top of the pages. You noticed eventually.

“If you keep looking at me, I'm gonna somehow transfer this pain to you. And you don't want to experience this.”

He stiffened and changed the subject immediately. "…Are they still bad?”

“A little.”

He closed the book with a quiet sigh. “Here.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he shifted closer and adjusted the blanket more securely around your waist, tucking the warmed edges carefully around you to keep the heat from escaping.

His hands were surprisingly gentle for someone who acted like human interaction was a complicated curse. You stared at him. Olruggio, realizing how close he’d gotten, paused awkwardly. For one brief second, neither of you moved. Then he pulled back immediately.

“There.”

“…Thanks.”

His throat felt strangely tight. Ridiculous.

You smiled faintly at him before sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “Thank you, Olruggio.”

That dangerous warmth returned to his chest again. He looked away before you could notice how flustered he suddenly felt. “...It’s... nothing.”

But even as he said it, he reached over wordlessly to pull the blanket higher around your shoulders when you shivered. And when your head slowly tipped sideways onto the couch cushion near him as sleep finally pulled at you, Olruggio stayed exactly where he was.

Face faintly pink.

Guarding the warmth he’d made for you like it was the most important spell in the world.

You were the most important to him anyways.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more olruggio ⟢

just some stuff i wanted to ramble about before i forget!

- im still writing for the mha fandom and i am honestly just taking. a break. it's been burning me out and modern settings are stressful. ive been enjoying wha a lot

- im staying away from spoilers that are not animated yet! while i personally started with the anime and have started catching up (im on vol. 11), i will still not be writing manga spoilers until it has been animated. i wish to be respectful and courteous of those who are anime onlys. it's just my personal preference!

- requests will be slow as i work full time, 9~ hours a day, and have only 2-3 off days depending on the week. my writing takes time and im still behind on posting many requests. following is not guaranteed you'll see one specific fandom. my pinned includes many, although not many have been written for

- lastly, i am mainly an x reader blog/writer. while i have "fandom ship x reader" as a request theme, i will only write the fandom ship with relations to reader. im a multishipper (of legal characters! not a weirdo), and do not pay mind to most ships, even if implied, unless stated canon.

i think that covers everything i wanted to say?

i post when i feel like it

ill be shortening the x reader character list as most characters i have nothing written for.

[Qifrey, WHA]

female implied, afab (about periods)

x reader, fluff! no established relationship

-----

The atelier was quieter than usual. The girls had gone to bed early after a long day in Kalhn, and the rain outside muffled everything else into a sleepy haze.

You sat curled near the window of your little room beneath the slanted roof in the attic, knees tucked close to your chest beneath layers of blankets. The candle beside you had long since burned low.

Your stomach cramped again. You squeezed your eyes shut. It wasn't unfamiliar pain. You'd dealt with it for years. Still, sometimes it arrived sharper than expected, twisting through your abdomen until even breathing felt exhausting.

Usually you just waited it out. You hated bothering people with it. Another cramp rolled through you, and you pressed a hand against your stomach with a quiet hiss.

The floorboards creaked outside your door. You immediately straightened.

A soft knock followed. "May I come in?" Qifrey's voice carried gently through the wood.

You swallowed. "Y-Yeah."

The door eased open. Qifrey stepped inside holding a small lantern, golden light spilling around him in warm halos. His hat was absent for once, light curls slightly tousled from the torment of the girls.

He took one look at you and immediately softened. "Oh dear."

You tried to smile. "I'm okay."

"You're curled up like a wounded animal."

"It's that bad?"

"A little."

Embarrassment crept hot into your face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone."

"You didn't."

He closed the door quietly behind him before approaching. Everything about him became softer somehow, slower, as if he feared sudden movement might make things worse.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the edge of your bed.

You nodded. He sat carefully beside you, robes rustling faintly. "Stomach?" he asked.

You stared at your blankets for a moment before mumbling, "Period."

There was no awkwardness on his face. No confusion or discomfort. Only understanding. "Ah," he said quietly. "That explains the pale complexion."

You laughed weakly through your nose. "You make me sound haunted."

"You do look rather ghostly."

Another cramp hit out of nowhere. Your hand instinctively tightened against your stomach, and your shoulders curled inward.

Qifrey noticed immediately. "Oh, sweetheart..." The words slipped out naturally, absentmindedly, like something warm wrapped around cold hands. He leaned slightly closer, concern etched across his features. "Is it severe tonight?"

"A little worse than usual."

"You should've told me earlier."

"It's fine."

His expression turned gently unimpressed. "You can barely sit upright."

You looked away. "I just didn't want to make trouble."

Qifrey sighed softly at that, more saddened than anything. "You living in pain is not an inconvenience to me."

The room fell quiet except for the rain tapping the roof.

You felt strangely emotional suddenly, raw in the vulnerable way periods always made you feel. Like every thought sat too close to the surface.

Qifrey seemed to notice that too. He always noticed things. "Wait here," he murmured.

You blinked. "I mean... I wasn't planning on going anywhere."

That earned a small laugh from him. "Good. Very reassuring."

He stood and crossed toward the corner of the room where extra blankets were folded. You watched him quietly as he gathered two thicker ones into his arms before kneeling on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

"Olly is pretty good at this kind of stuff. Fire magic and all is his specialty." Qifrey spread one blanket flat before reaching into the sleeve of his robe and retrieving a snugstone. It was a small stone Olruggio had drawn on a cut flat crystal with warmth that seemed to radiate comfortingly.

You watched, fascinated despite the ache in your stomach.

His fingers moved gracefully across the blanket, placing the blanket pocket against your stomach. His smile tugged warm and easy. The warmth settled kindly. The kind of warmth that seeped slowly into aching muscles.

Your eyes widened slightly. "Oh."

"There we are," he said softly, sounding pleased.

You sagged in relief, snuggling down into the blankets and the bed. "Oh my god."

"Better?"

"So much better." You could've cried, honestly. The heat spread through your abdomen in soothing waves, easing tension you hadn't realized had built into your entire body.

Qifrey adjusted the blankets around you afterward, tucking them securely over your legs. "There. Properly cocooned."

"You say that like I'm a moth."

"A very grumpy moth."

"I'm not that grumpy."

That made him laugh quietly. The sound filled the room warmly. You really liked that laugh. You wanted to hear it more.

You relaxed further into the pillows, exhaustion finally catching up now that the pain wasn't clawing through you quite as sharply.

Qifrey noticed immediately. "Have you eaten enough today?"

"...Maybe?"

"That is not an answer that inspires confidence." He sighs, standing up.

"I ate breakfast."

"And since then?"

"...Tea?"

"No, darling, it truly does not."

You groaned softly as he moved towards the door. "Don't leave." The words escaped before you could stop them.

Qifrey paused. For a brief moment, surprise flickered across his face— not because you'd asked, but because of how quietly desperate it sounded.

Your face burned. "Sorry. I just—"

"I wasn't going far." His voice gentled immediately. "I was only going downstairs to warm some food."

"Oh."

He smiled softly. "I'll come back with some food."

You nodded, embarrassed.

"You don't need to apologize for wanting comfort," he said quietly.

Your chest tightened painfully at the tenderness in his voice.

Then he disappeared down the stairs.

True to his word, he returned not long after with a steaming bowl balanced carefully in his hands. You ate sitting against the pillows while he remained nearby, occasionally refreshing the warming spell with little taps against the blanket bundle whenever the heat dimmed.

Eventually the cramps dulled into manageable aches. Sleepiness settled heavily over you. Qifrey noticed your drooping eyes and smiled faintly. "There you are."

"There I am?"

"Finally relaxing." He hums, taking the bowl and adjusting the pillows and blankets.

You blinked slowly at him. "...Thank you."

He looked almost puzzled by the gratitude. "Of course." As if there had never been another possible answer. He stood then, lowering the lantern flame until the room dimmed gold and amber.

At the doorway, he paused. "If the pain worsens again tonight," he said gently, "come wake me."

You hesitated. "...Really?"

Qifrey looked back at you, expression soft enough to ache. "Always."

+++

masterlist ⟢

more qifrey ⟢

Chapter Forty Nine

The relationship grew quietly. It grew in the spaces between things.

In the mornings where Bakugou made enough coffee for two without asking if you were awake yet and in the evenings where you’d fall asleep on opposite ends of the couch and wake up with a blanket draped over both of you. In the way his “checking in” slowly stopped sounding professional and started sounding personal.

“You eat?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you eat?”

“…Why do you care? As long as I ate!”

“Answer the damn question.”

And somehow, despite all the rules, despite the careful boundaries and the insistence that this was strictly platonic, the house slowly started feeling less like two roommates occupying shared space and more like something warmer.

More permanent.

You still bumped into each other constantly. The hallway is too narrow. The kitchen is somehow always occupied by both of you at once. His hand brushing your waist as he reached past you. Your knee touching his when you sat too close on the couch.

Neither of you mentioned it anymore.

You just… adjusted around it. Lived with it. All the lines blurred anyway. Bakugou waiting up if you were late from work.

You knowing exactly how to calm him after a rough patrol. His hand finding the small of your back automatically in crowded places. Your head ending up on his shoulder during movie nights without either of you acknowledging it.

It became natural.

˗ˏˋ⋆ ˚｡⋆☾⚝☽⋆ ˚｡⋆ˎˊ˗

The night before everything changed, it felt normal. Comfortably normal.

You’d gone grocery shopping together and argued over snacks. Bakugou claimed your choices were “sugar garbage.” You told him his spicy chips tasted like battery acid. He bought both anyway.

Dinner had been homemade for once. You cooked together, moving around each other with easy familiarity. At some point he’d nudged your hip with his own to move you out of the way, muttering “too slow,” and you’d laughed instead of snapping back.

Later, you’d ended up half-curled against him on the couch while some terrible action movie played in the background.

Neither of you moved away.

At some point, Bakugou looked down at you and said quietly, “You’re smilin’ more lately.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s your fault.”

“Hn.”

You thought he might say something else.

He didn’t. Instead, his fingers brushed against yours under the blanket, and neither of you pulled away.

˗ˏˋ⋆ ˚｡⋆☾⚝☽⋆ ˚｡⋆ˎˊ˗

Then, darkness.

A sharp inhale tore through your chest. You bolted upright in bed so fast your vision spun. Your heart hammered violently.

The room was unfamiliar for exactly half a second before your brain started catching up. A bedroom. It didn’t look like Bakugou’s or your’s.

Warm morning light spilling through curtains. Soft sheets. A heavy arm around your waist.

You froze. Slowly, you turned your head.

Bakugou was asleep beside you.Not couch-sleeping. Not passed out after patrol. Actually asleep beside you.

His hair was messier than usual, face softer in sleep, one arm thrown around your middle like he’d fallen asleep holding you there.

You stared at him in shock. Then your gaze dropped. A ring. On your finger.

Your breath caught.

It was a wedding ring. “What—” Your voice came out thin and panicked. You looked around wildly.

The room wasn’t the same as Bakugou’s house, from your previous one. It was different— bigger, warmer, lived in. There were framed photos on the dresser. A jacket tossed over a chair. Two mugs on the nightstand.

Your chest tightened.

No. No, no, no—

The memories hit in strange flashes. Cooking together. Laughing. Arguments over laundry. Late-night patrol debriefs. A wedding.

Bakugou looked at you across an altar with the same expression he wore before a fight — intense, unwavering, completely certain.

Your stomach flipped.

The movement must’ve woken him.

Bakugou stirred beside you with a low grumble, tightening his arm around your waist automatically before his eyes blinked open.

“…Why’re you breathing like that?” he rasped sleepily.

You stared at him.

He looked older. Not drastically. Just… settled. More at ease in his own skin. There was faint stubble on his jaw. A scar near his collarbone you didn’t recognize.

And somehow, your chest ached with affection so immediate it hurt. “I—” Your voice cracked. “Katsuki.”

He frowned immediately, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

You looked at your hand again. The ring glinted softly in the morning light. Your throat tightened. “I had a… weird dream,” you whispered.

“Hm?”

“It was…” You swallowed hard. “It felt real.”

Bakugou was fully awake now, concern settling into his expression. “What kinda dream?”

You laughed shakily, almost disbelieving. “You’re gonna think I’m insane.”

“Talk anyway.”

And so you did.

You told him about Rend. About dying over and over. About rewinding time. About calling him in the middle of the night terrified and exhausted. About learning him slowly through timelines that technically never existed.

The entire time, Bakugou listened quietly. No interruption. Just one hand rubbing slow circles against your back while you spoke.

When you finally finished, the room went silent. Bakugou stared at you for a long moment. Then he snorted softly. “At least it was a dream.”

You blinked at him. “That’s your response?”

“What d’you want me to say?” he asked, tugging you gently back against his chest. “Sounds like your brain cooked up some dramatic bullshit.”

“I died a lot.”

“Tch. Sounds annoying.”

You laughed despite yourself. The sound felt strange.

Bakugou pressed a sleepy kiss against your temple like it was a habit.

Your brain short-circuited for half a second. “…You kissed me.”

He gave you a look. “We’re married?”

Right.

Right.

Your husband. Bakugou was your husband. The realization hit all over again.

You stared at him in stunned silence.

He raised a brow. “You okay?”

“I think I’m having an existential crisis.”

“Happens.”

“You’re taking this alarmingly well.”

“You’re the one who had the dream, not me.”

“That’s fair.”

He smirked faintly and pulled you closer again, like your panic was already handled now that you were talking.

You both woke slowly, and you were still pretty dazed from the dream. All of it felt real… like you lived it. But it was just a dream, right?

You followed Bakugou through routines that somehow felt instinctive despite your confusion. Brushing your teeth beside him. Eating breakfast together. Listening to him complain about work while tying his tie one-handed.

Every now and then, you’d catch sight of the ring again and freeze. And every time, Bakugou would glance at you with that same familiar look.

By the time you left for work, the panic had faded into something softer. You spent the entire day slightly dazed.

Coworkers greeted you normally. Someone asked about dinner plans with your husband. Midoriya stopped by your office at one point, grinning when you stared at him too long.

“You good?” he asked.

“…Yeah,” you said slowly. “Just had a weird dream.”

“Again?” he teased.

Again?

You didn’t ask.

The day passed strangely quickly after that. And when you got home—

Home.

The word settled warmly in your chest. Bakugou was already there. Shoes kicked off by the door. Sleeves rolled up. Dinner halfway finished on the stove.

He glanced over as you walked in. “You’re late.”

“You sound like my weird reincarnation dream version of you.”

“Tch. That guy sounds smart.”

You laughed. Whether the dream had meant something or not… it was over. No more loops. No more dying. No more clawing your way desperately toward a future you weren’t sure existed.

You had it now. The future.

It was here. Warm kitchen lights. A husband who grumbled while cooking. A house filled with shared things and ordinary routines and quiet love that had grown slowly enough to feel unbreakable.

Bakugou looked over his shoulder at you again, brows furrowing slightly. “What.”

Without really thinking, you crossed the kitchen and wrapped your arms around him from behind.

He stiffened for exactly one second before relaxing into it. “…What’s this for?” he muttered.

You pressed your face against his back, smiling softly. “Nothing,” you said. “Just happy.”

He huffed quietly, but one of his hands found yours where they rested against his stomach. “Yeah,” he murmured after a moment. “Me too.”

Somehow, standing there in the warmth of your shared kitchen, with your wedding ring catching the light and Bakugou solid beneath your hands.

Everything finally felt over.

The nightmare was done.

And you woke up exactly where you were always meant to be.

˗ˏˋ⋆ ˚｡⋆☾⚝☽⋆ ˚｡⋆ˎˊ˗

reincarnated masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪

masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪

previous

read it all here:

wattpad || ao3

˗ˏˋ⋆ ˚｡⋆☾⚝☽⋆ ˚｡⋆ˎˊ˗

afterword: it's been a hell of a year and 3 months spent and honestly, this is how it was always going to end but i've been putting it off... at this point... it's better to close it out.

thank you for all the incredible support through everything and i hope the semi happy ending (it was happy to me okay) was to your liking, or not, but that's okay

[Olruggio, WHA]

Gender not specified, but female intended

x reader, angst!

-----

The weather could never decide what it wanted to be. Lately, it's been rainy so to see some sun today was a treat.

Sunlight spilled over the hills in soft gold, warming the stone paths and making the puddles from last night’s rain shimmer. But above the trees, gray clouds gathered again, heavy and slow, threatening another rainy week.

You sat on the low wall outside the workshop with your hands folded in your lap, watching the breeze tug at the grass. You missed spending time outside, but your magic is less than impressive so you can't make sunny days around yourself to enjoy it.

Behind you, the door creaked open.

“You’re hiding again.” Olruggio’s voice carried that familiar amusement that always made your chest tighten in the worst way.

You looked back at him, observing his dark cloak which hung loosely over one shoulder, sleeves folded to his elbows and tied back, dark hair slightly messy like he’d just woken from a nap instead of spending hours working.

He looked comfortable. Like he always did around you.

“I’m not hiding,” you said quietly, defensively.

“Hm.” He stepped closer anyway.

That was how it had always been with him.

Olruggio leaning too close while helping you read spells and redraw your diagrams. Olruggio brushing leaves out of your hair with absent fingers. Olruggio falling asleep beside you during long nights in the atelier library, shoulder pressed against yours like it belonged there.

And every single time you thought maybe this meant something. Maybe the way his eyes softened around you was real. Or the way he sought you out first after long jobs meant you were special to him. And the lingering touches weren’t accidents.

You should have known better.

But Olruggio was difficult to read. Worse, he was gentle by nature. Gentle enough to blur lines without noticing.

“You’ve been avoiding me all morning,” he said.

You stared at your hands. “You noticed?”

“Of course I noticed.”

Your heart hurt at how immediate his answer was. The problem was always that he noticed everything.

He sat beside you on the wall, close enough that your shoulders brushed. The wind stirred softly between you both.

“You’re quiet today,” he murmured.

You laughed weakly. “I think I’m always quiet.”

“Not with me.”

That nearly broke you on the spot. You turned your head before he could see it on your face. Because that was exactly the problem.

He said things like that. Things that settled into your ribs and stayed there for weeks.

Things that sounded dangerously close to affection.

And maybe if he had been colder, this would have been easier. Maybe if he had pulled away sometimes or treated you like everyone else, you could have buried these feelings before they grew claws.

Instead, he kept you close enough to dream. To dream about that kind of life. With him and you.

Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance during the silence.

Olruggio glanced toward the clouds. “Looks like it's gonna rain.”

“Yeah.”

Silence settled again.

Your pulse pounded louder and louder beneath your skin. You were so tired of wondering. Tired of trying to interpret every glance, every smile, every touch of his hand against yours.

You couldn’t keep living in uncertainty. So, before you could lose your nerve, you spoke. “Olruggio.”

“Hm?”

“I need to ask you something.”

He looked at you fully then, relaxed as ever. “That serious?”

Your throat tightened. You swallowed hard. “What are we?”

For the first time in a long while, Olruggio looked caught off guard. His brows lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”

The embarrassment hit immediately, hot and humiliating. But you forced yourself forward. “You act like…” Your voice wavered. “You act like we’re together.”

He stared at you quietly.

“You hold my hand,” you whispered. “You stay beside me all the time. You look at me like... ah...”

Like I matter.

You couldn’t say it aloud.

The wind picked up harder this time, rustling his cloak.

Olruggio exhaled softly through his nose. Suddenly, something in your chest began sinking. He looked confused. “Oh,” he said quietly.

Just that.

Oh.

You wished he had slapped you instead.

“You thought I—” He stopped himself, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Sorry.

The word echoed painfully.

“I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

Your face went cold.

“But you—”

“I know.” He sighed. “I know how it looked.”

Looked. Not felt. Looked.

Thunder cracked louder overhead.

You stared at him, struggling to breathe around the pressure building in your throat. “So all of that was nothing to you?”

Olruggio’s expression tightened slightly. He looked uncomfortable. Uncomfortable?? He was uncomfortable? He started this.

“It wasn’t nothing,” he said carefully. “I like being around you.”

The tiny spark of hope rose instinctively. He extinguished it immediately.

“But not like that.”

The world seemed to go strangely quiet after that. Even the wind felt distant for a few moments.

You looked down at your trembling hands. “Oh.”

God.

How pathetic you sounded.

Olruggio noticed it too. You could see it in the way guilt flickered briefly across his face.

“You’ll get over it,” he said gently. “Feelings like this pass eventually.”

Your chest caved inward. Temporary. Embarrassing little things. You laughed once, sharp and broken. “Did you really not know?”

“I didn’t think about it much.” To him, this had all been lighthearted.

Meanwhile you had built entire futures from scraps of affection he tossed without realizing. Rain began to fall in scattered drops.

Olruggio stood from the wall, glancing toward the atelier. “We should head back before it gets worse.”

You didn’t move. He hesitated. For one awful second, you thought maybe he’d say something else. But instead, he only looked at you with that same soft pity. The kind reserved for injuries already done.

“I really am sorry,” he said again. Then he turned away.

You watched him leave. Watched his figure disappear down the path without once looking back. The rain came harder after that.

Within seconds your clothes clung heavily to your skin, hair dripping into your eyes. Thunder rolled violently across the hills now, loud enough to shake the ground beneath your feet.

Still, you couldn’t move. Everything replayed in your head in horrible pieces.

I like being around you.

But not like that.

You’ll get over it.

The rain soaked through completely, icy against your skin. Your vision blurred.

Your breathing hitched. A sound escaped you before you could stop it. Small and broken.

You covered your mouth immediately, shoulders shaking.

How stupid.

How unbelievably stupid you had been. You thought every glance meant something. Every touch. Every late-night conversation. You had treasured things he probably forgot the next morning.

The absolute worst part was that Olruggio probably really had cared about you in his own way. Just not enough.

Lightning flashed across the darkening sky.

You finally folded in on yourself there beside the empty path, rain pouring endlessly over you while the atelier lights glowed warm in the distance.

Close enough to see.

Far enough to never reach.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more olruggio ⟢

[Qifrey, WHA]

Gender not specified, but female intended

x reader, fluff! no established relationship

-----

The atelier was never truly quiet, Qifrey's students were rambunctious. But, at the point of your arrival, the younger apprentices had either wandered off to their studies or collapsed somewhere with ink-stained hands and half-finished diagrams. The air still held the faint scratching sound of quills which softened, like a breath finally exhaled.

That was when you worked best.

You moved through the rooms with a practiced quiet, gathering abandoned parchment, wiping stray ink from wooden tables, setting crooked stacks of books back into order. Organized. It wasn't glamorous work. But the atelier needed it, and somehow... you needed it too.

A place to be.

You wrung out your cloth in a basin near the window, watching the water swirl dark with ink that had previously been spilled. The sunlight caught it oddly, turning it into something almost pretty— like liquid smoke of some kind.

"You always manage to make even this look like an art form."

You didn't startle anymore. At least, not when it was him. Still, your shoulders tensed before you turned, fingers tightening slightly around the cloth. When you turned around, you saw him. Someone that always took your breath away.

Qifrey leaned against the doorway, arms loosely folded, his presence as quiet as the hour itself. He didn't interrupt the space — you'd noticed that early on. He fit into it. Like he understood how fragile silence could be.

"I'm just cleaning," you said, softer than you meant to.

"And doing it carefully," he replied.

You didn't know what to do with that, so you looked away, focusing on rinsing the cloth again.

"I'm making sure the ink doesn't drip onto the floor. One of the girls knocked into the table a little bit ago." You spoke rather quietly.

He stepped into the room without a sound, as if almost ignoring what you had just said and doing what he wanted. He was doing what he wanted.

"You've been at this all day," Qifrey said. "Have you eaten?" He watched as you stilled from wiping down the table once more.

There was no sigh, no scolding. He never did that. Instead, he simply reached to the small side table near the wall, where a covered plate sat. You hadn't noticed it before.

"You always forget," he murmured, lifting the cloth. "So I've stopped expecting you to remember."

Your chest tightened in a way you didn't like to examine too closely. "I didn't forget," you said automatically. "I just—"

"Ran out of time," he finished gently.

You didn't argue because he was right. He was right either way so it didn't matter how it was worded. He set the plate in front of you, along with a cup you were certain hadn't been there a moment ago. Steam curled softly from it.

"Sit," he said.

You perched on the edge of the bench, hands resting awkwardly in your lap as if you weren't sure what to do with them. Qifrey didn't leave. He leaned lightly against the table, close, but not too close. Careful, rather.

You picked at the food at first, small bites, like you were unsure you were allowed to take more.

"Eat properly," he said after a moment, not unkindly. "You won't be any use to the atelier if you collapse halfway through scrubbing floors."

A faint huff of breath escaped you. It was almost a laugh, but not quite. "I'm not that weak."

"No," Qifrey agreed, watching you in that steady, thoughtful way of his. "You're not."

Something in his tone made your hands pause. He wasn't dismissing you. He meant it. He rarely ever doesn't mean it, but this time felt just slightly different.

That was... worse. The feeling of it being different than all the other times. You forced yourself to take another bite, a little bigger this time.

Silence settled again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was just... like something unspoken hovered between you, something neither of you rushed to name.

"You don't have to stay this late every day," Qifrey said eventually.

"I know." You covered your mouth mid bite.

"You could rest more, you know." His voice was always soft, his eye following my hand.

"I'm fine."

His gaze shifted. "You say that often."

You swallowed. "It's easier than explaining." That slipped out before you could stop it.

You expected him to press. To ask what you meant, to dig at the edges of something you weren't ready to uncover. He didn't. Instead, he nodded once, like you'd offered him something important.

"I see."

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. You waited a second longer in case he still wanted to ask. To prod.

"You're... strange," you muttered, staring down at your plate.

"I've been told that before," he said lightly.

"Most people would ask."

"Would that help you?"

You hesitated. "...No."

"Then I won't."

The simplicity of it made your chest ache.

You finished the food slowly, more aware of his presence than anything else— the quiet steadiness of him, the way he stayed without crowding you, the way he didn't fill the silence just to make it less heavy. And when you set the plate aside, he reached out, taking it without brushing your fingers but close enough that you felt the warmth of him.

"You should take a break before you continue," he said.

"There's still more to do."

"There's always more to do."

You frowned slightly. "You sound like you're trying to stop me."

"I am."

You looked up, meeting his eyes fully for the first time since he'd entered the room. "Why?"

Qifrey tilted his head slightly, as if the answer was obvious. "Because you matter more than the floors."

Your breath hitched. You shook your head, looking away quickly. "I'm just help. Like... a maid or something."

"You are part of this atelier," he corrected gently. "That includes being someone worth taking care of."

No one had ever phrased it like that before. Help. Cleaner. Background. Those were roles you understood. Someone worth taking care of... that was something else entirely.

"I don't need—" you started, then stopped. The words felt wrong even as they formed. Your hands moved to your hair as you scratched at your scalp gently. "I don't... know how to accept that," you admitted quietly.

His expression softened— not with pity, but with something steadier. "You don't have to know," he said. "You just have to let it happen."

You let out a shaky breath. "That sounds harder than you make it seem."

"It might be." He spoke, looking up in front of him as Tetia, Coco, and Richeh laughed and chased each other across the doorway and down the hall, completely unaware of the two of them in the room. "But I'll be patient."

The way he said it like it wasn't a burden, like it wasn't something he'd grow tired of. It made something fragile in your chest shift.

"Why?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

Qifrey pushed off the table, stepping closer, enough that you couldn't pretend he was distant. "Because," he said quietly, "you've been taking care of this place, and everyone in it, in your own way."

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. "That's just my job."

"It's more than that." His gaze held yours, steady and unwavering. "And I take care of the people who matter to me."

The words settled heavily.

"You don't even know me that well," you said.

"I know enough."

You looked down, overwhelmed by the quiet certainty in his voice. "...That's dangerous."

"For me?" he asked, almost amused.

"For you."

A faint smile touched his lips. "I'll take that risk."

You huffed softly, shaking your head.

"You're weird."

"I've heard that too."

You almost laughed, placing your cheek against your palm. You glanced at the cloth still in your hands, then back at him.

"...Can you stay?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could reconsider.

His answer was immediate. "Of course."

Relief hit you harder than you expected. You stood, moving back to your work, but slower this time, less hurried. The urgency had faded, replaced by something steadier.

Qifrey lingered nearby, occasionally handing you something before you asked for it, straightening a stack you missed, quietly existing in the same space without demanding anything from you.

It felt like home. And maybe something started blooming in your chest just a bit.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more qifrey ⟢

The list will update as more publish! Majority of these were requests! You can request through here: requests ツ

You... don't like Qifrey?

Messing Around

Different Kind of Comfort

Watchful Eye

[Olruggio, WHA]

Gender not specified, but female intended

x reader, fluff!

because olruggio was in the recent anime episode :)

-----

The workshop was louder when Qifrey was around. The space seemed to lean toward him, like even the air wanted to listen. Magic hummed softer in his hands, as if it trusted him.

You noticed things like that. You noticed things too much probably.

How Olruggio always stood just a little to the side when Qifrey spoke, arms folded, expression unreadable behind that heavy mask he always looked like he was hiding behind. Like he was watching everything at once.

He was too.. overbearing sometimes over you, but also sometimes gave you too much space, especially when Qifrey was involved.

"Careful," Olruggio muttered, voice low as you leaned too far over the table with open magic ink bottles, squinting at a sigil you absolutely should not have been experimenting with unsupervised. "You'll smudge it."

You didn't look up. "Then stop staring so hard. It's distracting."

He was stunned at your talking back. "...I'm not staring."

You smiled, just a little. "You always say that."

From across the room, Qifrey laughed lightly. "They have a point, Olruggio."

"I don't need your input," Olruggio shot back, but there was no real bite to it.

You finally glanced up— just enough to catch the faint shift in his posture, standing just a bit straighter. But you'd learned to read him. You always liked what you saw.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ ࿔

It had started as a game, really.

Flirting with Olruggio. That is.

Because he was so easy to fluster —though he'd never admit it— and because no one else seemed to notice how reactive he actually was. Everyone saw the mask, the stoicism, the quiet. You saw the way his shoulders tightened when you leaned too close. The way his voice dropped when you said his name. The way he never quite met your eyes when you smiled at him too long.

So you kept going.

"Olruggioooo," you'd hum, dragging his name out just enough to make it deliberate. "Can you help me with this?"

"You don't need help." He scoffed, seeing that you were just fine without his help.

"I want your help." You rolled your eyes playfully.

"...That's not the same thing."

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ ࿔

"You spend a lot of time with Qifrey." The words came out of nowhere one afternoon, quiet and blunt as always. Olruggio stood near the doorway, half in shadow, watching as you sorted dried herbs into neat bundles.

You didn't look up. "Jealous?"

"No." Too fast.

You grinned. "You sure?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. You also said that 'no' a little too fast." You looked up from your spellwork and at him, behind you.

He exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're reading too much into it."

"Am I? You've been watching me all day."

"I watch everything."

"But not like how you have been watching me. We're witches. Do you think I can't feel your eyes on me all the time?"

Silence.

You tilted your head, studying him. "Do you think I like Qifrey?"

His shoulders stiffened, just barely. "...It would make sense."

You blinked. "Would it? I don't see it."

"You follow him. You listen to him. You—" He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "You seem... comfortable."

You stared at him for a moment. Then, slowly, you smiled. "Oh," you said softly. "Is that what you think?"

You didn't deny him, thinking he'd get the hint that you like him instead. But he might be dense.

𓈒⟡₊⋆∘˚⊹ ࿔

The night wasn't supposed to be anything special. Just a rare moment of quiet. The atelier lanterns were low, the girls were asleep. A bottle of something strong that Qifrey had "borrowed" from somewhere once on a journey — he hadn't said where, and you hadn't asked. Definitely stolen.

"Just a little," Qifrey insisted, already pouring liquor of some sort into 3 glasses. "We deserve it."

"You said that last time," Olruggio muttered, still accepting the glass that Qifrey poured him.

"And were you wrong to agree?" Qifrey smiled as he handed the next glass to you.

"...Yes." Olruggio scoffed, drinking away anyways.

You snorted, accepting the cup. "You're both terrible influences."

"And yet," Qifrey said warmly, "you're still here."

You were. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, close enough to feel the warmth of them both. Close enough to notice how Olruggio angled himself slightly away from Qifrey and slightly toward you.

The drink burned going down. It was the only thing that felt like it would help Olruggio understand that... you don't, in fact, like Qifrey.

Qifrey, ever perceptive, glanced between you both— and then, very deliberately, took another drink. "Interesting," he murmured. You looked at your drink and Olruggio looked at you. And Qifrey knew he was just third wheeling at this point.

Qifrey stood. "Well," he said, stretching slightly, "I think I'll leave you two to it."

You blinked. "To what?"

He just smiled. "Oh, nothing in particular." It was interesting because he was the one who poured the drinks moments ago and now he was leaving so soon. "Have to check on the girls and go to sleep. Enjoy yourselves."

And then he was gone. The door slid shut behind him with a soft click.

Silence settled quite nicely either way.

You exhaled slowly, setting your cup aside. "He did that on purpose."

"...You're not going after him?" Olruggio watched the door for a moment before turning to you.

"No." Your heart skipped.

"You like him." You stared at Olruggio. He really is that dense.

"...You're still on that?"

"You didn't deny it last time."

"I didn't think I had to."

"You didn't say anything."

"Because it's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then say it."

You frowned. "Say what?"

"That you don't like him."

You held his gaze. "I don't like Qifrey." It was so obvious to you. You thought it was at least.

Olruggio's shoulders lowered, just a fraction. "You... don't like Qifrey?"

"Because I like someone else."

"...Who?"

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "You're really bad at this."

"At what?"

"Paying attention." You poked his chest gently, drinking the rest of your drink.

"I pay attention."

"Not to the right things."

His brow furrowed. "Then explain it."

You leaned forward, closing the space between you just enough to make it impossible to ignore. "I flirt with you. I sit next to you. I ask for your help. I say your name like it means something—because it does by the way."

His breathing hitched.

"And you think I like Qifrey?" you continued, voice softer now. "Really?"

"I—" He stopped, like the words wouldn't come.

"I like you, Olruggio."

"...You're drunk," he said finally.

You huffed a laugh. "A little. Not enough to lie."

"You don't—"

"I do."

"You're just—"

"I'm not."

Frustration flickered across his face. "You spend all your time with Qifrey."

"I spend my time where I'm comfortable."

"And you're comfortable with him."

"I'm comfortable with you, too."

He scratched his head, frustration bubbling up in his mind. "...Why me?"

"Because you see things no one else does," you said. "Because you say what you mean. Because you don't pretend to be something you're not." You reached out, hesitating just a second before lightly touching his sleeve. "And because," you added, voice barely above a whisper, "you look at me like I matter."

"I'm not— good at this." He gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"I know."

"...I thought you liked him."

"I know."

"And you didn't correct me."

You smiled, small and a little sheepish. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out."

"...That's cruel."

"A little bit."

There was a moment of silence before you heard him groan and run his hand down his face.

"How long would it have taken?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "At this rate? Months."

"I see." Olruggio looked at your hand where it still rested against his sleeve. He covered it with his own. His grip was tentative. "...I don't understand you," he admitted.

You smiled. "You don't have to."

"That's not reassuring."

"It's not supposed to be."

A faint huff of something almost like a laugh left him. "...You're difficult."

"You like me anyway."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to. You know, you're quite obvious when you stare at me all day. Even when Qifrey is trying to get your attention." You smile widely.

"Oh, don't remind me!" He leaned back. And the night fell into soft conversation and laughter.

+++

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[Qifrey, WHA]

Gender not specified, but female intended

x reader, angst!

-----

The door didn't creak when it opened. It never did anymore. Qifrey had fixed that long ago — oiled hinges and a quiet kind of magic that made all the noise go away. It was, eventually, a habit of slipping in and out of rooms like he was afraid of disturbing something fragile. To him, you were.

Tonight, he wished it would creak. Something that could warn you that he was back after hours.

You didn't look up. You were sitting at the small table by the window, chin in your hand, tracing the same circle into the paper over and over. The candle beside you had burned low, wax pooling and spilling out of the plate like it was trying to escape its own shape.

"You're late," you said softly, not accusing — just noticing.

Qifrey paused in the doorway. He had rehearsed this. On the walk back. In the alley behind the atelier. Under his breath, over and over, until the words lost meaning and became something hollow and sharp.

None of that helped now. Nothing would help now. The words he rehearsed, left his thoughts the moment he saw you. So focused and determined... and content. He was about to ruin all of that.

"I know," he replied.

You hummed, still not looking at him, too immersed and focused on the spell you were working on. "Did it go well?"

There it was. The question Qifrey was waiting for all along. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a careful click. The quiet felt heavier now, like the room itself was holding its breath. You could tell the shift in the way he stood. It wasn't soft and reassuring anymore. Serious and too the point.

"It..." He stopped.

Your finger stilled against the table. You lifted your head slowly, eyes finding him across the dim room. Just a flicker of confusion at the way he stood there, rigid, like a statue that had forgotten how to pretend to be alive.

"...Qifrey?"

He couldn't move closer. Crossing that small space between you meant telling you the most heartbreaking news you didn't want to hear. But he had to tell you anyways. That was the whole point of his arrival back at the atelier.

"They've made a decision," he said.

Your brows knit together slightly. "About what?"

He didn't answer, looking away gently. Looking away like he was losing someone important. That look, you hated most. Your chair scraped softly against the floor as you stood, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Qifrey," you said again, more firmly this time, "what was the decision?"

He forced himself forward, one step, then another. Each one felt wrong. He can't undo any of this now and it was his fault. He could have kept silent but that would just make him a criminal too.

"The Three Wise... reviewed your case," he said carefully. "Your magic. The incident—"

"I know what they reviewed," you cut in, voice tightening. "What did they decide?" There was a tremor there now.

Qifrey hated that he was the one putting it there. He stopped a few feet away from you. Close enough to see the way your hands had curled slightly at your sides. Enough to see the way your eyes searched his face, desperate for something—anything—that didn't look like this.

"They're going to take your magic," he said. "And... your memories."

The words fell between you like something solid.

The silence was deafening for minutes. No words spoke, neither of you looked at each other. You both just stood, silent. And then... you laughed.

It was small. Disbelieving.

"That's not funny," you said, shaking your head. "Don't— don't joke about that."

"I'm not joking."

The laughter died instantly. "They can't," you said, in protest. "They— Qifrey, they can't do that. I didn't— no one was hurt, I fixed it, you said it was under control—"

"I know."

"I followed the rules after that!" You were desperately trying to reason, your hands following your words, exaggerated and dramatic. "I didn't touch anything else I wasn't supposed to, I stayed inside the bounds after that, I listened—"

"I know," he repeated, softer this time.

"Then why?" Your voice broke on the word, sharp and raw. "Why would they— why would they do that to me?"

Because they're afraid of you. Magic that came from the incident was forbidden magic. The world they protect has no space for mistakes like yours. Because I couldn't protect you from them.

Qifrey swallowed all of it. "They believe it's the safest option," he said instead.

Your face twisted. "Safe for who?"

He didn't answer.

You staggered back a step, hitting the edge of the table. The candle wobbled, flame flickering wildly before steadying again. "No," you whispered. "No, no, no— there has to be something else. An appeal, a delay, anything—"

"I tried."

Your head snapped up.

"I argued. I pushed it as far as I could," Qifrey continued, his voice tight, controlled in that way that meant it was one breath away from breaking. "But the decision is final."

"Final?" you echoed, like the word itself didn't make sense. "They can't just— this is my life, Qifrey!"

"I know."

"Then do something!"

The words hit harder than anything else you'd said ever in your life, in the life he's known you. You looked angry.

"I am," he said, too quickly. "I'm telling you now so we have time to—"

"To what?" you snapped. "Prepare? Say goodbye? Sit here and wait while they come and take everything from me? While they come and take you from me?"

Your voice cracked, splintering apart under its own weight.

"They're going to erase it and I won't be able to feel it anymore," you murmured. "I won't be me anymore."

"You'll still be you."

"Don't say that." The words came out harsher than you intended. You choked, turning away from him, one hand coming up to press against your mouth. "Are you kidding? You're okay with this? With us..." You trailed off, all the memories you shared with him.

Qifrey stepped forward without thinking. "Hey—"

"Don't." You flinched away before he could touch you. "I need you to not do that," you said, your voice trembling. "Don't fucking do that."

"I'm sorry," he said.

You let out a broken laugh. "Sorry?" you repeated. "You're sorry?"

"I didn't want this."

"But you're the one telling me." You turned back to face him, eyes shining now, tears finally spilling over despite how hard you were trying to hold them back. "You walked in here," you said, voice shaking, "and you just... you just said it. Like it was nothing. Like you weren't handing me—" You broke off, breath hitching painfully.

"Like I wasn't breaking you," Qifrey finished quietly.

"...yeah," you whispered.

Deafening silence again. So desperately you wanted to break so you did. The question you've been bouncing around in your head.

"When?" you asked finally.

Qifrey hesitated. "....Soon."

Your eyes closed, rubbing your hand through your hair. "Qifrey."

"...Tomorrow."

"They can't do this," you whispered, over and over, like if you said it enough it might become true. "They can't, they can't, they can't—"

In an instant, he was in front of you, catching you before your knees buckled entirely. "I know," he murmured, pulling you closer despite the way his own hands trembled. "I know."

Your face pressed against his chest, your breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. "I'm scared," you admitted, so quietly he almost didn't hear it.

"I know," he said again, his voice cracking now. "I know, I'm so—"

"Don't say sorry."

He shut his mouth.

Your fingers clenched weakly in his clothes. "...stay with me," you said.

Qifrey tightened his hold on you. "I'm not going anywhere."

"...I won't remember you though," you said. "You can't say that. You can't promise that. I can't—" You choked, gripping him tighter. "I can't wake up in a world where you don't exist to me."

Qifrey's arms tightened around you instinctively, like if he held you close enough, it might anchor you here— anchor this feeling here forever.

"They're going to take you from me," you said, the realization settling in fully now, crushing, irreversible. "Not even... not even by distance. Just— gone. Like you were never—"

"I'll still be here," he said, the words desperate, fragile.

"But I won't know that," you cried. "I won't feel that. You'll be a stranger— no, not even that, you'll be nothing, you'll be no one—"

Your hands fisted in his robes again, like you were trying to hold him in place against something inevitable. "Qifrey, what if I forget your voice?" you whispered. "What if I forget the way you—" You broke off, shaking your head. "What if I forget everything?"

He didn't have an answer. Because you would.

Qifrey pressed his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. "Then I'll remember," he said, his voice barely holding together. "I'll remember enough for both of us."

Your breath stuttered.

"That's not fair," you whispered.

"I know."

"...tell me something," you murmured.

"Anything."

"Something I can try to hold onto," you said. "Even if it doesn't stay."

Qifrey swallowed hard.

"You always hum when you're concentrating," he said softly. "You don't notice it, but it's there. And you tilt your head when you're confused, just slightly, like you're trying to listen to something no one else can hear."

A shaky breath left you.

"And you," you whispered, "you always pretend you're not tired. Even when you can barely stand."

He huffed a weak, broken laugh.

"...yeah. I don't want to forget you," you said.

"I know."

"Please don't let me forget you."

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Magic and Memories

Lingering

Cramps

It'll Pass