Fangirl for Fictional Characters

rafayel

breeds he’s matched with: standard poodle, pomeranian, maltese 

initially reluctant to make himself vulnerable to so many nips and scratches and unsanitary bodily products, and rightfully so

his set of puppies slept the whole ride over, so by the time they descend upon him, they are wide awake and ready to rumble

the interview can’t even start on time—not when you can barely see rafayel through the flurry of paws and tails

just when all hope seems to be lost, he starts singing to them as a last-ditch effort to calm them down. miraculously, it works in a matter of seconds 

hypnotized by his voice, they start howling back at him, eager to sing along. he corrects their pitch, like, “well, not quite. but close. keep trying.” 

he absolutely plays favorites. there’s a little tan pomeranian he absolutely adores, even if he won’t admit it, and he barely lets go of her for the entire shoot. he mentally names her sandy

two weeks later, the shelter receives a donation of custom-designed bows, leashes, collars, and tiny dog clothing from an anonymous donor. but with that precision, quality, and artistic ability…there’s only one person it could be 

valko

breeds he’s matched with: german shepherd, husky, malamute, great dane 

he’s kind of bummed because he explicitly requested a wolfdog, but the staff legally couldn’t give him one. it’s fine, though. he still has so many other friends to play with

he’s actually the most unfazed because he’s used to being surrounded by hyperactive pups climbing him like he's a jungle gym

answers questions in detail like it’s an average tuesday. even with a malamute gnawing on his fingers, he barely loses focus

great at discipline. when one misbehaves, he holds its wriggling body up to his face until it apologizes with puppy dog eyes. when one growls at him, he growls back. it tucks its tail between its legs and licks his hand in apology

after the interview, he plays with them so much that they’re all passed out when it's time to go home. rounding them up to go back in their crates is the easiest it’s ever been

the staff call him a dog whisperer, which he happily accepts 

xavier

breeds he’s matched with: dalmation, chow chow, borzoi, dachshund 

when he answers questions, he’s talking to the puppies more than anything. forgets to look at the camera because his attention is elsewhere 

when he feeds them treats, some of them bite his hands. he nips them back on the scruff of their necks, and they look at him like he’s lost it

chow chow puppies’ cheeks = stress toys. he squeezes and stretches them while they teethe on his hoodie strings

near the end, he grabs the calmest dalmation pup to hold in his lap while he wraps the video up. when the interview’s over, he endeavors to count all its spots aloud. his voice is so soft and soothing, the puppies all curl up and fall asleep around him. before he knows it, he’s out, too

the staff are so endeared, they just turn the lights off in the studio and vow to wake everyone up in an hour.

sylus

breeds he’s matched with: rottweiler, boxer, akita, pekingese

arrives to set uncharacteristically dressed down. will not let any of his treasured clothes or accessories be ripped, slobbered on, or dampened by those overexcited little lumps 

there is a fight between man and puppy to establish dominance. man wins, or so he thinks

has a particularly rambunctious group that views his body as free real estate. more often than not, his answers get cut off by puppies lunging at his face 

he’s a bit too eager to referee all their little squabbles, but he does pull them apart when they get too rough

his two favorites are the strongest and the weakest, simultaneously. he considers adopting them, but for the moment, he much prefers to devote his free time to his kitten

the pekingese pups are just there for fun. he likes the idea of how pitiful purse dogs are. when he fails to hold in his snorts, they cock their heads at him and stare

zayne

breeds he’s matched with: samoyed, corgi, toy poodle, shiba inu

he is run ragged.

they're sprinting around so quickly, his head is spinning. even the busiest shifts at the hospital couldn’t prepare him for this

one naughty samoyed steals his glasses and runs off with them. clips of him waddling around set chasing after it are interspersed between stretches of him attempting to answer questions 

tries admirably hard to stay on topic, but these dogs are practically doing cartwheels around him. if he looks away for just one second, he’ll have to contact his veterinarian acquaintance for the first time since undergrad

there’s a quiet little shiba staring at all the chaos, and he doesn't get to spend much time with it. after the shoot, he asks if he can play with it alone. he knows what it’s like to be left out, and he doesn’t want the little guy to go home sad

he quickly gains its trust, and they become fast friends. when it's time to go home, it tries to scramble its way back to him.

“heartbreak” is a figurative term. however, as the staff carry the whining puppy out the door, zayne discovers just how real it can be

You’ve been side-eyeing him the entire two hours, wondering who the fuck this handsome man is, and why he is leaning so far away from you. Do you stink? You definitely put deodorant on this morning, brushed your teeth, and put perfume on! Surely not. Daring another quick peep, he was doing it AGAIN! He’s almost fully rotated on the chair, fingers perched up to his chin like he’s having some deep, introspective thought about this below-average lecture. Why is it giving that one scene in Twilight? Rude as fuck, actually. 

And then it happens: that stupid side-effect from that Wanderer.

Everyone in the conference room is gone. You are straddled on Valko’s lap, blouse ripped wide open, skirt sitting up around your waist, panties pulled to the side, riding the absolute shit out of him. Your hands are braced on his shoulders for support, his mouth permanently attached to your pulsepoint, inhaling your smell as he fucks up into you, needing to be closer, needing to hear you scream—

Oh my god. 

You immediately go red, and like a mirror, shift in your seat so he can’t see your sudden flustering. You knew once the conference was over, there was going to be a damp patch left on your chair.

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Sylus 

You’re undercover at an auction, and wouldn’t you know it, guess who else is here? To his surprise, you’re in a suit, sharp yet flattering. The next item to be called is an old desk, beautifully crafted from some kind of sturdy hardwood, but what kind you have no idea.

Well, Sylus does. It’s walnut, and it is quality. 

You’re seated on the edge of it. Pants gone, tits out, blazer ON, Sylus kneeling in between. His mouth is on your aching cunt, drowning in you, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you open. Because you’re quivering, pathetically trying to clamp your legs shut, the overstimulation too much. Too bad. He wants to see how long you can take him, how far you’re willing to go… his ego needs to know how many times he can make you cum with just his tongue. If you give him one more, he’ll give you his fingers next—

“Fifty thousand,” his rich voice calls out.

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Xavier 

He checks in on you the SECOND he hears what happened. He manages to catch you as you leave the med-ward, confirming that the strange Wanderer slime isn’t toxic. With the all-clear, you mention that all you want right now is a nice, steamy shower. You roll your head back with a dreamy sigh, exposing the column of your throat, your body shifting in a way that really emphasises your figure…

(Look, the man just can’t help it, ok? His attraction for you is off the CHARTS, and he is YEARNING for a chance to ask you out… but, bless his soul, he’s also incredibly horny.)

You’re in the shower together, tendrils of steam coiling about you both. Xavier is behind, that thick cock of his pressing against the plush of your ass while he massages your shoulders with soap… His fingers sculpt your muscles, slowly gliding down so he can grope your boobs next. He presses his lips against your nape, tongue running up to catch the trickles of leftover sweat… Teeth tug your earlobe, giving you full body shivers, and you end up grinding back on him, needing him to shove you against the shower wall and fuck the absolute life out of you—

Your clothes are too tight, cheeks definitely red, and you are unable to meet that pretty blue stare of his. 

If that was what he thought about literally standing next to you completely unfazed, all smiley and boyish, what the FUCK did he imagine when he was alone in bed? 

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Rafayel 

All you want is to go to bed, but Rafayel has a showcase tonight, and you have to be there. “No exceptions.” He’d said, arms folded and pouty. 

So, you manage to slip into some pretty thing that is still functional for security, and you make your way over to the gallery. Rafayel is out the front waiting, shooing everyone else who isn't you. The second his eyes meet yours, they flicker down, admiring your outfit… but when his gaze returns to yours again, something happens. 

(What happens is that he is an artist, and he just got hit with some wonderful inspiration.) 

You’re a whimpering, panting mess inside the gallery storage room. He’s got you pinned right against the door, tongue tracing your collarbone as his hands tug the straps of your dress down… he wants to worship you, wants to kiss and lick every inch of your body. For tonight, he’ll settle on your breasts. With the front of you bared for him, he sucks on one nipple, squeezing and kneading the other, all while your fingers are threaded through his hair, nails scraping his scalp, clinging to him, urging him to do more—

You falter mid-step, almost falling face-first into the footpath. Your throat is dry, heart thumping wild inside your head. Approaching Rafayel, you smile, oddly emboldened now that you know what he wants to do to you. 

“You look nice,” he compliments—safe, casual. 

“Nice? Is that all I get?” You give him an offended pout. “Not beautiful? Inspirational? Ravishing?”

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Zayne

You’re late. You practically skip through the hospital halls, rushing but not running, because that’s just not appropriate. Finally, you reach Zayne’s office doors, and without thinking, because you’re frazzled from being late, you barge in. 

Doctor Zayne is seated at his desk, halfway through a chocolate cupcake, some of the icing and crumbs stuck to the corner of his mouth. You make eye contact. 

“Busted, Doc,” you tease, your previous anxiety gone. 

He sighs, hiding the dessert back into the top drawer. “I’ve been stressed.”

“There are worse things I could have walked in on, I guess,” you laugh, coming to take a seat. 

Yes, indeed. 

You’re hiding under his desk, that delicious mouth of yours wrapped around his cock, hand gripping what you can’t take. Can't have you gagging on it when someone could walk in, right? You pump at his base, licking and sucking, taking him at a steady pace, drawing out his pleasure as well as alleviating his tension. Because he simply can’t resist, he stops writing his report to caress your cheek, hissing low under his breath as you take him just that little bit deeper down your throat, your quiet moan vibrating through him—

Holy shit. 

You immediately sit up straight, clearing your throat to mask your surprised gasp. Clenching your knees together, you manage a tight smile. 

“Is that why you’re here? You have a cough?” Zayne asks softly, kind. Your friend. 

“Uh, yeah,” you lie, faking another one. “It sucks.”

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Caleb

You’re at a house party, and you thought it would be nice to invite Caleb, since he rarely gets to get out and about in Skyhaven. 

“Pips, where’re you takin’ me?” Caleb slurs, a little tipsy. 

You drag him along, until you both plop down with the group, all neatly sitting in a circle. 

“Truth or dare?” Tara begins, turning to the person next to her. 

And so forth, and so forth. The game continues, people daring and revealing embarrassing stories. The more people drink, the more juvenile it becomes, until it feels like you’re all in college again. Honestly, it’s kind of freeing, and you’re happy to roll with it. 

Eventually, it’s Caleb’s turn, and he turns to look at you. 

You choose dare, and so he dares you to spend seven minutes in heaven with him. You giggle, but you interlace your fingers with him, and before you both know it, you’re pressed up against each other in a small dark wardrobe. Caleb grasps your waist, tugs you even closer as your mouths swallow each other, tongues dancing, drunk on each other’s taste. He could die here. Especially when your hand sneaks down, cupping his bulge, rubbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. His hands cup your boobs, squeezing gently to start, but as you both get sloppier and twitchy, he grows bolder, kneading you through your thin bra, hips bucking into your touch—

“Truth or dare?” Caleb smirks, taking another sip of his drink. 

Of course he would ignore your question. So, you decide to ignore his blatant flirting. He was hedging just like you were, both of you, peas of the same pod. You wouldn't show your cards till he surrendered and from what you'd gathered, he wasn't one to bow out so easily.

Almost as if he could guess that you were getting ready to shut him out again, you notice the tiny -> arrow at the bottom of the page before you flip it around to see he'd scribbled something at the back as well.

Was that question too difficult? I understand. Here's a simpler one. What's your favorite color? The little bunny likes pink or purple but I can't tell. Does her Mommy prefer the same?

It was simpler. After putting your daughter to bed, you sat on the kitchen counter, pen poised at the paper but not writing. You couldn't remember the last time you'd thought about such innocuous things. A favorite color, your favorite weather or even something as silly as your favorite candy. It had been too long since you'd wondered about these things. That innocence had long been snatched away.

Lightning flashed outside the window, catching your eye. A moment passed before the rumble of thunder followed. And like everytime it rained, you were thinking of that night.

If you closed your eyes, you could still picture the droplets on your skin coming in through the open window. The glass shard seeping deep into your foot, the living room turned upside down and the TV shattered in the middle of it from where he had thrown it at you. Between it all, you hadn't been able to tell if your forehead was also cut or if it was the rain. It was such an impractical thing to be focusing on, but you'd chosen self-preservation. And yet, you didn't dare raise your hand to touch and find out, hadn't dared remove them from around your belly as you did your best to shield your unborn child.

Lightning struck outside the window again. And even with your eyes open, you pictured it clearly. The image burned deep behind your eyelids for all of eternity.

Crimson. Unlike any you'd ever seen. Shining, gleaming, burning.

With a wry smile, you refocus back on the paper and start writing.

Bunny's preferences change like the season. Last month her favorite color was orange. This month is pink.

Mine's red.

Mine's red.

Three words. Eight letters. Shot to his chest straight as if she'd uttered them right to his face.

Red. Of course your favorite color had to be red. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

Lying in bed, your letter covered his eyes as Sylus inhaled every last bit of your perfume lingering on it. For the two weeks you had gone silent on him again, he wondered if you were done entertaining his antics.

Then he wondered if you'd correctly deduced the deeper implications of his question. The intimacy around it was as subtle as him screaming it in your face. And still, it bothered him. Every word you wrote to him bothered him. He wanted to get to know you but knew that anything personal would have you running for the hills. You were cautious, too cautious.

So, why then, were you entertaining a criminal? Involving your daughter in something that clearly went against your principles?

When he sits up, he notices the tiny, identical arrow at the bottom of the page and flips it over to see what else you had to say.

Dodging questions doesn't make you look any more innocent.

With a smile threatening to break, Sylus realizes you're not going to make it easy on him. He much preferred it that way. The following day, with his pen hovering over the paper, he makes up his mind as he begins writing.

The red packaging was glaring back at you.

Imagine your horror when you opened the sweet old lady's mailbox and a red package the size of your head, barely fitting inside was staring back at you. There was no mistaking who it was from, who it was for, and you'd quickly tossed it into your bag before anyone saw.

You were so paranoid that he might have someone watching at the post office for who takes his letters that you'd resorted to using this poor woman's address and now, now the fear had you by the neck, sweating and shivering in broad daylight.

You'd torn open the packaging as soon as you got home, before you even put your bag down, plucking out the softest, sweetest looking bunny plushie with pink fur complete with a purple tiara.

You hated your heart for flipping the way it did.

Does the little princess like her gift? I'm sorry for sending one impromptu without your permission.

Do you like yours?

You drop the letter immediately, digging through the box and coming up with a silk cloth. Too big to be a handkerchief, just barely passing the mark for a scarf. Silk, extravagant and pricier than you could ever afford. The little S stiched in the corner catches your eye, makes your heart race.

The color is an exact match of your favorite shade of red. Leaves you a little light-headed. And then the paranoia comes crashing back.

Akin to the previous letter, there's an arrow mark guiding you to flip the page.

I'm not innocent and I won't claim to be. I simply do not wish to lose a beloved pen pal and my access to her drawings.

I beat up a man within an inch of his life.

Your heart is beating so loudly that you cannot process anything over the rush in your ears. Cannot stop rereading the words. Cannot stop the tremble in your hands, the way they shake, the way your knees buckle. You hold on to the counter to give yourself some reprieve.

You'd been playing house with a criminal. How could you have given him the benefit of doubt for a single second?

Old habits die hard, you thought bitterly as you cleaned up the mess, tossing the wrapping paper and opening his letter to your daughter to inspect it. It was a pattern with you now. Ten guys could line up in front of you and you'd skip over all the 9 decent ones to choose the trashy jerk.

You're irrationally angry with yourself for entertaining him at all, for letting yourself get carried away like this. You're tossing the wrapping paper in the trash, mind half made up to do the same with the plushie but a hollow feeling taking shape in your stomach gives you pause.

The bunny is soft beneath your labor-roughened fingers, the calloused skin that was always peeling off. You wouldn't be able to afford buying a soft toy this expensive for your daughter without feeling like you'd burned a hole through your wallet. Even if you saved up for months, you would never put that money toward a plushie and you knew it. The one you'd recently bought for your daughter couldn't even begin to compare to this one.

You take your foot off the pedal of the trash can, sighing deeply. You were tired to the very bones of your body, so exhausted and worn out that you didn't remember a time before it. What it was to be carefree and relaxed. All your life, for as long as you could remember, had been spent running. First from your irresponsible, junkie parents who had tried selling you to be able to afford the drugs they preferred and then from your husband who'd trapped you in an abusive marriage before you could see the signs.

Placing the bunny on the counter, you pick up the letter again, ready to pocket it to trash it with the scarf later, when the tiny writing you didn't notice before catches your eye.

He deserved it.

The hollow feeling that had been expanding past your gut and into your chest bursts like a balloon, all the air in your lungs leaving you in a single exhale.

You don't know what it is about this criminal but his silent conviction and the quiet certainty with which he wrote those words gives you pause. He didn't overexplain his side, didn't try to play it off and brush it under the rug. He didn't shy away from answering your question (this time) but he didn't feel the need to defend himself.

With a sigh filled with long suffering, you come to a conclusion you're not enthusiastic about.

You believed him.

The little princess loves the plushie, thank you. I do hope this is the extent of your generosity though.

->

What did he do?

And you? Did you like your gift?

->

I think I'll spare you the gory details, darling. Trash needs cleaning and I feel necessary to see it through myself sometimes.

You stopped asking questions after that. You liked to think it was none of your business but frankly, you were scared to find out. Scared that his answer would inevitably lead to the end of this budding acquaintanceship.

It would seem Bunny wasn't the only one who was lonely.

Did you like your gift?

Your only guiding force in life was to give your daughter a good life and ever since she'd clutched your finger in the dingy hospital room where you'd given birth, you knew you'd do anything to make her happy. Happier than you could have ever imagined yourself to be.

To see those drawings with the black crayon marring all the other colors on the page had broken your heart. The fact that she didn't make a peep or a single complaint when you had to pull long shifts at work and couldn't pick her up from school wrecked your soul. You wanted to give her everything she'd ever want. That had made you risk something this dangerous just to please her. And you would do it every time.

But that scarf, that was the one thing that was yours. It was the first time you'd ever been gifted something, not too extravagant, barely constituting as a present but still, you wanted it just for yourself. For once. Something that inherently belonged only to you. That wasn't thrifted or bought second hand.

And so, it sat in the back of your closet, in an unmarked box like a secret. Like something of great value. Like it was your most prized possession. Like it was priceless.

It drew out a pathetic laugh from your throat. Your most prized possession was a handkerchief from a criminal serving a sentence of heaven knew how long? Truly pathetic.

No. And I would appreciate it you refrained from sending anything else going forward.

Now you weren't only pathetic, you were also a coward.

The following week, you receive a blank cheque in the mail.

I apologize for the gift; it was certainly in poor taste. There is no limit on the amount for the cheque. Treat yourself to something special on my behalf, please?

No innuendo. Just a request. Your gaze kept snagging on the last word like it was a gravitational pull. Why did you feel like this was a man that did not plead often, if ever?

The cheque feels weightless in your palm but also weighs you down like a truckload on your chest. Your eye immediately drops to check the name on the bottom right only to see initials.

S.Q

His name really was Skye then?

No matter how tempted you were, you refused to involve yourself with the likes of such men- people, again. You would not give him a chance to trace any of your actions back to you. The moment your daughter starts showing signs of her positive disposition returning, this penpal-ship was coming to an end.

But the sad, pitiful part of you was so tempted. If there really was no limit to the cheque, you take a moment and glance around your dingy apartment, wouldn't that be nothing short of a miracle for you?

With a twofold, the cheque is torn and the pieces flutter around the kitchen. A pathetic laugh escapes you when you realize your fingers are twitching with the urge to tape it all back together.

Last thing you needed was charity.

Even if it didn't feel like it.

Thank you for the cheque but I think it was too excessive. Let's refrain on sending any type of gifts altogether. Bunny included.

You find yourself thinking of him often at work as you wipe down tables and mindlessly carry orders around like muscle memory. If you let yourself indulge, you could go hours without realizing where you were, what you should've been doing.

He'd said his hair was lighter in color. Was it light brown or more of a sandy blond? If he had beaten a man within an inch of his life, he'd have to be built like a tank to achieve it, right? What color were his eyes? Did he have scars? Tattoos? Pointed nose or button? Did he wear his hair longer or was it cut short to the scalp? Did he wear specs? How old was he? What work did he do before committing the crime? Was he in the shady business long term?

You thought back to the cheque he'd sent to you. No limit, he'd said. Was this one of his tactics to lure unsuspecting women in? Was he in the business of trafficking?

That line of thought startles you to the point of dropping your tray, the clatter drawing attention of all the patrons in the restaurant. Your heart drops when you notice the broken dishes and know that it will be docked out of your pay. You don't even get a chance to think your actions through, immediately dropping to your knees and picking up the shards, numbed to the point that you don't feel anything when a few of the pieces break skin.

You're dragging your feet on your way home, well past midnight when you'd gotten to work nearly 16 hours ago, on your feet the entire time save for two half hour breaks in the middle. Sending your daughter to a good school and paying for a child therapist was going to run you into the ground.

Even as you fight the tears welling in your eyes, you know you wouldn't choose to go any other way.

You cross the mailbox, belatedly realizing it was a Tuesday as you go to check it. The crappy events of the day have only made you regret tearing up the blank cheque even more. So, what if some bored criminal 'billionaire' wanted to do some charity? He wouldn't blink if a few thousand went missing from his bank account, wouldn't even care.

When you get home, Bunny is already in bed. Your precious daughter was too mature for her age, and you hated it. Hated that you were stealing her innocent childhood from her just because her mother couldn't make the right decisions in life. For the longest time, you sit by her bedside and watch her sleep.

It's only when you're tucking her blanket tighter around her that you notice her clutching her new bunny and remember the letter in your purse.

The bulb above the kitchen table flickers once, twice, thrice and just as you're convinced that it needs replacing and your dwindling savings are going to take a hit again today, the light flicks on. Using your closed fists to massage your knotted shoulders, you pluck out the letter, bypassing the one for Bunny for the moment.

So, it would be okay if I drew pictures too?

Underneath the writing there was a stick figure drawing of three people, clearly a family. He'd drawn bunny ears for the shorter girl standing between the two adults, holding their hand. The 'mom' had cat ears, and the 'dad' had devil horns.

Before you can help it, you're laughing at how ridiculously endearing it was. He'd doodled what looks like a tiny crow next to his stick figure, a cat next to yours and a wand in Bunny's hand. It is the silliest, most goofy sketch you've ever seen, and you love it to bits.

Your smile drops immediately when you realize how easily the laugh had come to you; how light and carefree you'd felt just a second ago. The day from hell that you'd just experienced felt so far away, like it was from a different lifetime and that scares you. Enough to stand up again to dispel the spell even if your feet were killing you.

Unacceptable. You were falling back into old patterns, newer tricks with the same outcome, and you were done. The only person you're living for is your daughter and no one else has any place in the life you've built for the both of you.

But as you lay in bed that night, you're thinking of the tiny sketch again, a smile splitting your lips so wide as you recall how adorable it was.

With a silent apology to your daughter, you close your eyes. He may not have a permanent place in the life you'd built but just for a little while, you could pretend.

Right?

Pictures are okay but you need to sharpen your skills.

Pardon me for not being as talented as our daughter pretty princess. My talents lie elsewhere, I'm afraid.

You ignore his usage of our even as you fight a smile.

What do you do for a living? Apart from being the occasional garbage collector and a struggling artist?

Sylus laughs, immediately sitting down to write back.

Meditate, mostly. Solitary confinement can be lonely. Occasionally participate in the sparring matches here on Saturday to pass time.

You weren't a fool. Solitary confinement wasn't just given to just any other inmate. The crime had to be of a serious measure, or he'd have to be someone who was a danger to other criminals.

Maybe if you stopped beating up people, they'd let you in a public space instead of keeping you isolated.

Do you atleast win these matches?

Do you atleast win these matches?

Sylus has to rub the back of his palm over his mouth- once, twice before he gives up any attempt to hold his amusement down, smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks.

I cannot be blamed for the half-witted fools who challenge me in the ring. Besides, you need to get a few bones broken to build resilience (:

If I said no, will you tend to my wounds?

You're rolling your eyes when you first read the words, but you've smiled to yourself all day every time you've thought of them.

Sylus opens your letter impatiently.

I'm not your caretaker.

His brows furrow at the flippant tone. Confused, he peeks into the envelope to see if there was more. Between his daughter's letter and the envelope, there's something lodged in the middle and he plucks it out, only to bark out in laughter when he lays his eyes on it.

->

Bunny is.

Please thank Princess Bunny for her care and the hello kitty band-aid. Atleast someone cares for her old man. Her mother's charm is her cruelty.

All your life you'd felt like a pushover. Someone who was used to being walked all over. A doormat.

Your lips lifted. Felt nice to hear you had claws too.

How old are you?

Old enough to be the starring role in every fantasy you've had of me.

That letter gives you pause. Makes you look around like he'd caught you. Like he knew what you did lying in bed. You decide he needs humbling.

Sylus is brimming with tension when he plucks out the second letter in the envelope. It had been 3 weeks since you'd responded and he'd worried that he'd taken it too far, that you were done with him, spent sleepless nights wondering if you'd write back.

Full of ourselves, are we?

Feeling left out, darling? Want to feel ful(l of me)filled too?

You hate that he doubled down every time. There was really no humbling a man who considered himself above the average lot.

You kiss your mother with that mouth?

Your response is instantaneous this time and he can almost feel the way you must be seething, if the blot of ink against the letters is any indication.

No, just our daughter's mother.

There was truly no winning with him.

A/N: First things first, I know the chapter is a bit underwhelming as compared to all the promise of the premise but there's a reason I'm calling this part 2.1 cuz I am a staunch believer in buildup, and I want to do it justice.

Secondly, I am OVERWHELMED at the response the first part got. The kind words everyone wrote, trust me when I say I reread the comments hundreds of times and scrolled thru the reblogs like a fanatic. Truly thankful to everyone who stopped a second to say such sweet things, in my comments, in the reblogs and even my asks. I'm so grateful<3 Feel free to reach out if you notice any typos or errors!

I don't have a permanent taglist but if you'd like to be tagged for updates on this fic, comment below and I'll add you!

As you absentmindedly braided her hair that night, you wondered if it was your bad luck or good grace that he'd been killed in a riot in jail. When the penitentiary had phoned for you to come and identify his body, you'd been scared.

Scared that it wouldn't be him and the bastard would've cheated death itself.

You decided there was no need for your daughter to ever know what kind of person her father was. But as she grew older and the neighbors' kids started talking, it was clearly affecting her more than you'd realized.

"Hey, Bun" You softly turned her to face you "Do you miss Daddy?"

Her eyes widened like she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar before she hid her hands behind her back, shoulders drooping "No.."

"It's okay if you do" You reassured her. You couldn't blame her for feeling left out when she watched all the little kids get picked up by both their parents. It was obvious she'd wonder why she didn't have that.

You weighed your options. If you played it right, you could satisfy her and also keep her in the dark at the same time.

"Would you like to write him a letter?"

Tears sprang to your eyes when you saw how instantly she bloomed in joy, nodding vigorously and trying to escape your hold so she could do it immediately. You stopped her, promised you'd help her write it the next day if she went to bed at once.

Three days after she posted her letter, you brought one home with a flourish, telling her that her father had written back after all!

If the little lie you told was the reason your daughter had the dopiest smile on her face, you'd never feel guilty for it ever again. Especially not as you tucked her into bed that night, her little fist still clutching the letter like it was her lifeline.

It was only a few days later that you felt your heartbeat nearly triple when she rushed into the house, clutching a blood red envelope "Mommy! Mommy look!" You'd been folding laundry when she barreled into your legs "Daddy wrote letter again!"

You didn't mean to, but you snatched the letter from between her hands so fast, it startled her. Lower lip wobbling, you saw the tears well up in her eyes and immediately decided to do damage control.

"Daddy said I should only give you this letter if you freshen up for dinner quickly!"

When your daughter turned and sprinted for the bathroom, you couldn't believe it had worked. Abandoning the laundry, you tore the envelope open and started reading.

My dearest Princess,

Daddy very much misses you as well. I'm always thinking of my precious daughter.

P.S You are very good at drawing! I'm proud of you.

Love,

Daddy

You stared in disbelief. Sure, you had really posted the letter to the penitentiary when your daughter had insisted to take it all the way to the post office herself. You'd come up with a random serial number on the spot and figured they'd just toss the letter when they realized there was no one with that number on the roster.

Not only had someone received her letter...they'd also written back? In character?

The obvious conclusion is that it's an accident. An obvious mix-up. But your daughter is so ecstatic, you can't possibly break her heart like this.

So, you let her write a letter back. Again going to the post office and posting it.

When the third letter comes back from the prison, you decide to take matters in your own hands. Writing a little letter of your own and enclosing it with your daughter's drawings.

I really appreciate you humoring my daughter, but this was just a way to cope since her father is dead. There is no need to keep up with the farce.

I don't mind it. I quite enjoy her little sketches of the three of us. Tell her that Daddy's hair is lighter in color (:

I will not be telling her anything of the sort.

So cutthroat. You wound me, darling.

Despite yourself, you found your lips lifting at his words, but you caught yourself in record time, shoving the little note in your jeans as you quickly skimmed over his letter to your daughter before you deemed it okay to hand it to her.

She squealed with delight, clutching her new bunny by the ear as she thundered down to her room to read her letter in "secret". You watched her go till she was out of sight, still staring after her and wondering if it really was a bad idea to exchange harmless letters. If some bored criminal wanted to play house with your daughter over some letters, was there really any real danger to it?

You'd always check the letter she'd write, illegible as it was, to see if she didn't accidentally reveal any information about herself. And after she'd go to sleep, you'd only change one little thing.

Erasing her name at the bottom, you used your non-dominant hand to sign a pet name. Not once had you let your daughter's letters carry her real name over to a criminal. For the sake of her mental health, you'd allowed the letters, but this was non-negotiable to you.

Like clockwork, every Tuesday his letter arrives, you skim the contents before re-sealing it and handing it over to your daughter when she comes home from pre-school. Subsequently, you post her letter every Wednesday evening, using an address that was four blocks away from yours, belonging to the sweetest old lady who lived by herself and had dementia. You felt horrible taking advantage of the fact that she never checked her mail so you could always just conveniently swipe out the letters from her mailbox, but you brought her enough baked goods to make up for it. The letters you sent were just addressed to the penitentiary; with the serial number of an inmate you'd never know the owner of.

He signed his letters Skye but after having lived a life in hiding with a criminal, you'd learned not to trust the lot. If your daughter's deteriorating mental state hadn't been in question, the first letter would've never gone out.

One Tuesday evening, your daughter pulls at your pants to grab your attention and gives you a tiny note that she says is from Daddy. Your senses immediately go on high alert, wondering how you could've missed it, worrying he's said something inexcusable and you would have to stop this little pen pal relationship.

Am I not allowed to know what my daughter looks like?

You feel a vein throbbing in your forehead, smiling at your daughter as she stares at you with her big doe-like eyes before you distract her with a snack.

If he wants to know what your daughter looked like, he would do something crazy like wanting to meet her if he ever got out. And if that wasn't bad, he'd probably kidnap her or do something inane, maybe he was already plotting it. Feeling your heart drop to your chest, you decide it really was the end.

That week, you don't send your daughter's letter. It remains in an unmarked envelope, hidden on the top shelf of your closet in a big box at the very back. The Wednesday of the week after, you wake up in cold sweat wondering if he sent a letter anyway. The morning of, you drop by the old lady's mailbox and quickly look through her mail just in case and sigh in relief when there's nothing in it.

The next week, you can't help the dread as you're swiping through the mailbox again, realizing how stupid you'd been. Not only had you probably endangered your daughter, but also the sweet old lady who always babysat for you whenever you had to pull extra shifts at work.

You can't keep the guilt off your face when you run into her at the grocery store that weekend, paying for her share as well when you realize she didn't remember to bring her wallet with her, heart pinching in agony at having taken advantage of her situation. Your daughter is skipping in front as you carry all the grocery bags, dropping the old lady off at her place with her stuff. She insists you stay for tea and you're about to decline but she's already bribed your daughter with cake and it's too late to retreat.

The sun is setting in streaks of orange and blue when you finally wave goodbye to her, adjusting the beanie on your daughter's head before she runs off again. You cross the mailbox, your stomach dropping as you backtrack and decide to doubly check.

Your hands are sweaty, forehead perspiring as you pluck out the blood red envelope, gulping as the dread overwhelms you, like hands wrapping around your throat and squeezing squeezing squeezing to see how long you'd last.

You quickly shove the letter inside your purse before your daughter can catch sight of it. There was no way she was going to read it- if at all- without you proofreading it first.

The entire walk home, you cannot keep your eyes off her. Heart palpitating like any minute you expect someone to pick her off the street and run away where you could never find her again.

Your mind is on the contents of the letter throughout preparing dinner, watching your daughter's favorite show, her bath time, reading her a story to bed and finally, like all the other nights for the past week reassuring her that her Daddy does love her even if he's not written back in a while.

By the time you're finally alone, you're about ready to rip off your hair from its roots as you hastily open the envelope and pluck the letter out.

You skim the letter, it is inconspicuous, nothing suggesting that he never received another letter, keeping the conversation going like always. Asked her about school, her best friend Kara (who was a plushie, but he'd never know) and what kind of cake she liked. Totally innocent. Picking up where they'd previously left off.

You checked for another note, and sure enough there was one. Hands trembling, you opened the twofold and started reading.

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

You'd have appreciated the sarcasm if your knees weren't fighting the urge to buckle and give in from the dread.

I suppose I have scared you with my little request. Thus, the lack of letters from your end for the past couple weeks. I apologize for the same, I only realized the implications of my request afterwards. I meant no harm and would understand if you would like to stop completely.

You trusted the man as far as you could throw him. Considering you knew nothing about him; you decided even that was unreliable.

But once in a while, with your permission of course, if the little bunny draws any more pictures, I'd be very much interested in seeing them.

In sickness and in health,

Daddy

You huffed out a laugh at his audacity, feeling your chest deflate. Years spent trusting your instinct to protect your daughter had wound you so tight that feeling even a single knot loosen was enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.

As you posted your daughter's letter that Wednesday, you couldn't help but laugh at your inside joke, wondering how he'd take it. If his previous demeanor was anything to go by, you were guessing it'd be in stride.

"Mail!"

Complete silence filled the yard, all the inmates stopping where they were, at odds with how they'd usually be clawing over each other to get their mail first.

Because no one touched their letters till he had taken his.

The crowd parted like the red sea, hordes of men in orange clearing a path till the mailman who, for all the brave face he put on, was trembling in his pants as well. He could feel the bead of sweat on his back, lining his forehead as he watched him approach, praying to all the Gods up in Heaven that someone- anyone had written this man a letter.

When he'd realized there was no letter for him, yet again, no one had been allowed to take theirs. Not because he forbade them, but because they were scared of what he'd do.

He'd not raised his voice, barely bothered looking intimidating and yet no one stood in his vicinity as he carded through the envelopes, not finding one for himself before asking in a saccharine tone "Are you sure you didn't misplace any?"

The first week, the mailman had been cocky, confident. He'd tched as he snatched the mail back, wondering why no one else was stepping forward "Don't blame me just 'cuz there ain't a letter for you in here ya bloke"

But when no one else stepped forward to take their mail, all that confidence had wavered as he looked around at downcast eyes, no one willing to risk upsetting him any more than he already was.

For the past two weeks, inmates had been avoiding him like the plague. He wasn't amiable on any day but if he didn't receive his letters on Friday, it was a long weekend for all of them.

Especially the ones who challenged him in the ring on Saturday nights.

The second week, it was a similar outcome. The mailman didn't understand what exactly was going on but the nervous, fidgety energy of the inmates was making him nervous as he watched him go through the envelopes and come up empty.

This time he'd just raised an eyebrow, making the mailman sweat "I didn't misplace any!" The desperation and fear ringing clear in his voice.

He'd smiled, crimson eyes glimmering in the sunlight "No one's blaming you" He'd turned around but the wind still carried over the last word "Yet"

The mailman had found himself rechecking for any lost envelopes thrice. He didn't know what would become of him if he returned another week without a letter.

Everyone waited with bated breath as he flipped through the stack of mail the mailman had just handed over and a collective sigh of relief escaped when he plucked out a measly white envelope, lips lifting in a sinister smirk as he handed the rest of the stack back, uncaring of the crowd descending on the poor mailman now that they had the green signal.

He returned to his cell, littered with drawings lining the walls surrounding a single bed, desk and chair. His fingers were twitching with excitement as he tore open the envelope and three things fell out.

He picked up the one on the top first. His daughter had written back to him finally, describing in great detail that she had won a finger-painting competition in school, that Kara came second, her favorite cake was "stroubery". A wry smile lifted his lips at the little sketch of the cake next to the text with cherries lining the top.

Like always, she'd signed it

Luv u forehver

Princess Bunny

He admired your resolute, truly. Your daughter's writing was so dark that it would leave indents behind the paper and yet, you'd erase her name so cleanly every time that despite multiple attempts at shading over the lines of the pencil indents, he was yet to figure out her name.

Picking up the second letter, he couldn't help the smirk spreading over his lips when he saw what you'd addressed it.

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

God, he wanted to see you mouth off to him in person so bad.

I've attached a picture of her.

He was so surprised that he immediately dropped your letter to look at the polaroid you'd sent him. One he stared at for all of two seconds before throwing his head back and barking with laughter, unable to help himself as his shoulders shook with mirth.

Beautiful, isn't she?

She looks forward to your letters so I suppose you can keep sending them.

In happiness and in sorrow,

Mommy

Resting his forehead on the letter, he could faintly smell the perfume lingering on it and wondered what you looked like. He'd spent almost every day since your first letter wondering who you could possibly be. Sure, he had no reason to lie here and actually complete his sentence, he could get out whenever he wanted but he looked forward to his daughter's letters. There was no fun in finding out who you were through Luke and Keiran when he was sure he could get you to come to him. And you would. Slowly but surely.

As he pinned up the latest letter next to the others, he also pinned the polaroid next to it, unable to escape the huff of laughter escaping him when he gazed at the ultrasound.

Sylus would make you his. There was simply no other option.

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

She is, indeed the most beautiful little princess I've ever seen. She takes after her mother, I'm sure. For research purposes, would you be willing to provide evidence I can submit?

To have and to hold,

Daddy

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Do you want my ultrasound too?

For better or for worse,

Mommy

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

I don't mind. Although, I'll admit I usually save the ultrasounds for a third date.

For richer or for poorer,

Daddy

Dearest Daddy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Unfortunately for you, I don't have those ultrasounds or a third date for you.

To love and to cherish,

Mommy

Dearest Mommy of the Prettiest Princess in the World,

Why don't we start at a first one then? I would like to know the color of your eyes.

Till' death do us part,

Daddy

A/N: This has been marinating in my drafts for two months now. Time to unlock multiple chapter fics<3

“You’ve never had sex?”

Immediately feeling your face warm as sets eyes staring into your soul. Trying to hide behind your glass you respond to your bearded friend, “Yes. It’s not that weird.”

He rubs the back of his head messing up his hair, “Thought you’d already have.” He then takes a look at his white haired friend, making you glare at him.

Olruggio knows your long time crush you’ve had on Qifrey. He is always trying to set you up but it seems Qifrey is just oblivious to it all.

“Olruggio, leave her alone.” Qifrey looks at you, “Don’t feel pressured. It’s different for woman than it is for men.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean?” Qifrey glares at him.

“Know what, never mind. I’m going to bed.” Olruggio takes his glass, putting it in the sink. “Don’t get too drunk, I do not want to be cleaning the atelier once I wake up.”

“You’re the drunk.”

Olruggio rolls his eyes at your words before disappearing off to his room.

“Well that was an eventful night.”

“You could say that again.” You curl up into blanket that you grabbed from the back of the couch earlier.

“You cold?”

You nod in response, making Qifrey slide over to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him.

“Better?” He whispers.

Your eyes find his, face only inches apart. “Yeah.” Is all you manage to say before your gaze follows the slope of his nose before they land on his lips.

So close.

If you only lean up slightly, your lips would connect.

Looking back up to meet his gaze, he’s staring deeply at you. His chest rising slightly faster.

“May I ask you another question?”

“Go ahead.” You whisper softly, almost not recognizing your own voice.

“Have you kissed anyone?”

Your voice hitches at his question. Yet that doesn’t change his gaze, if anything he’s even more focused.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “No.”

You always wanted to be with him in every way so you kept all these moments to share with him. You know it was pretty extreme to assume that it would happen, but any time you talked to another guy in a more romantic way, it felt like you were betraying Qifrey.

“I have a proposition for you. An agreement if you will.”

“I’m listening.”

“I can help you,” he pauses slightly trying to find the words he exactly wants say. “With both of those.”

“You want to have sex with me!?” You blurt out.

Qifrey quickly covers your mouth, “Shh darling. We don’t want Olruggio to hear.”

You nod slowly making him retract his hand. “I didn’t expect you to be that loud… will have to keep that in mind.”

You blush easily once again. “Sorry…”

“No need to apologize.” He cups your cheek, “But yes, I want to have sex with you, so you can learn and understand it. I would hate for you to have a bad first time or not be pleasured by other men in this sense.”

You blink quickly at his words, you have never heard Qifrey speak like this. You didn’t know he was a little freak… have you really been missing out on this?

“I agree.”

“So quick? But we haven’t even talked about boundaries.”

“We can figure it out as we go.” You don’t add how it wouldn’t be necessary since he made it sound like it is going to be a one time thing.

“I trust you to tell me if anything is off.” He stands up holding his hand out to you.

He pulls you up and you smile at him, “I promise.”

“Good.” He laces your fingers before guiding you to his room.

Once you two are inside his room, he locks the door. Double, even triple checking to make sure it’s locked.

He turns back to you with a light smile, “Still want to do this? You can say no, I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I want this.”

He closes the distance again, resting his hand on your cheeks. “Follow my lead.”

Qifrey leans down lightly pressing his lips against yours. You immediately press your lips against his and try to follow along with his. You also hold onto his shirt tightly to try and stabilize yourself.

It’s a bit sloppy, your teeth will knock into each others, some salvia runs down your chin, and your tongues fight against one another, not in a good way.

He pulls back, “Someone is eager.”

“Sorry…” you say not knowing what else to say.

He pulls off his glasses tossing them aside, “No need to apologize. I quite enjoy it.”

He grabs the back of your head pulling you back into another kiss. This one is more heated than the other one. Your lips dance nicely against one another as your tongues meet each other in another perfect dance.

You feel your body heat up and a wetness start to pool in your underwear. Can kissing really make you feel this way? The knots in your stomach feel like no other feeling you have felt before. This isn’t from nerves or happiness.

It’s from pure pleasure.

Qifrey guided you back until the back of your knees hit his bed. He disconnects his lips from yours.

“Still okay?”

“Yes.”

He reaches for the hem of your shirt, playing with it a bit to make you comfortable. Sliding his hands under your shirt slightly just to get you use of the feeling of his bare hands on your bare skin.

“Do you mind if I take this off?”

“Go ahead.”

With your confirmation he reaches for the hem again then pulls it slowly up. As your skins shows more and more you feel a bit nervous that he is going to see everything.

Will he like it?

Will he be disgusted?

He drops your shirt onto the ground beside his bed. He takes you in slowly, raking his eyes from your chest bound by your bra, to your stomach, to your hips that show slightly from above your skirt.

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Do- do you mean it?”

He controls himself from dropping his jaw, “Of course. I would not lie to you about this.”

You reach for the back of your bra to unlatch the hooks. It falls between you two and his voice hitches.

“Absolutely beautiful.” He tells you without hesitation.

As if he senses your nerves from being bare from your waist up, he slips off his black shirt.

His body is slender but he is still pretty built. You can see the definition of his muscles in his arms and abs. It makes your mouth water along with your underwear getting damper.

You raise your hand to run your finger tips gently from his chest to his abs. As you get lower you feel him react, making you pull back quicker than you have in your entire life.

“I am so sorry! I should have asked- I’m so sorry Qifrey.”

He laughs gently before taking your hand in his, “How I reacted is because I like your touch. Not because I didn’t.”

“But I should have asked-“

He shuts you up by kissing you harder than he has before. He guides you back so your back is on his bed and he hovers above you.

Your chests are close so when you arch when he rolls his hips into yours, your boobs press against his chest. You both moan at the feeling.

He breaks the kiss to kiss down your cheek to your neck, stopping at your chest. He takes one nipple into his mouth sucking gently at it. You weave your hand into his soft white hair, pulling his closer.

He pops off your nipple and you whine. “Like that?”

You whine again while nodding which makes his laugh lightly again. He leans down again but sucks your other nipple while playing with the one he was just sucking.

He sucks harder and harder at your nipple while playing and flicking the other bud. The feeling hits you hard and it makes your lower area ache.

“Qifrey~” you cry out.

He pops off your nipple to kiss you quickly. Pulling slightly away but not far because your breaths still mix.

“How you say my name drives me insane,” he admits.

“Qifrey, please.”

He pushes himself off the bed to rid himself of his pants and underwear in one go. You see his hard member slap against his lower abdomen. It’s pretty long and skinny. Your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought of that being inside of you.

You sit up to start to push your skirt and underwear down but he stops your hands. “This is my job. Let me take care of you.”

He pulls off your skirt slowly first so he doesn’t overwhelm you. When he goes to pull your underwear down he feels the wet spot. He internally groans as he pulls them down.

The thought of you getting that wet form kissing and some stimulation makes his dick get impossibly harder. You’re so perfect, he thinks to himself.

“Lay your head on the pillows for me pretty girl.”

You move back so you’re resting on his pillows. You’re engulfed in his scent making you feel warm, comfortable, happy, and most importantly safe.

He crawls to hover over you. His blue eye shines brightly, “Still good to keep going?”

“Yes.” You love how he keeps checking in with you, but you don’t expect anything different from him.

He runs his hand down the side of your ribs to your hip, “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Have you ever done anything yourself?”

You turn your head from his gaze, “Yes… but I never really felt that good from it.”

“When was the last time you tried?”

“Probably months ago.”

He tilts your head back to look at him, “No need to be embarrassed. I just want to make sure I don’t hurt you at all.”

“You could never.”

“This isn’t the most comfortable thing for women their first time.”

“I trust you.”

He gently kisses your forehead, “That’s good to know.”

He guides his free hand down to your aching core. Running his finger up and down your slip to get you use to this feeling. When he feels your body warm up to the feeling he place his finger at your entrance.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

He pushes his finger in slowly, watching your face carefully. When your face only shows pleasure he pushes his finger in and out quickly, setting a pace he thinks is good for you.

You feel like you’re on cloud nine right now. His singular finger reaches deeper than your fingers ever did. How he moves them just makes the knot in your stomach get tighter and tighter. You never were able to get yourself this far while Qifrey can do it in mere moments.

You’re incredibly jealous to the girls he’s obviously done this to before. Because damn, he’s a pro at this.

He adds another finger and adjusts their positions as he curls them into you. Which ends up making him hit the spot you always tried to find but never found.

You moan louder than you have before while also arching your back off the mattress.

“Oho?” Qifrey smirks, “Guess I finally found it.”

“Qi-Qifrey-“

“Guess I need to do a bit more.” He brings his head down to your core and starts sucking on your clit.

That sends your body into over drive. You pull his hair tightly, making him moan into your cunt. The extra vibrations makes you clench on his fingers tightly.

“Qifrey, I feel-“ you let out a loud moan, throwing your head back.

“I got you. Just let go.”

As if his words were the final push to get you over the edge and make you come. It’s a feeling that never experienced before but it feels amazing and so right with Qifrey.

He guides you through your high before pulling his fingers out of you so he can position himself over you again.

“You with me?”

You nod, “I’m here.”

“Good,” he smiles.

He watches you blink slowly, “Want to keep going?”

You nod.

“Need to hear your words beautiful.”

“Yes.”

“You sure? You look tired.”

“Please Qifrey.” You beg him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I really want this with you.”

He flushes a bit before smiling slightly. “Then we will keep going.”

Qifrey runs his dick in the mixture of your slick and cum so he will be able to enter you easier.

Positioning himself at your entrance, he looks at you once again.

“Ready?”

“More than ever.”

He takes a deep breath before slowly pushing himself in. He gets his tip along with an inch or two in before you start to tighten around him and stiffen.

“Hey, relax for me.”

“Sorry- it’s hard to-“

“Hold onto me instead. Squeeze my arms or any part of my upper body as tightly as you want.”

You dig your nails into his bicep so you don’t focus on squeezing his dick. That allows him to slide in more and more until his hips are flush with yours.

It feels a bit uncomfortable and awkward at first. But he doesn’t push or anything, he just stays there to allow you to adjust to him.

You move your hips a bit to get use of the feeling of it sliding in and out a bit. After the repeated motion, it feels good. Like really good.

“You can move now.”

“You sure?”

“Promise.”

He pulls out a few inches before pushing himself back in. He saw what you were doing earlier so he tries to get you use to the motion and feeling of the speed along with the overall feeling.

You slide your arms back up you position them around his neck.

“You can go faster and pull out more.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll say something if it does.”

“Okay…” he trails off before taking another deep breath.

He’s wanted to do this with you since he really learned this feeling. He’s wanted you this entire time and now he does. He’ll admit it’s not exactly how he wants you because he wants to be with you but he chickened out at the last second.

Qifrey pulls out so only the tip is left inside you then thrusts quickly so he is back inside you fully only to pull out just as quick. He sets this pace, still watching your face closely to make sure you still enjoy it.

Your face twists in pleasure. Your eyes roll back, your mouth opened with moans slipping out, your cheeks flushed, and a slight sweat coating your forehead. You’ve never looked better in Qifrey’s opinion. He wishes he could see you like this all the time.

So real.

So you.

This feels incredible. You’re so addicted to the feeling of him inside of you already. You just love it so much. You want to keep doing this with him. You want to lay yourself bare for him and only him.

That familiar feeling starts to build up quicker than it did last time.

“Qifrey-“

“I know… I’m close too.”

You pull him closer and that only eggs him on more. He starts to get sloppy once you hit your high. He’s really trying to not bust on the spot with you because he wants to focus on you. Plus he should also not be coming inside you, even though he wants to. Before he hits his peak, he pulls out and comes all over your abdomen.

You feel the warmth of his cum coat your stomach. You don’t mind it at all because it just feels so right to you.

He breaths heavily for a few seconds before kissing your cheek and pushing himself off the bed. He walks to his closet, pulling out a towel. He grabs a spell from his palmquire, making the towel wet before coming back to you.

He wipes down your stomach first, then your cunt, then himself. He tosses the towel aside to join you in bed. Pulling you to rest of his chest, he holds you tightly against him.

The warmth of him makes you sleepy especially after what you two just did. You don’t know what comes after this moment but you just want to enjoy it. It seems Qifrey is in silent agreement because he doesn’t say anything about it.

“Go ahead and sleep,” he tells you.

“Goodnight.” Your eyes finally close, allowing you to sleep.

He watches you drift off while your chest rises slowly.

“Goodnight, sleep well.”

***

You think just how crazy this whole thing started as you watch Qifrey sleep. It’s been almost a year since you two have started this arrangement. Since then Qifrey has gotten four apprentices, the fourth one just coming here a few days ago.

You two sleep with one another often, or well it started as often but the lines blur now. Most nights you don’t even have sex instead you two just sleep with one another. You two act like a couple but aren’t actually together.

Even though the girls think you are. Every time Qifrey tells them you are not together, Olruggio rolls his eyes and mumbles out something the girls should not be hearing. You know the girls are confused but you have no idea how to explain this to them so you two just say you’re close.

You go to get out of bed so you can make breakfast for the girls. You are going to try and make something special so Coco and truly feel at home. You don’t get far because an arm stops you.

“Where are you going?”

“Going to make breakfast for the girls. Go ahead and keep sleeping.”

He lets go of your arm so he can get out of bed as well. “Qifrey-“

“I am her master after all, the least I can do is help make breakfast.”

You relent before going to get ready before going to the kitchen. You try to forget about how you’re even confused by your relationship as well as you grab your clothes out of his closet.

You and Qifrey ended up making fluffy pancakes for the girls laying out different toppings they can put on theirs. As you set the plates in front of the girls, Olruggio walks into the annoyed.

“Why do you look so mad?” Tetia asks him.

Olruggio sits down next to Qifrey, “I have to go into Kahln because I need some more materials.”

“You get magic materials there too?!” Coco jumps up from her seat with sparkles in her eyes.

“Did you not show her anything when you all went?” He side eyes his white haired friend.

“We only visited Mr Nolnoa, I’m afraid.”

Olruggio looks back at Coco after getting his answer, “Would you like to join me?”

“REALLY!?” She runs around the table to stand by him jumping up and down. “DO YOU MEAN IT!?”

He flinches a bit from her excitement, “Uh yeah. That’s why I asked.”

“Can we also go?” Tetia asks.

“Sure why not. We can go when we are all done eating.” He looks at you and Qifrey, “You two coming?”

“I think we will stay here,” Qifrey winks at you which makes you try your best not to blush.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t know why I asked.”

The girls tilt their head in confusion. “There’s lots of cleaning that needs to be done. We’ve been a bit behind recently.” You come up with a quick lie.

“I’m glad I don’t have to clean then.” Richeh states. You all laugh at her words before continuing breakfast.

The girls are all ready to go with Olruggio but Qifrey can’t help himself from waving them off. “Be good for Olly girls! We want to hear all the stories when you get back.”

You drop a little spending money in their hands, “Pick whatever you want! Can’t wait to see what you come home with.”

As soon as that door closes Qifrey is pulling you into him, “Finally. We haven’t had a moment alone in weeks.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, “Well we better make the most of it…”

Qifrey is quick to lean in, not connecting your lips quite yet. “I don’t intend to waste it.” He then presses his lips against yours.

You two don’t make it to either of your rooms, instead you two are on the couch. You on your back, looking up at the man hovering above you as he starts to slide into you.

“You’re so perfect,” he groans, burying himself into your neck.

“S-so good,” you moan into his ear.

“Damn-“ he pants into your ear, “You’re everything.”

You arch your back as he picks up his pace and before you can stop them, those three words slip out.

“I love you.”

Qifrey instantly stiffens, stopping his movements all together.

“What-what did you say?”

“Uh… I love you.”

He pulls out of you, stumbling off the couch to his clothes. Immediately putting his clothes on, keeping his back to you.

You sit up, “Qifrey-“

“Stop.”

You freeze in spot from the look he’s giving you. You feel so bare and open in front of him. It feels so different from the other times, you feel so… so cold.

“You should not feel that way. That’s not what this is.”

You clench the couch between your hands, “Then what is this.”

“I’m just teaching you-“

“That’s a lie! If you were then why has this been going on for almost a year!?”

“It doesn’t matter because I don’t love you.”

Your heart stops, stomach ties into deep uncomfortable knots, mind starts racing and your lungs are having a difficult time taking in air.

You try to breathe but you can’t. It comes out short while not taking in air. It’s making you panic. You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Qifrey notices, “Hey-“ he tries to reach out but you smack his hand away harshly.

“Don’t.” You say between breathes.

“Let me help-“

You stare at him with a serious look, “You made your stance clear.”

You grab your cape, wrapping yourself in it before leaving the living room.

Qifrey stumbles again, using the wall to hold himself up. Holding his head in the hand not holding up his body, “What have I done?”

***

Days go by and Qifrey only sees you in passing. You don’t eat dinner with them anymore or even watch the girls practice anymore. The day they came back from Kalhn, you stayed in your room saying you were sick.

He can’t stand the distance. Yet he knows that he is the reason for it. Not hearing your laugh, seeing your smile, watching you with the girls, or just being around him is ripping him apart.

You’ll talk with the girls and Olruggio, but avoid him like the plague. He gets it, he really does, yet he can’t stop yearning for you.

He sits in the living room early in the morning, looking where the whole scene took place. It plays on a constant loop as if his mind has a permanent loop button.

The wooden stairs creak as someone walks down them. He turns his head to see you walking into the room. You obviously haven’t noticed him yet, it is still dark outside as well as the atelier so it doesn’t surprise him. This is the first time it’s just been you and him.

He is not wasting his opportunity.

Rushing off the couch to cut you off from walking down into the kitchen. You instantly stop so you don’t touch him at all. He can feel the barrier you have up between you two.

“Hey-“

“Move.” You try to get around him but he sticks his arm out, stopping you.

“Let me explain-“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Please-“

“STOP!” You look at him with tears in your eyes, “I don’t care for the excuses you’re going to make.” You jab your finger into his chest, “You hurt me. You ruined this.”

You step back forgetting about the tea you wanted to make. Qifrey’s face falls as he tries to form words to counter what you said. Yet he doesn’t say anything.

Turning on your heel you stomp back up stairs. You don’t care anymore after all you’re all packed for tonight.

This is the last cursed day you spent in this atelier with the man that shattered your heart.

Qifrey swallows thickly as he remembers the broken expression on your face. The feeling of your finger hitting him as his heart skips a beat and not in a good way. Yet the worst part was how your words struck him.

“So you really did mess it up.” Olruggio stands behind with his arms crossed.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You better fix it somehow.” Olruggio grabs an apple before heading back towards his room.

“I’ll fix this somehow.” He looks at the stairs you just walked up, “Please just give me some more time.”

***

The last day was sad for you. You spend extra time with the girls. Hugging them tightly as they celebrating a successful spell, brushing their hair for a longer time, and today you ate with them but sitting by them instead of the boys.

They had the biggest of smiles on their faces, you feel bad that those are going to be replaced with a sadder expression.

You even gave Olruggio a hug, but you played it off as a thank you for doing the dishes. You hugged him tightly but nothing that’s too long, so the others aren’t suspicious.

Standing in your room, everything is folded nicely on the bed so they don’t have to worry about cleaning it. All your stuff is in the bag you are holding.

Taking a deep breath you open the door to your room for the last time. Heading down the stairs you’re as quietly as you can since it is the middle of the night and you don’t want to wake anyone up then explain what’s going on.

You just need to leave. You can’t be in a place where the man you gave everything too said he doesn’t love you and it didn’t mean anything more than teaching.

As you get to the front door and open it, you hear a noise come from the kitchen. You pause to see if it was just the wind.

Your wish was not answered instead it’s the man you’re running from.

Qifrey brushes his hair back, “Can’t sl- why do you have a bag?”

“I-“

“Are you leaving?”

“Uh.” Is all you manage to get out.

“I-“ he steps towards you grabbing your bag, “Why are you leaving? This is your home.”

“It doesn’t feel like home anymore.” You tell his as you look away, not being able to look him in the eye. “After… after what you said, I can’t stay here anymore.”

“It doesn’t feel like home anymore.”

Your words hit Qifrey deeply. It hurts more than any injury he has gotten or the times he has almost drowned.

“You don’t mean that. I-I built this for us.”

“When you made it sure, but it’s different now.”

“Please you can’t leave-“

“Why so we can kiss and make up so you can get off again?” You snap.

“No-“

“I don’t trust you.”

His voice catches, you can’t mean that. Can you?

“Please say you’re lying.”

You finally glance at him with a sad expression, “I wish I was.”

He rips the bag out of your hands, throws it on the ground before placing his hands on your shoulders to have you fully face him. He has such a serious look in his eyes, something that you haven’t seen in a long time.

“I messed up incredibly. I have regretted every waking and sleeping second since I told you those awful words. I didn’t mean it at all. I was scared. I am scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of disappointing you.” He pulls you closer, you don’t stop him which makes him happier. “I have a lot that goes on in my head and life already, I don’t want to force you into something that could end poorly. I don’t want to give you a life I can’t promise.”

You place your hands on his forearms, squeezing them tightly, “I want everything with you, and always have. I want the good, the beautiful, the bad, and the ugly. I want it all because it wouldn’t matter what happens because I am with you.”

Qifrey hangs his head slightly, “I can’t even promise you that.” He almost says he will have to wipe your memory even more than he does but he can’t tell you. He can’t tell you anything.

“We don’t know what the future holds so we can be bound by words be say now.”

Your words make him hang his head even more. You sigh, “Qifrey. Look at me.”

He does as he’s told, you see his bright blue eye is emphasized by his red accents in his eye. He’s close to crying.

“Do you want this? Do you want us? If you do… I’ll stay but only if you don’t hide your feelings anymore.” You straighten slightly, “But if you don’t, then I leave here and now.”

You move his hands off your shoulders, taking a step back.

“Your choice.”

He doesn’t hesitate in his steps, he closes the distance pulling you into a tight hug.

“You.”

“I will always choose you.”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding, it’s shaky and uneven just because you honestly didn’t know what he was going to choose. You wrap your arms around him and bury yourself into his chest.

You missed this so much. You know you were part of the reason of the physical distance, yet it never crossed your mind that you two would be in this position again.

***

You wake up the next morning with Qifrey already awake gazing down at you.

“What?” You ask while you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes.

He waits for you to finish before having you face him, “I love you.”

Your jaw drops, “You don’t have to say it because-“

“I love you.”

“Qifrey.”

“I truly do.” He pushes himself up before helping you sit up and positioning you in his lap. “Always have, just was too nervous to say anything.”

“You mean it?”

“I promise.”

You smile down at him. You lean in to kiss his forehead, then his right cheek, then his left cheek, and landing the last one on his chin.

“You missed!” He whines.

Shaking your head, leaning in stopping a few inches away from his lips, “I love you.” You tell him before finally kissing his lips.

He smiles into the kiss as he tightens his hands on your thighs. He pulls back after a few seconds, “Thank you for staying.”

Coco's plan involved a skysoaring seal, for she believed that fresh air and scenery would give him the courage to confess to you.

Qifrey would try to inform her that yours and his sylph shoes would easily allow you both to fly, but Tetia piped in and claimed that it wasn't near romantic enough for a confession.

The girls whispered to each other for a moment before they all ran off, leaving Qifrey to stand there in confusion.

Little did he know, Coco had gone to prepare everything outside while Tetia and Richeh went to grab you. The two girls had made the excuse that Coco was practicing and required your help, and of course, you agreed and followed them outside.

And that's how Qifrey found himself in a boat with you.

Coco was drawing a seal on the sail she had made out of cloth and stuck onto the boat with a large stick, and she eventually hopped off the boat before leaning forward to finish the ring.

Then the boat flew forward.

The rocks on the hills bumped the bottom of the boat, and Qifrey gripped the sides of the boat in attempts to stay still until one particular bump sent him forward. His body crashed into yours, but he was quick to grab you before shouting for you to hold on.

You did as he asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he pressed his shoes together. The seals on the bottom of his shoes glowed, and you were shot out of the boat and taken into the air.

As you both stayed floating—you still in his arms while his hold only grew tighter around you—you looked down and watched as the boat crashed into a tree, shattering into pieces.

When you were taken back to the area where the others were, you and Qifrey were met with an apologetic Coco. The girl waved her hands around as she expressed her worry and apologies, and as soon as you and Qifrey were on the ground again, he looked up at her with a soft smile.

"It's quite alright, Coco." He would reassure the girl that you and him were okay, and that her drawing was likely a bit lopsided due to her rushing to finish the seal.

And while he was speaking to Coco, you would still be in his arms. He would look down at you as you peered over your shoulder and told Coco that it was an exhilarating ride, and you even thanked her for the adrenaline rush since it ridded you of your prior exhaustion.

You then looked up at Qifrey and patted his shoulder, thanking him for saving you before you pulled away from his arms. As you walked back towards the atelier, his arms were still held out before he slowly placed them back at his side, and Coco looked back at Tetia and Richeh with a worried expression.

That's when Tetia spoke up.

"Master Qifrey, can we try my plan?"

Tetia's plan involved her cloud spell, for she thought that the warmth and happiness it brought would allow Qifrey to relax and confess.

Now, Tetia didn't actually inform Qifrey about the details of her plan. She didn't inform anyone, for she said that explaining it would ruin the romantic suspense.

And her plan was literally just to wait until you and Qifrey were close enough so that she could use her seal. She waited until she noticed you and Qifrey talking before dashing forward, setting the seal down, and finishing its ring before jumping back as what appeared like thick fog gathered at your feet.

You and Qifrey were then trapped in a room of clouds.

The man looked around in confusion while you simply just snickered, and you eyed the clouds with fascination before leaning down to scoop some of the cloud into your hands.

You would confirm that this was Tetia's doing, and Qifrey would nod before swearing that Tetia had been in her room, but what he didn't say was that the girl had likely snuck down to do what he assumed was that little plan of hers.

He would shrug before his eyes fell on you, and he watched you stare in awe as the clouds slowly fell off the sides of your hands. A small smile made its way onto his expression as he examined the way the golden rays rested on your robes. It appeared as if there were a glow around you, and Qifrey let out a low sigh before whispering without thought.

"Stunning..."

"What was that?"

"The clouds! They're stunning, don't you agree?"

The haste in his words earned a smile from you, and you nodded while talking about how Tetia has really outdone herself with the spell.

As you spoke, Qifrey took in a deep breath, and he stepped forward to approach you. Surely, now was a perfect time to confess to you. You both were relaxed and everything just seemed perfect.

That was until he took another step and stepped on something.

He stumbled forward, and as soon as you noticed Qifrey falling, it was too late for you to attempt to catch him.

Qifrey's face was met with the cold flooring of his atelier, and a groan rang from him while the sound of rushing footsteps echoed.

"Master Qifrey!" Tetia's concerned voice reached his ears, but all he could respond with was a hum before he turned his face to the side.

He was met with the sight of you crouching down beside him, and your hand rested on his back as you gently rubbed it while looking down at him with worry.

"How hard did you hit your face, Qifrey? It's all red..."

He was certain that the reason for his flushed face wasn't from landing on the floor, but he wouldn't inform you of that.

Qifrey slowly sat up before expressing that he was fine, and he looked behind him to eye the pen on the floor—a familiar one that he knew to be Tetia's.

The girl seemingly noticed what he was looking at, and she rushed over to pick it up off the floor. "I'm sorry! I must've dropped it when I..."

Her words trailed as she stared at you, and she replaced the start of her previous explanation with a shrug. "I must have just dropped it at some point! I'm sorry, Master Qifrey..."

"It's alright, Tetia. I'm just relieved nothing was broken..."

You stood up while Qifrey reassured Tetia, and you stated that since Qifrey was alright, you were going to make a quick trip to Kalhn for some things. You waved the two goodbye before heading towards the door, and once you exited, Qifrey let out a sigh.

"That was supposed to work!" Tetia complained as her shoulders slumped, and Qifrey stood up before dusting himself off.

"Thank you for trying, Tetia..."

The girl instantly beamed. "Thank you for your thanks, Master Qifrey!"

"That means it's my turn to do my plan." The sudden voice made Qifrey look up from his robes, and he watched as Richeh walked up to him.

"I believe it is time for your plan, Richeh."

Richeh's plan involved her crystal ribbons, though she didn't explain what she was going to use said ribbons for. All she said was that they would be of use for her plan.

And her plan was apparently just to tie you and Qifrey together until he confessed.

After you returned from Kalhn, the girl had managed to get you close enough to Qifrey to where her and Tetia could run a few circles around you both before you two were pressed together. His front would be against yours, and he'd slightly squirm before calling for Richeh in a worried tone.

When you both looked at her, she just gave him a thumbs up before running out of the room with a giggling Tetia who swore that the plan would work.

You would look at Qifrey confused, for you weren't aware of what plan they were talking about, and the man would just look at you with a flushed face while stammering out apologies. He'd go on about how young ones were—mischievous and so very full of energy.

Any time he tried to pull away, the ribbon would just flex before forcing him right back against you, and his shoulders slumped as he eventually gave up on escaping the ribbons.

He would have tried to draw a seal, but his hands were stuck to his side due to how tight the binds around you both were, and there was nothing close by that he could use.

It seemed that the only way to escape was to confess, for he knew Richeh's stubbornness meant that she likely wouldn't let you both go until he confessed.

He would quietly say your name before speaking. "I was wanting to speak to you about something..."

"Just a moment, Qifrey..."

He would be confused until the sound of something shattering echoed, and when he looked down, he noticed that the ribbon around you and him had been broken.

Looking back at you, he watched as you held out your pen, and you explained how you had pressed as hard as you could with the edge of your pen until it shattered. You hadn't expected it to work, but it was all you were able to do with your hands behind your back.

"Now, what was it you were wanting to wanting to talk about?"

Qifrey would be quick to shake his head and state that it was nothing—that he had forgotten what he even wanted to say, and you would slightly shrug your shoulders before walking off.

He raised a hand to gently rub at his temples, and he heard a huff from behind him before peering over his shoulders.

Richeh stood with a frown on her face as she stared at the shattered crystal on the floor, and Coco and Tetia were behind her with saddened expressions.

"Richeh's plan didn't work either?" Tetia sighed, and Coco placed a hand on her shoulder before looking at Qifrey.

"I'm sure we can come up with something else! We'll figure out another plan."

But there was one more plan left, and that was Agott's plan.

The girl hadn't been seen all day aside from the morning, and Qifrey could only assume that she was in her room practicing. It wasn't surprising that she didn't participate with the others, for what went on today wasn't necessarily deemed a learning lesson.

What was surprising, though, was the sight of Agott walking into the living area.

Qifrey and the other girls had been sitting near the fireplace—Qifrey gathering his bearings while the girls attempted to figure out another plan that would surely work and help Qifrey confess.

They only looked up whenever they heard someone clear their throat, and they gazed over to the stairs to stare at Agott.

Agott was peering over at Qifrey, and she only spoke when his eyes met hers.

"Why not just confess instead of going through with these ridiculous plans?"

"Hey!" Tetia called, but Agott's gaze didn't waver from her teachers.

"All I'm saying is that confessing is easier than going through all these plans that aren't certain. A whole day of learning was wasted, and I'd rather tomorrow not be the same." She reasoned before turning back around, but before she went back to her room, she said one last thing.

"And I have reason to believe you'll be met with the answer you want if you just say something."

And that was how Qifrey found himself standing in front of the door to your room—his hand clenched as it hovered over your door in preparation to knock.

The knock didn't come for a while, though—he stood there with his heart racing while he tried to convince himself to just knock. It was such a simple action yet he was treating it as if it were a decision between life and death.

As soon as he gathered the courage to knock, the door creaked open, and he was left to stare at you while you looked at him in confusion. His eyes flickered from you to his hand that was hanging stupidly in the air, and he hastily placed it back at his side before you spoke.

"Is everything alright, Qifrey?"

All he could muster was a quiet "uhm" before snapping his mouth shut, and you gave him a smile before inviting him in.

When he closed the door behind him, he could feel the coldness of the hallway vanish as he was engulfed by the warmth of your room.

You faced him as you questioned if he was coming to you due to how the girls were acting earlier, for you believed that they had been acting off all day. You even added that he had been acting off as well.

If only you knew, Qifrey wanted to say, but he kept quiet as he shook his head.

He stated that he was wanting to talk about something else—the thing he had supposedly "forgotten" earlier—and you perked up before nodding.

While it already took Qifrey a moment to admit that he wanted to talk to you about something, with the way you were looking at him, he knew it was going to take much more time to actually get out his words.

You were looking at him with curiosity, and the dim lights from the lamps around your room made your eyes gleam. You were staring at him expectantly.

Qifrey found his breath hitching in his throat, and he became much more aware of his surroundings than he would've liked to be. He noticed the papers on your desk and the ink stains on its wood, and he noticed how your window was open just enough for a small breeze to flow through the crevice.

But when his eyes met yours, all those little details became a blur. His shoulders relaxed as he stared at you, and he took in a breath.

"I believe I'm enamored with you, and I do apologize if that's blunt, but I fear that's the only wording I can come up with..." He raised a hand to rest it on the back of his neck, and he glanced at your desk before whispering. "It is rather difficult to think whenever you're around..."

Whenever you went silent, the tension in Qifrey's shoulders returned, and he slightly pursed his lips as he lowered his hand to his side.

"Is this why the girls have been trying to get us alone all day?" You finally questioned.

Qifrey let out a nervous chuckle as he nodded to confirm your assumption, and while he expected many outcomes to happen, he didn't expect you to walk past him.

"Well, then," you spoke as you walked to the door. You reached out to grab the handle, and you pulled the door open.

Revealing the group of girls sitting in front of the door.

"That explains a lot. I suppose they should be allowed to hear my answer as well, given the effort they all put into helping you today."

Tetia and Coco looked up at you with surprised expressions, and Richeh just stood up from her squatting position while Agott sighed. "I told you all that we would get caught..."

"But we get to hear the answer!" Tetia exclaimed as she stood up from the floor, and Coco did the same while you slightly leaned down as you gestured for them to get closer.

When they all were near you, you whispered something to them, and Qifrey watched as Tetia, Coco, and Richeh lit up, and Agott had an expression that said something along the lines of "I already knew this."

"Now, you all go to bed and get some rest. It's late."

At your words, the girls nodded before walking down the hallway, and you watched them through your doorway as you heard Qifrey's footsteps approach from behind you.

"May I ask what you said to them?" He questioned as he stood beside you, and you noticed the nervousness in his tone.

"I just told the girls how good their plans were and how it was sweet that they were helping there teacher." You leaned against the doorframe as you heard Qifrey let out a small hum. "I also told them that I am enamored with you as well."

You snickered once you glanced at Qifrey and noticed how tense he was, and his head turned as he looked at you with wide eyes. "Do you think they heard what I said to you?"

"They heard everything, Qifrey."

"Oh, dear..." He sighed. "I'm sure I'll hear all about that in the morning...I can hear Tetia's teasing already."

"We'll hear about it in the morning." Qifrey raised an eyebrow as you continued. "And in my opinion, what you said was very sweet. It was genuine."

Qifrey didn't hold back the smile that tugged at his lips, and hesitantly, he gently took your hand in his before giving it a soft squeeze. "I'm relieved to hear that."

He gathers himself that night at dinner, you're sitting next to him tonight, his hand resting on your thigh as he smiles at you, watching you bite down on your lip, a pretty flush to your skin.

"I am sorry again for today,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of your drying hair back gently. “I really thought I had that one down.”

“It was kind of fun,” you giggle now, sipping your wine, a drop of it on your lips. “Master Qifrey always keeps me away from any danger, locked up almost. So it was a little… exhilarating.”

“Yeah?” You nod and he exhales.

Thank God.

“I actually have a different method than Qifrey does for magic," he murmurs softly, as you nibble on your dinner. "I should show you some time."

"Oh, different from the ocean trip?"

"Mhm," you lean forward just a bit, pretty tits leaned out of your neckline for his hungry blue eyes to hit. You sip your wine carefully once more, feeling the intensity of his gaze taking your breath.

You may or may not have a crush on Qifrey - but you also may or may not have a crush on Satoru.

Scandalous, you can't do such things!

They're both your teachers, and you're a grown woman, much unlike the young girls that joined you as apprentices, aren't you supposed to set an example? But your thoughts are utterly wicked - imagining just how much of their cocks you can fit in your throat.

Scandalous thoughts that must end!

"I could show you, it's a little different," Satoru says, chuckling and slipping up that blindfold he wears constantly, letting pretty blue eyes drift across your collarbones. "More based on touch than drawings."

You feel your cunt clench around nothing. "Oh, touch, you say?"

"Mhm."

"Well,” you set down your glass, heart racing as the fire crackles, illuminating his tall shadow taking over yours on one of the stone walls of the Atelier. “I'm most eager to learn."

It's moments before Satoru has you spread right on that table, shoving your skirts up, his fingers pumping in and out of your needy cunt, the squelching so damn loud. He's leaning over you, as his fingers move in and out faster, a hand clutching yours as it rests on the table, your ass arched all pretty against him as you cry out.

"S-Satoru!"

Your voice is all hoarse as your head falls back, as much as you adored Qifrey - well, he'd kept it all professional. He'd never done more than brush your cheek with his fingers once, a lean close – so close you thought he’d kiss you – just to pull back and walk right out.

Not Satoru.

He had no problem kissing you messy, his eyes were insane as he hit your sweet spot over and over, laughing against your ear, lips brushing against it.

"How are my lessons, pretty little witch?"

"Wh-what... are you teaching, ngh," his teeth nip your ear, eliciting a filthy little cry. “They’re v-very – ah! Gojo…”

“Satoru,” he whispers, pumping faster with his thick fingers in your plump, messy cunt. “Say it, sweetheart.”

“Satoru!”

That's what Qifrey hears when he walks in.

"Well, here's that sweet spot, the one that makes you gush," he's honing in on it, smirking when Qifrey walks in, but your face is pressed against the table cloth, drooling on it, Satoru’s hand entangled in your hair.

Qifey is torn - between wanting to fuck Satoru up and wanting to drag you right over to himself, hearing your pathetic, mewling little cries, your squelching cunt as the dumb fucking sorcerer he brought in to help is touching you. Qifrey’s hands are damn near shaking, clenching into fists as he walks in, slamming his gear down on the ground loud enough for you both to pause.

Satoru just smirks, this little shit.

Your face is all fucked out, drool down your lips, eyes glazed over in a way Qifrey had only ever dreamed of.

Oh yes, filthy dreams of his apprentice, the one he’d tried so fucking hard to make sure not to touch, to be professional. Yet here Satoru Gojo is, with his dumb blindfold shoved up his face, grinning right at him and apparently fingering your cunt again, judging by the messy, wet sounds echoing and your little moan.

“What is the meaning of this!?” He demands, you bite your lower lip, but Satoru simply hums a bit, reaching around to grip one of your tits, squishing it in his hand.

“I was showing her my own magic, one eye.”

Qifrey snorts, shaking his head and pulling out his little notebook. “Time for you to get locked the fuck away, six eye freak.”

“Aww, can’t make her cum without your doodles?” He’s got you arching, and Qifrey’s cock is throbbing underneath his robes, his eye damn near twitching behind that spectacle, as your nails scramble for purchase on the table.

Qifrey walks over and Satoru is furious at how you grip his fingers when he’s that close, how thick your coating of slick gets, he gets so mad he slips a third finger inside, making you cry out.

“Eyes on me,” he murmurs in your ear, but the other sorcerer is gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, that eye glinting dark.

“No, eyes on me,” he says softly in that tone of his, absolutely fucking you up, his free hand trailing down the side of your pretty tit, tracing the gentle curve as you’re trying to hold it together. “You needed your cunt played with and never told me?”

“She didn’t need to tell me,” Satoru’s lips pressed against your neck, his teeth nipping your skin.

“I tried but y-you… seemed very – ngh, reserved,” he sighs, shaking his head once more.

“Here in the dining room? Really, Gojo?”

“Want dinner though,” he pulls out his fingers, dripping with you, smirking as he sees the sorcerer fucking salivate, sucking your juices right off them, moaning, his cheeks hollowed. “She’s so tasty.”

“My room. Now.”

You both pause, Satoru raising a brow, but Qifrey just walks off, looking at you both behind his shoulder.

“I said now.”

You’re sure you’re in for the worst tongue lashing of your life, even as Satoru has this big, shit eating grin on his face, walking up the winding stairs to his room, when the door shuts behind you, and suddenly it’s Qifrey, his fingers on the buttons of your gown, making quick work of them. He sighs when he sees you naked, groaning at the sight of your pretty body as Gojo’s own eyes dart across.

“Seems our first time will have to be sharing you,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue and brushing your hair back. “Shame, I wanted you all to myself.”

“Who says I’ll share her?” Satoru tugs you to him, lifting you like it’s nothing with his hands on your thighs, carrying you right over to Qifrey’s bed and laying you down, just for the other sorcerer to come right over, shoving Satoru right over.

“You already started having fun,” he presses you down against those silk sheets, cool against your heated skin, making you tremble just a bit. “Look at you…”

“Master Qifrey…” You’re all flustered, and he raises a brow, as Satoru’s slipping off his top, revealing the muscles of his hard body, while Qifrey’s fingertips trail your thighs, sliding up and making you tremble.

“You were aching all this time, hmm?” His voice rushes over you, and Satoru’s sigh is loud.

“Will you move so I can show you how to eat pussy?”

“Tch, think I don’t know how to pleasure a woman?” Satoru is snickering as  Qifrey kneels at the foot of the bed.

“Do you just draw on her thigh?” Qifrey doesn't answer, he simply slips his long fingers up your skin. Watching those juices pour right out.

 "I've wanted to do this since I first saw you," Qifrey murmurs, as if it’s just for you – spreading your thighs with his hands carefully. "Taste this sweet, pretty little pussy."

“You have? I–ah!” He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive folds, before his tongue makes contact with your dripping slit.

You cry out, arching against the bed, hips pressed up as he licks a slow stripe up your slit a few times, coating his tongue in it before he parts your puffy folds, circling your clit with deliberate precision. The very tip of his tongue swirling intricate patterns like drawings, all in front of Satoru Gojo.

“Fuck…” that's all he can manage, as one of your hands grip the sheets, and the other entangles in Qifreys pretty white locks.

“There it is,” he mumbles, pussy drunk as he smirks over at Satoru. “She quite likes her clit being covered in my ‘drawings’ hmm?”

Satoru watches with hungry blue eyes before kneeling down right next to him, his mouth capturing your other thigh in a little kiss, grasping dribbles that are glistening right down.

“Move over,” he bites your skin. nudging Qifrey aside. "Let me taste her too."

Instead of arguing, Qifrey simply shifts a bit, leaning over you to capture your chin, allowing Satoru to eye your dripping folds, parting your pussy wide and watching it clench around nothing.

Qifrey spits your own cum in your mouth. 

“Swallow, pretty Apprentice.”

You eagerly obey, earning a pleased smirk as Satoru buries his face against you with just a bit of clumsiness, his tongue exploring every inch of your folds before pulling back with a groan.

 "Fuck, you're tight," he mumbles, sliding a finger inside as Qifrey licks your clit again, the squelches obscene. "Can you even take us?"

“Mhm – ah!” Your thoughts are cut off when both men begin to eat your cunt – desperately, your hands in each of their silky white locks, one of your thighs in each hand as they spread you wide.

Qifrey leans in and captures Satoru's lips in a messy kiss as if to make sure to capture all your juices, his tongue slipping over Satoru's mouth to taste you on him. The sight makes your cunt clench around Satoru's fingers, the way they're moaning. The way the saliva drips between them – your two teachers sharing your taste between them right over your twitchy clit.

“Oh…” they both blush a bit and pull back as if it were some mistake, before diving back in, tongues circling your clit in tandem, both men's fingers working your needy cunt. “Did you two… ah. Kiss?”

“No!?”

“Indeed no!?”

You go to giggle.

Big mistake.

The two white haired sorcerers immediately position you, so you're laying on your back sideways on the bed, Qifrey settling between your thighs with his fat cock tugged out of his robes, as Satoru positions himself by your head, his pink tip dripping white little drops on your lips.

“You want me to take care of you, hmm? Pretty girl,” Qifrey’s words are fucking you up – blood rushing through your ears as you nod, feeling his cock slide between your puffy folds, while Satoru’s darts on the seem of your lips, running across it achingly slow.

 "I want to watch that pretty throat bulge when I fuck it," he murmurs, moaning when you lap at his tip, your mouth opening wide. “Watch you swallow every inch."

"And I want to see myself…” He pushes right into your slick heat, you’re so damn wet your cunt takes him easy despite how fucking long he is, he lets out a little moan, eyeing that stomach bulging. “Right here.”

tBoth men eye your body, Qifrey painting pretty patterns with his fingers on your tummy, while his cock is gliding in, Satoru pressing so that you choke on him, shushing you carefully.

“That’s it, you can take us, sweetheart,” he cooes those words, watching his shape in your throat while he sees Qifrey’s cockprint moving in and out of your stomach. “Look at you. Made for it.”

“You're taking us so well,” Qifrey whispers, picking up your thighs now and spreading them wide, watching how she so greedily grabs onto his cock, every thrust making slick just pour. “I was neglecting my apprentice, I see.”

“You were,” Satoru whines out – Qifrey would make fun of that sound, but he’s doing the same goddamn thing when you grip him, swallowing around the other sorcerer’s cock. “Fuck…”

They begin to move their cocks in perfect sync, tears slip from the corners of your eyes as Satoru sinks deeper, and Qifrey’s tip is just kissing your cute lil cervix. You’re so full of both of them you can hardly see, vision fuzzy as your eyelashes flutter closed, seeing stars behind your eyes.

It’s not long before he has you on your hands and knees, sucking Satoru like that while his hand entangles in your hair, his heavy balls slapping your clit, the loud slick sounds of the men fucking you echoing in the bedchamber. Satoru’s gasping out as he shoves his cock fully inside your mouth, that tip gliding on your throat until your nose is flush with the little smattering of white hair, and Qifrey is leaned back, watching your cunt taking him.

“Look at that, so eager,” he clicks his tongue, smirking just a bit, that little eye glass fogging up with his own breaths as he pulls out fully, slapping his fat cock right on your needy cunt, chuckling. “Beggin’ for all that cum inside, isn’t she?”

Satoru pulls out so you can speak, throat sore with how he’s stretched it out, saliva just dripping from your lips. Satoru tilts your chin up, smiling down at you, thumb brushing over your lower lip now, swiping some of his pre.

“Answer him, sweetheart.”

“Want it,” you manage, peeking back to see your teacher gripping your hips, nudging his tip teasingly against your clit, coating it in sticky pre. “I do…”

“How do we ask, love?” Qifrey nudges your clit again. “Have I not taught you any manners during our lessons?”

“Please,” you whisper, gasping out as Qifrey shoves his length back inside your snug lil cunt, she’s quivering all round him as he leans close, and Satoru is tugging your mouth back open.

“Want to swallow all this cum while he fills you?” He asks, making your cheeks heat up. “Looking all innocent when you just want all this cum.”

“Mhm,” is all you can manage, tongue out, letting them both fuck their loads inside – so full you’re swallowing Gojo down, as Qifrey pumps you so full it won’t even stay in.

Don’t worry – the sorcerers make sure to clean your pussy right up, and if their tongues catch each other, well they’re just sharing your taste – and Qifrey’s cum is quite sweet, even if Satoru won’t admit it. They’re certainly not kissing, and they absolutely can’t stand each other – they’re just getting along for you!

Lying in the cold damp grass after a massive storm is quite uncomfortable. But it doesn’t compare to the loneliness you have been feeling recently. It feels like you’re a ghost in a crowded room. That no one in the crowded room looks for you or even talks to you.

There’s a stinging feeling in your eyes, tears filling your lash line. Trying to swallow the thick lump in your throat so you can feel like you can breathe again.

Staring at the stars so deeply as if they can give you an answer to why you feel so alone. You feel tears fall from the corner of your eye, to run down the side of your face to either hit your ear or the wet grass below you.

You bit your bottom lip as you hear a squelching sound come towards you. You really don’t want anyone to see you like this. You want to always be happy in front of others, you don’t want to be a burden.

A face you’re most familiar with appears above you, blocking your view of the starts. His white hall falls forward as he looks down at you. It’s cruel how angelic he can look no matter what.

He doesn’t say anything instead he lays on his back in line with you, so if you’d turn your head you’d be face to face with him.

You sniffle as more tears run down your face. He is the last person you want to try and explain how you are feeling right now, he doesn’t need more on his already busy plate.

“You’ve always loved the stars. I remember you’d drag Olruggio and I to look at them almost every night when we were at the academy.” Qifrey breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out pitchy and watery, making you cringe.

He turns his head to look at you, “What for?”

“You should be asleep. You had a busy day and have another one tomorrow.”

“I can’t sleep well if you are not beside me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s the matter love?”

“Qifrey, do you ever think stars get lonely?” Your voice catches before you let out a shaky breath. Making sure your complete focus is on the stars when you asked him.

Raising your hand off the grass, your wet shirt sticks to your arm. You point at the bunches of stars, “They look so close together but does that mean they don’t feel lonely?”

“It’s only natural to feel lonely. I bet stars feel lonely the same way animals and people do.” He raises an arm to catch yours. He laces your hands together, holding them up to the stars. “You can feel lonely when you are surrounded by others.”

Those words truly break you because you cannot stop the dam that was being held by a small stick. You drop your hand from his and cover your face as you sob into your hands.

“I’m right here, let it out.” Is all Qifrey says.

But those words help as much as they allow you to release your true emotions. You’ve had this feeling for days that you were alone. That if you’d walk out the door and never came back, they wouldn’t realize.

You know that’s not true. Olruggio would know the exact instant you walked out of the door. The girls would ask for you constantly if they didn’t see you within a few minutes. And Qifrey.

Qifrey would be blocking the door.

You know all those facts are true so you have no idea why you feel so alone. You feel the exact same way you did when you were a kid and you hate it. Hate it more than anything.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” You apologize over and over again to Qifrey as you wipe your ever flowing tears.

He doesn’t say anything instead he pushes himself off the ground to sit next to you. He opens his arms towards you, “Come here.”

You don’t hesitate for a second. You throw yourself into him and bury yourself into his neck. He holds you tightly against him as his chin rests against your shoulder.

“It’s been quite hectic hasn’t it?” He runs a hand through your hair, “The girls and I have been in and out of the atelier so has Olly. You’ve been alone most of the time and when we are back you don’t feel as connected as the others are in the stories are shared.”

You nod into him. Yes you’ve been alone physically but normally that doesn’t bug you. Sometimes you know it’s better to stay at the atelier just in case something happens but as the stories and memories have been getting more exciting, you can’t help how you feel. It feels like everyone is having fun but you.

“I’m sorry that is how you have been feeling. I’m also sorry for not realizing it sooner. I brought you here to my atelier all those years ago so none of us would feel lonely. Yet it seems I went against that.”

You push back so you can look him in the eye. You don’t blame him at all. It’s just your mind being cruel to you and trying to twist the stories.

“I don’t get why it’s bugged me so much these past few days. When I hear all the stories about the girls’ trips or Olruggio’s projects, I just can’t help but feel I’m not doing anything to help.”

“Do you want to know something great about the stars?”

You furrow your brows in confusion because that was a turn. Instead of answering verbally, you just simply nod.

“They might feel lonely but they are always surrounded by the ones that care about them. They can think that they don’t matter in a crowded space, but in actuality the others would realize their presence was gone.”

“Qifrey-“

“I would rather fight against the cruelest of fates instead of watching you walk out the door like you don’t matter to us. We are a family here, the moment we lose someone, the family wouldn’t be the same.”

He gently cups your cheek, “They may not be our daughters by blood, but those girls see us as parental figures. If they lost their mom, they wouldn’t stop making spells to try and locate you. And if Olruggio lost the girl he considers to be his younger sister, then I think that man might just make every tool just to find you.”

You let out an airy laugh as you feel happy tears fill your eyes instead of the painful ones you had earlier.

“And… and if I lost you. I wouldn’t be the same man as I am in the moment.” His voices catches for a second, “A world without the woman I love the most, is a world I never want to know.”

“I-“

“So please,” he begs as he connects your foreheads, “If you feel lonely, come to me. Tell me and I’ll drop everything. I’d rather us have hard conversations like these instead of you dealing with it alone. Because my love, you are never alone.”

You let out a quiet sob before connecting your lips with his. He holds your waist tightly as he presses his lips tightly against yours.

He’s kissing you as if he’s physically telling you he is right here and he is not leaving.

No matter what.

You kiss him just as fiercely, telling him that you’re not going anywhere. He seems to get the message because he smiles lightly into the kiss.

You pull back slowly, hands on his shoulders, eyes locked tightly.

“Qifrey-“

“MASTER!”

The girls come running to you both followed by a tired looking Olruggio. They jump into the hug, squeezing you both tightly.

“We couldn’t find you! We were so scared that something happened during the storm-“ Coco frantically explains.

“Then Richeh used her spell!” Tetia points to the bracelet that guides her to the people she cares about the most.

“So they begged me to come with to find you both.” Olruggio plops onto the ground next to the group. Agott doesn’t say anything but pulls Olruggio into the hug.

“I don’t want to lose anyone again.” Richeh tells the group.

“No one is going anywhere.” You look at Qifrey, “After all, we have each other.”

Now you get what Qifrey said. The stars are truly never alone.

Not metaphorical ones, but real strands of living magic that stretched across the land like veins of gold. They connected rivers to mountains, storms to seasons, hearts to hearts. Even now, centuries later, remnants of those primordial threads linger beneath the ribs of every witch, dormant until they recognize another. The scholars say the threads remember what people forget. They say the threads choose long before the heart understands.

Yours lay quiet for years, a faint shimmer beneath your skin, unnoticed and unremarkable. It stirred only when you stepped into Qifrey’s atelier — a place built on old enchantments and older secrets. The atelier breathed like a living creature. Its beams were carved with glyphs that shifted like migrating birds when touched by sunlight. The floorboards hummed with ancient spells, soft as a heartbeat. Shelves bowed under the weight of spellbooks whose pages rustled even when no wind passed. The air smelled of cedar, ink, and the metallic sweetness of magic. It was a place where creation was not an act but a condition of existence.

And in that breathing magic, your thread woke.

It unfurled from your chest like a line of gold ink drawn in the air, trembling with the shock of recognition. Qifrey felt it before he saw it. He turned toward you with a startled softness, his single visible eye widening as the thread shimmered between you. It was delicate, quivering, as though unsure whether it should reveal itself. He didn’t touch it. He simply looked at it with a reverence that made the air feel suddenly sacred.

The apprentices whispered about it for days. Soulmate threads were rare, and yours glowed brighter than most. It pulsed faintly whenever you and Qifrey stood close, a soft heartbeat of shared magic. You felt it in small moments — when he guided your hand over a glyph, when he laughed at something quiet, when he brushed past you in the narrow hallway. The thread hummed with possibility, with promise, with the quiet certainty of something ancient and inevitable.

But threads are sensitive things. They respond not only to love, but to fear.

As the weeks passed, you began to feel a tension in the golden line. It wasn’t painful, not yet, but it was there — a subtle pull, a faint ache. Doubt crept in like cold air through a cracked window. You wondered if the thread was a blessing or a burden. You wondered if Qifrey felt the same. You wondered if you were enough for him, or if the thread had chosen for you both without asking.

The atelier noticed before either of you spoke. Magic is sensitive to emotion. The glyph‑etched beams dimmed slightly, their glow fading whenever the thread strained. The enchanted windows showed storms more often, even when the weather outside was clear. Spell‑dust settled thicker on the shelves, as if the air itself had grown heavy. The world around you mirrored the fraying inside you.

Qifrey approached you gently, as if you were a fragile spell circle he didn’t want to disturb. He didn’t ask what was wrong. He simply stood near you, letting the thread speak for him. It dimmed. It trembled. It pulled.

And in a moment of quiet panic, he tied the first knot.

A small one, clumsy and desperate. A knot made not of malice but of fear — fear of losing you, fear of watching the thread snap, fear of being left alone with the silence of an atelier that had grown used to your presence. But knots change the way a thread lies. They pull. They strain. They remind you of breaks that almost happened.

You felt the knot immediately — a tightness in your chest, a heaviness in your steps. You didn’t know what he had done, only that something felt wrong. The thread, once smooth and luminous, now carried a small imperfection. A bruise. A memory of fear.

And the atelier, which had once felt like a sanctuary, suddenly felt like a loom whose rhythm you no longer understood.

---

The thread between you had become a landscape — no longer a single golden line, but a terrain of knots, frayed fibers, and patched places where magic had been forced to remember what hands had done to it. It stretched from your chest to Qifrey’s like a river that had survived storms, its once‑smooth surface broken by the evidence of every moment you had faltered, every moment he had feared, every moment the world had asked more of you than you knew how to give.

The atelier around you breathed with its own ancient rhythm. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, sending thin ribbons of smoke curling upward like stray threads seeking a place to belong. The flames cast amber light across the carved beams overhead, making the glyphs shimmer like constellations caught in wood. Outside, the enchanted windows showed a gentle snowfall drifting over distant mountains — a quiet illusion meant to soothe apprentices, though tonight it felt like a reminder of how cold the world could be when hearts drifted apart. The air smelled of cedar and ink and the faint metallic sweetness of spell‑dust, a scent that had become the background music of your shared life.

And in that warm, flickering glow, the thread revealed its imperfections.

Some knots were small, barely more than a twist in the gold, tightened in moments of quiet panic. They clung to the thread like frozen dew, fragile and translucent, holding the memory of a single breath where he thought you might slip away. Others were larger, thick and clumsy, tied with trembling hands in the dark hours when the atelier felt too big and your silence felt too heavy. These knots bulged like scar tissue, uneven and stubborn, refusing to lie flat no matter how gently you touched them.

There were places where the gold had dulled, losing its shine as though the magic itself had grown tired. These sections lay like faded embroidery, worn by the friction of doubt. They carried a heaviness — the weight of words left unsaid, of glances avoided, of nights spent on opposite sides of the room pretending the thread did not ache. When the firelight touched these dull patches, they did not glow; they only absorbed the light, quiet and resigned.

And then there were the blackened parts.

Thin segments where the gold had turned dark, as if charred by unresolved hurt. These were not knots, not frays, but burns — places where the thread had absorbed too much tension, too much fear, too much longing without release. They pulsed faintly, like old wounds that had never fully healed. When your fingers brushed them, the magic shivered, remembering the moment it had dimmed. The blackened places were the hardest to look at — not because they were ugly, but because they were honest.

Qifrey had tried to mend these places with scraps — thin strands of other threads, borrowed from spells meant for repairing cloth or restoring broken glyphs. They were not gold. They were pale silver, soft blue, muted copper, woven in with careful hands. These scraps wrapped around the damaged sections like bandages, holding the weakened fibers together. They were uneven, mismatched, undeniably imperfect — but they kept the thread from breaking.

Some scraps were tied gently, their ends tucked neatly into the weave. Others were knotted hastily, their loose ends sticking out like stray hairs. A few were frayed themselves, worn thin from the strain of holding two hearts together. But they remained, stubborn and loyal, refusing to let the thread fall apart.

The thread, once a single flawless line, had become a tapestry of survival.

It carried the memory of fear, the evidence of mistakes, the scars of unraveling. It carried the softness of repair, the warmth of forgiveness, the quiet strength of choosing each other again and again. It was no longer the thread that fate had given you. It was the thread you had made together — shaped by your hands, your hesitations, your hope.

The atelier responded to this new thread with a kind of reverent acceptance. The fire crackled more warmly, its flames rising higher as though encouraged by the resilience woven into the golden line. The glyphs on the beams glowed with a deeper amber, their light soft and steady. The enchanted windows shifted from snowfall to gentle rain, droplets sliding down the glass like blessings. The air hummed with a quiet harmony, as though the magic had decided that imperfection was not a flaw but a form of truth.

You touched the thread, feeling its uneven texture. It was not beautiful in the way ancient texts described. It was beautiful in the way lived things are — flawed, weathered, resilient. A testament to survival. A testament to choice.

The thread pulsed gently beneath your fingers, as though acknowledging your touch. It did not shine uniformly. It did not lie straight. It did not pretend to be perfect. It simply existed — stubborn, mended, alive.

And in that moment, you understood something the scholars had never written, something the ancient texts had never dared to say:

Soulmate threads were never meant to remain pristine.

They were meant to be altered by the hands that held them.

Love was not a smooth line.

It was a tapestry woven from imperfect hands.

It was knots tied in fear, stitches sewn in hope, fibers patched with whatever scraps you had left.

It was effort.

It was sacrifice.

It was choosing to mend instead of discard.

The fire crackled softly behind you, its warmth settling over your shoulders like a cloak. The atelier breathed with you, its magic steady and calm. And the thread — uneven, knotted, patched, blackened, glowing — pulsed with a quiet, persistent light.

Love was never meant to be flawless.

It was meant to be tended.

---

And so, in the hush of the atelier, with the fire murmuring in the hearth and the glyph‑lit beams glowing like distant stars, the thread between you settled into its final shape — not perfect, not pristine, but whole in the way only tended things can be. It hung in the warm air like a constellation drawn by trembling hands, its knots glinting like memories, its frayed places whispering of storms survived, its patched sections glowing faintly where borrowed scraps held the fragile magic together. The dull gold shimmered softly, accepting its scars; the blackened segments pulsed with a quiet resilience, no longer wounds but reminders of the depth of what had been endured. And as the fire crackled, sending sparks drifting upward like tiny embers seeking a sky, the thread breathed with you — rising and falling, glowing and dimming, alive in its imperfection. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle hum of old enchantments and the soft rustle of spell‑dust settling on the shelves, you understood that love was not the golden thread fate had given you, but the tapestry you had woven from fear and hope, from unraveling and repair, from silence and reaching back. It was a thing shaped by your hands, strengthened by your choices, softened by your forgiveness. And as the night deepened and the atelier wrapped itself around you like a cloak, the thread glowed with a quiet, persistent light — a promise not of perfection, but of endurance. A promise that even the most frayed magic could be beautiful when tended. A promise that love, in all its knots and scars, was still worth weaving.

Never had you imagined sitting here next to the witch you’d give your life for, shoulder t shoulder. Confessing love – in all the wrong ways. It could not be described in any other way. You love Qifrey, He loves Olly; and there is an entire plethora of reasons as to why the latter could never be woven into reality. A classic case of star-crossed lovers.

You swallow your feelings and choke on them.

You had a drink with Qifrey, four or three too many. Comfortably seated on the ground facing him while sitting in front of each other. You were drowning in conversations ranging from previous escapades to what could only be described as flirtatious advances masked as banter. A not so rare occurrence.

You love the way he’s hurting you - the way you keep hurting yourself.

On nights like this you find yourself with liquid courage to act on your feelings, knowing fully well they remain unrequited. You lean forward, the distance between you disappearing. Kissing Qifrey feels like a decadent treat with the bittersweet aftertaste of the knot forming in your throat paired with the burning sensation of your eyes. He tastes like tragic tales of self-destruction. You could be so good to him.

You look at Qifrey. He looks at you. Not a single trace of pity visible in his expression.

“I would love you, if only I could.” The truth may hurt but you appreciate his honesty. Qifrey wouldn’t fool around with the deepest, heartfelt emotions of people close to him; yet something keeps bringing him to you. You stay, you don’t pretend – you indulge. You offer him a smile – deflection, nervousness or something entirely different, it’s not of importance.

It must be worse than you think it is. Qifreys expression looks soft and utterly unchanged; he wears the mask of someone constantly tending to others needs. His fingers are digging into his clothed thighs, the sign you were looking for. You break the silence. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” This certainly hasn't been your first kiss, nor the first kiss shared with him this week.

His body fits perfectly pressed against yours. His hands fit perfectly in yours. His fingers fit perfectly intertwined with yours. His lips fit perfectly on yours. Tragedy repeats itself yet you never progress. Every ending means bidding farewell to the reveries of a shared future.

He looks surprised, even after moments of silence between you. “I should be the one to apologize.” You can guess what he is hinting at. “I keep hurting you with this.” He gestures between you both. “We should know better. I should know better.” His eyes conveniently wander around the room. Qifrey looks gorgeous, especially when his thoughts are running deep.

“Are you suggesting I’m not able to make decisions for myself?” An eyebrow raised with the slightest hint of annoyance in your voice. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant-“ You don’t bother letting him finish his sentence. “You meant you should stop this whole ordeal because you are the one that should be in control of your emotions. After all, it’s me who loves you, not the other way around.”

Again, Qifrey is left without being able to answer for what feels like minutes, clearly thinking how to frame his sentence. When he answers his voice is soft with an earnest tone. “I believe you are totally incorrect in your assumptions of your own importance in my life.” He takes a deep stuttering breath. “I would give you everything, if I could.” His hands dig further into his thighs, the tremor clearly visible. “It’s entirely unfair to you.”

“Hey Qifrey, would you say I’m worthy?” It catches him off guard, his eyes beginning to wander around again. “You deserve to be loved wholeheartedly.” - and he doesn’t, the unspoken extension bears its weight on you. You release a suffering sigh. “Thank you.” The smile returns to your voice much to Qifreys clearly visible confusion, yet he doesn’t question it. Perhaps Qifrey knows exactly what you mean.

You will keep offering yourself to him, laying bare the very essence of your soul – your heart is his, he might as well break it.

“Say Qifrey.” The mention of his name through your lips always seems to do something to him. “Do you wish that you loved me?” A laugh escapes him; it underlines the ridiculousness of the situation. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “I feel drawn to you if all this hadn’t made it clear enough.” He seems embarrassed voicing his answer. “This should be easy, shouldn’t it?”

You give him a confused look. “I mean, I don’t lack any feelings for you.” The confession hits you in all the right and wrong ways. “And still, I can’t give my all to you.” Qifrey rubs his hands over the entire length of his face before they find their place back on his thighs. He is shaking his head. “It’s ridiculous.” A bright smile on his face in stark contrast to the look in his eyes reveals an entirely different emotion. “My heart isn’t ready; it might never be.”

Qifrey looks beautifully tragic, utterly vulnerable.

In theory there would be a simple solution: leave the atelier or at least don’t engage him more than necessary. You both love the way you are hurting each other. Would cutting your ties make any difference or would it prolong and intensify your longing? Perhaps if you’d just hold on everything will fall into place.

“Do you like kissing me?” Qifrey can’t count the times he’s been surprised by your questions tonight. The answer that follows is quietly voiced. “Yes, but does it matter?” Your lips find his again and again and again and again. Qifrey leans into your touch. “It does.” Merely a whisper remains. “Why would you deliberately keep on hurting you. Why do you hold onto nothing?”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” Voice angrier than intended with merely a few inches between you. “I’m sorry, I should know my place and act accordingly, this was utterly insensitive of me.” You put your hands on his. “Let me summarize it for you. You told me, you aren’t lacking feelings for me, meaning you have some for me.” You look into his eyes with determination. “Furthermore, you actually enjoy kissing me. You said so yourself and I certainly observed it tonight and all the other times they happened.”

Qifreys eyes wander again. “Don’t you dare to look away.” His eyes are back on you, the shudder running through his body visible in his expression. “Perhaps there is no one that hurts me better than you, but you are worth hurt.” You confess. “I wish you’d love me now, but I can wait.” You can’t abstain from his lips. “It’s a promise-“ You hook your little finger with one of his.

He pointed toward the reading corner. “Still awake.”

You followed his gaze. Coco was curled beneath a blanket on one of the beanbags, quietly listening as Qifrey finished reading a picture book about a bear looking for the moon. There weren’t any other children left.

“…And when the little bear finally looked up,” Qifrey read softly, “he realized the moon had been following him all along.” He closed the book. “The end.”

Coco yawned so widely you thought her jaw might fall off. “Again tomorrow?”

“If you’d like.”

“M’kay…”

Within seconds, she was asleep, cheek pressed against the beanbag, still hugging the stuffed rabbit she’d insisted on bringing that morning. You smile.

“She fought sleep all afternoon, didn’t she?”

Qifrey laughed under his breath. “For nearly an hour.”

“I figured.” You slipped off your shoes before walking onto the reading rug, careful not to wake Coco. “I’ll carry her.”

“I’ve got her.” His voice was quiet enough that you almost missed it.

Before you could protest, Qifrey bent down with practiced ease. One arm slid beneath Coco’s knees. The other supported her back. She barely stirred as he lifted her. Instead, she instinctively nestled closer, her tiny fingers clutching the front of his sweater.

Your heart squeezed. “…She’s gotten heavy.”

“A little.”

“But she still thinks she’s tiny.”

“I don’t think children ever notice when they grow.” He looked down at the sleeping girl in his arms with a smile so gentle it almost didn’t seem real. “They just keep trusting that someone will pick them up.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You weren’t looking at Coco anymore. You were looking at him. At the tenderness in his eyes. The patience in every careful movement. The way he instinctively adjusted his hold when Coco shifted in her sleep. It wasn’t performative. No parents were watching. No children were awake to praise him. This was simply who he was. He caught you staring.

“…What?”

You blinked, suddenly realizing you’d been watching him for far too long. Heat crept into your cheeks.

“I was just…” You laughed softly, almost embarrassed by your own honesty. “…thinking how nice.”

His expression softened. “Coco?”

“You.”

He looked genuinely surprised. “Me?”

“You make every child here feel like they’re the most important person in the world.” A quiet silence followed. “I’ve seen how exhausted you are by the end of the day. I’ve seen you stay late because one child didn’t want to go home crying. You remember everyone’s birthdays. You know whose sandwiches need to be cut into triangles and who hates crusts.”

You smiled, though there was something quieter in it now. “And somehow…you still have enough kindness left over for everyone.”

Qifrey couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him the way you were now. Not with admiration. Not exactly. It was warmer. More personal. His voice came out softer than intended.

“…Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The daycare was unusually quiet. Outside, rain tapped gently against the windows. The fluorescent lights had been switched off, leaving only the warm lamps in the reading corner glowing softly around you.

“You know…” Qifrey said after a while, “when I first met you…”

You groaned. “Please don’t say ‘Coco’s mother.’”

He laughed, a genuine laugh that made his shoulders shake.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was.”

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

“I’ve been told.” He looked down at Coco, still sleeping peacefully in his arms. Then back at you. “I’m glad it was you.”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I’m glad…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “…that you’re the one bringing Coco every day.”

Heat crept up your cheeks.

“Otherwise…” A small, almost shy smile crossed his face. “…I don’t think I would’ve had the chance to get to know you.”

For just a second, the world seemed to still. The rain. The humming lights. Everything. You couldn’t find a witty reply. All you managed was a quiet,

“…I’m glad too.”

Neither of you noticed Olruggio standing just outside the reading room doorway with a box of freshly sanitized toys. He took one look at the way the two of you were smiling at each other. At the fact that neither of you seemed eager to break the silence. He quietly backed away.

“…I’ll put these away later,” he muttered to himself. “They’ve earned five more minutes.”

Saturday mornings were sacred. No alarm. No work. No rushing Coco through breakfast. Just coffee. At least that had been the plan. Instead, you found yourself staring into your pantry.

"...I'm out of coffee." You sighed dramatically.

This was a tragedy. Twenty minutes later, you found yourself wandering through the neighborhood grocery store with a shopping basket hanging from your arm. Coffee. Bread. Eggs. Cat food. You paused in front of the produce section, comparing two bags of oranges.

"They're sweeter this time of year."

The familiar voice made you look up. "...Qifrey?"

He looked just as surprised. "[name]?"

For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other. Then you both laughed.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

"I could say the same."

He held up the basket in his hand. Inside sat bread, milk, pasta...and an alarming amount of strawberries. You raised an eyebrow.

"Planning on opening a fruit stand?"

He glanced into his basket. "Oh...I may have bought more than I intended."

"How many cartons is that?"

He counted. "...Four."

"Qifrey."

"They were on sale."

You laughed. "I'll pretend that's a reasonable excuse."

"It sounded reasonable in my head."

"I'm sure it did."

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. Without the daycare around him, he looked... different. No cardigan with finger paint on the sleeves. No children's drawings tucked into his pocket. Just a cream knit sweater with the sleeves pushed to his forearms and a pair of jeans. It was strange. You'd only ever seen him at work. Now he looked more relaxed. More like someone your own age.

"You live around here?" you asked.

"A few blocks over." He gestured vaguely toward the west. "What about you?"

"The apartment complex near the park."

"Oh." His face brightened. "That's only about a ten minute walk."

"It is."

Neither of you seemed eager to continue shopping. Instead, you drifted down the same aisle together.

"So," you said, placing a loaf of bread into your basket, "what do daycare teachers do on weekends?"

"We recover."

"I believe that."

"And lesson plan."

"Makes sense."

"And..." He hesitated. "...I read."

"What kind of books?"

"Mostly fantasy."

"I should've guessed."

"You?"

"I've been trying to get back into reading."

"Oh?"

"I keep getting distracted."

"By Coco?"

You laughed. "Mostly but I don't mind."

He smiled softly. "I didn't think you would."

The conversation flowed surprisingly easily. Without children interrupting every thirty seconds, without parents waiting behind you, without someone shouting that glitter had somehow ended up inside the fish tank...It was just easy. Comfortable. As you rounded the corner into the coffee aisle, you reached for the last bag of your favorite blend. At the exact same moment, another hand reached for it. Your fingers brushed with Qifrey's Barely for a second. Both of you froze.

"Oh."

"Sorry." You pulled your hand back immediately.

"No, you go ahead."

"No, it's okay."

"You saw it first."

"So did you."

You both laughed awkwardly. Qifrey picked up the bag and held it out to you.

"You mentioned once that mornings don't start until you've had coffee."

Your eyebrows lifted. "...You remembered that?"

He blinked. "...Of course."

The answer came so naturally that he didn't seem to realize what he'd admitted. Your heart fluttered.

"I didn't think you'd remember something so small."

His expression softened. "I remember a lot of small things."

For just a moment, neither of you spoke. You accepted the bag from him. Your fingers brushed again. Neither of you moved away quite as quickly this time.

"...Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A comfortable silence settled between you as you continued down the aisle. Then Qifrey glanced into your basket.

"You have cats."

You looked up.

"The food."

"Oh." You smiled.

"Two cats. One black one white. They actually remind me of you and Mr.Olruggio."

He laughs. "I'd like to meet them someday." The words slipped out before he could stop them. His eyes widened.

"...If..." He cleared his throat. "...if that's okay."

You couldn't help but smile. "I think they'd like you."

He smiled back.

"...I hope so."

Neither of them noticed the faint blush spreading across the other's face as they continued shopping side by side, neither in any particular hurry to reach the checkout anymore.

Monday arrived far too quickly. Qifrey had spent the entire weekend replaying your chance encounter at the grocery store.

"I'd like to meet them someday."

Why had he said that? Who said things like that? He buried his face in his hands.

"...I'm hopeless."

Across the staff room, Olruggio didn't even look up from the weekly lesson plan.

"About time you figured it out."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"You were loud enough."

Qifrey sighed. "I think I made things awkward."

"You bought four cartons of strawberries and somehow that wasn't the awkward part."

Qifrey groaned. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Olruggio finally looked up. "Ask her out."

Qifrey blinked. "...What?"

"You heard me."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"What if she says no?"

"Then she says no."

"And if she says yes?"

Olruggio raised an eyebrow. "Then congratulations."

Qifrey stared at him. "...That sounds terrifying."

"It probably is."

The rest of the week passed in a blur. Every morning, you arrived with Coco. Every afternoon, you picked her up. Nothing changed. Except everything had changed. Now that Qifrey had decided to ask you out, he suddenly couldn't figure out how. Not while helping Coco zip up her jacket. Not while another parent waited behind you. Not while Tetia loudly announced she'd found a ladybug. The timing was never right. Friday afternoon arrived before he realized he'd run out of chances. The last child besides Coco had just gone home. Olruggio was in the back, disinfecting toys before closing. You arrived a few minutes later than usual.

"Sorry," you said, slightly out of breath. "Traffic."

"No need to apologize." Qifrey smiled. "Coco's been helping me water the plants."

You looked toward the windowsill. Half the plants looked perfectly watered. The other half looked as though they'd survived a hurricane.

"...I can see that."

"I'm helping!" Coco protested.

"You are." Qifrey laughed. "And you're doing an excellent job."

While Coco proudly showed you which plant she'd named "Sir Leafington," Qifrey felt his pulse begin to race.

*Now. *Before you leave. Just ask. You thanked Coco for her gardening expertise before helping her into her backpack.

"Ready to go?"

"Mhm!" She ran toward the front door. "I'll wait outside!"

"Coco—" The bell jingled as she disappeared onto the little fenced patio just outside the entrance.

You sighed fondly. "She'll be climbing the bench."

"I'll keep an eye on her."

For a moment, it was just the two of you. Qifrey swallowed.

"So..." You looked up.

"So?" He suddenly forgot every sentence he'd rehearsed. "I..." His fingers rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "I was wondering...if you were free sometime."

You tilted your head. "Sometime?"

He nodded. "Outside of daycare."

There was a tiny pause. Then, very deliberately, he added,

"...As a date."

Silence. Not uncomfortable. Just unexpected. He immediately continued.

"You absolutely don't have to say yes. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable and if you'd rather we just stay—"

"I'd love to."

His words stopped. "...What?"

You smiled. "I'd love to."

"I..." He looked almost stunned. "You would?"

"I was beginning to think I'd have to ask you."

A soft laugh escaped him. "You were?"

"You've been looking like you wanted to say something all week."

"...Was I that obvious?"

You gave him a sympathetic smile. "Only a little."

He laughed again, this time at himself. "I spent three days trying to think of the perfect way to ask."

"And what did you settle on?"

He considered it. "...Panicking."

"It was very charming."

His cheeks warmed. "I'm glad you think so."

You glanced through the glass doors to where Coco was pressing her face against the fence, watching a butterfly with complete fascination.

"So...What did you have in mind?"

His expression brightened. "There's a little bookstore café a few neighborhoods over. They make wonderful tea and they have a resident cat that sleeps on the windowsill."

You smiled immediately. "You had me at 'cat.'"

He laughed. "Saturday?"

"Saturday."

"Two?"

"Two."

For a second, neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed quite ready for the conversation to end. Outside, Coco knocked gently on the glass.

"Auntie!"

You looked over. "I'm coming!" Turning back to Qifrey, you smiled.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

His smile was brighter than you'd ever seen it. "It's a date."

The words hung in the air after you left. Qifrey stood in the lobby for several seconds, staring at the closed door with an expression of complete disbelief. From somewhere in the back of the daycare, Olruggio called out,

"...She said yes, didn't she?"

Qifrey's grin only grew. "...She said yes."

"Took you long enough."

Qifrey laughed all the way to the supply room.

Saturday arrived with clear skies. Qifrey had changed his shirt three times.

"...This is ridiculous." He stared at his reflection. "It has finger paint on it," he muttered to himself before hanging it back up.

You spotted him before he spotted you. He stood outside the bookstore café with his hands tucked into his coat pockets, glancing down the street every few seconds. He looked...nervous. It was strangely endearing. You approached quietly.

"Waiting for someone?"

His head snapped up. The worry on his face vanished the instant he saw you.

"There you are."

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"You didn't."

His smile came so effortlessly that it made your chest feel warm. "I just got here."

You looked at the clock above the café door. He had, very obviously, been there for at least fifteen minutes. You decided not to tease him. Not yet. The bookstore smelled of fresh coffee and old paper. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating towering shelves filled with novels. True to his word, a plump orange cat slept on the windowsill, completely unbothered by the customers around it.

"There he is," Qifrey whispered.

"You know him?"

"The owner calls him Marmalade."

You crouched beside the cat. "...Can I?"

"You'll receive his judgment shortly."

As though on cue, Marmalade lazily opened one eye. He looked at you. Looked at your outstretched hand. Then stood. Without hesitation, he stepped onto your lap. Qifrey laughed.

"I've never seen him do that."

"Really?"

"He usually ignores everyone."

You scratched gently beneath the cat's chin. "I think he has good taste."

"I think he does."

You looked up. "...Are you talking about me or the cat?"

"...Yes."

The answer escaped before he could stop it. His own eyes widened. You stared. Then smiled.

"I'll accept that answer."

His ears turned pink. Hours slipped by unnoticed. One conversation became another. Favorite books. Favorite movies. The worst meals either of you had ever attempted to cook. He admitted he once accidentally used salt instead of sugar while baking cookies for the daycare.

"They still ate them."

"They're children."

"They called them 'interesting.'"

You laughed so hard you had to set your teacup down. "They were trying to spare my feelings."

"I think they succeeded."

"I cried after they went home."

"You did not."

"I absolutely did not."

"Liar."

He laughed. "...Maybe a little."

It was easy. Scarily easy. Neither of you ever struggled to find something to say and when neither of you spoke... The silence wasn't awkward. It was comfortable. The kind shared between people who simply enjoyed existing in the same space. By late afternoon, you found yourselves wandering through the nearby botanical gardens. Flowers swayed gently in the breeze. Children chased butterflies across the grass. Qifrey slowed beside a small pond.

"I come here sometimes after work."

"You do?"

"When I need to think."

"It suits you."

He glanced over. "...What does?"

"This place."

"It's peaceful."

He stopped walking. "So are you."

You smiled softly. "I don't think anyone's ever called me peaceful."

"They should."

You looked away first. Not because you wanted to. Because if you kept looking at him...you were afraid he'd notice exactly what was written all over your face. As the sun dipped lower, the two of you found an empty bench overlooking the pond. For the first time all day, neither of you spoke. The silence settled around you like a warm blanket. Qifrey looked out over the water.

"...Can I tell you something?"

"Always."

He smiled faintly. "When I asked you out...I was terrified."

You laughed. "I noticed."

"I've never really..." He searched for the words. "...been good at this."

"What, dates?"

He nodded. "I was worried there'd be awkward silences."

"There weren't."

"I was worried we'd have nothing in common."

"We talked for six hours."

"I was worried..." He looked down at his hands. "...that you wouldn't like me once you got to know me outside of daycare."

Your heart clenched. You reached over before you could think better of it. Your hand rested lightly over his.

"I like you even more."

His breath stopped. You hadn't meant to say it aloud. But it was true. His fingers slowly turned beneath yours. Instead of pulling away, he gently intertwined them with your own. Tentatively. As though giving you every chance to let go. You didn't. His hand was warm. Larger than yours. It fit so naturally that it almost frightened you. He looked at your joined hands for a long moment. Then back at you.

"I think..." His voice was barely above a whisper. "...I'm starting to fall for you."

The confession hung between you, carried only by the breeze. You smiled, a smile so soft it made his heart ache.

"Starting?"

He laughed quietly. "I was trying not to scare you."

You squeezed his hand. "You won't."

You inched a little closer on the bench until your shoulders touched. The contact was featherlight and comfortable.

"I think..." you admitted, your eyes fixed on the rippling pond, "...I've been falling for you since the day I saw you carry a sleeping Coco without waking her."

He turned to look at you.

"And today..." You met his gaze. "...I realized I don't want this to be our only date."

His smile was breathtaking. "It doesn't have to be."

"No?"

He shook his head. "I'd like there to be a second."

"And a third?"

"If you'll have me."

"A fourth?"

"I was hoping for dozens."

Your eyes softened. "So was I."

Neither of you noticed the sun sinking below the trees or the families gradually leaving the gardens. All either of you could think about was how naturally your hands fit together and how, somewhere between books, tea, and six uninterrupted hours of conversation, you had both quietly fallen in love.

Monday evening found the daycare unusually quiet. The children had long since gone home. Construction paper had been put away. Tables wiped down. Tiny chairs stacked neatly against the wall. Qifrey was humming to himself as he finished locking the art cabinet. It had been two days since your date. Two days and somehow...Hhe still couldn't stop smiling.

"You've smiled at that cabinet three times."

Qifrey looked over. Olruggio was crossing the room with a box of sanitizing supplies balanced against one hip.

"I have not."

"You have."

"I was thinking."

"You looked like you were about to ask the cabinet out."

Qifrey laughed. "You're exaggerating."

"I wish I was."

Olruggio set the box down. His phone buzzed.

He pulled it from his pocket, reading the notification before letting out a quiet hum.

"Hm."

"What?"

"Alaira."

Qifrey paused. "Oh?"

"She's getting everyone together Friday."

"For drinks."

"Apparently she's tired of everyone disappearing into work."

Qifrey smiled. "That sounds like her."

Olruggio typed out a short reply. "She asked if I'd bring you."

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation. "I can't."

Olruggio looked up. "...You can't?"

Qifrey rubbed the back of his neck. "I already have plans."

"What plans?"

A smile, small but unmistakable,appeared on his face. "I'm seeing her."

Olruggio stared. "...Again?"

Qifrey nodded. "We're having dinner."

"...Dinner."

"And then she wanted to walk through the night market afterward."

Olruggio blinked once. Twice. "...You've got a second date."

"I do."

There was a beat of silence. Then another. Finally, Olruggio leaned back against the table and folded his arms. "...Well."

Qifrey laughed. "What?"

"I honestly didn't think you'd move this fast."

"I didn't either."

"It took you nearly two weeks just to ask her on the first one."

"I know."

"And now you're turning down drinks."

"I know."

"...For a woman."

Qifrey's smile softened. "...Yeah."

There was no embarrassment in his answer. No hesitation. Just quiet certainty. Olruggio noticed it immediately. Something had changed. Before, Qifrey had looked excited. Hopeful. Now he looked content. Like he'd found something worth protecting.

"...You really like her."

Qifrey was quiet for a moment. Then...

"I think..." He looked toward the daycare windows, where children's painted handprints still decorated the glass. "...I'm already past 'like.'"

Olruggio's eyebrows lifted. "...That serious?"

"I don't know what to call it." Qifrey laughed softly to himself. "I just know that whenever something happens...my first thought is that I want to tell her." He smiled to himself. "and every morning...I catch myself looking at the clock. Waiting for eight twenty eight."

The daycare fell quiet. Olruggio had known Qifrey for years. He'd seen him care deeply about countless people. About children. Friends. Neighbors. But this was different.

"...You're gone."

Qifrey blinked. "What?"

"Completely."

Qifrey opened his mouth to deny it. Then he thought about Saturday. About your laugh echoing through the bookstore. About your hand fitting into his. About the way you'd smiled when he'd asked for a second date. His denial never came.

A sheepish smile spread across his face. "...Maybe."

Olruggio let out a slow breath through his nose. "...Alaira is never going to let me hear the end of this."

Qifrey laughed. "You can tell her I'm sorry."

"I'll tell her you abandoned us."

"I have."

"You abandoned us for love."

"I don't know if I'd phrase it like that."

"I would."

The two men shared an easy laugh. Olruggio picked up the supply box again. "...Don't screw this up."

Qifrey looked genuinely offended. "I wasn't planning to."

"I'm serious."

"I know."

Olruggio studied him for a second before giving a single nod. "...Good."

Because despite all the teasing, despite the sarcasm, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his oldest friend this happy. If anyone deserved a little happiness, it was Qifrey. As they switched off the lights and locked the daycare for the night, neither of them noticed Olruggio's phone vibrate again.

Alaira: So? Is Qifrey coming?

It had to have been just short of two weeks of you working tirelessly. Two weeks of sleepless nights and long, arduous days bent over your components. It had become common practice for Qifrey to put his foot down, hauling you over his shoulders and dragging you downstairs to eat.

The spell stuttered to life, glowing a brilliant green. Your eyes widened as you pushed out of your chair, spinning around to stare at the heavy wooden chest on the opposite side of your study. 

Though, to your immense disappointment, as quick as the glow started, it snuffed out, leaving the room in the dim shimmer of candle light.

You groaned, collapsing back onto your chair and throwing your arms over your eyes. The wood whined in protest as you let your head loll back.

You didn’t understand why this was proving to be so difficult. A summoning spell should be simple. The mechanics of it seemed rather straightforward. 

“You’ve run yourself ragged, my love.”

You hadn't heard him come up the stairs. You rarely did– Qifrey moved through the Atelier like he'd memorized every creak in the floorboards and made a point of avoiding them. You lowered your arms to find him leaning in the doorway, watching you with that expression you could never quite decide was fond or exasperated. Probably both.

“I’m so close.” Your voice lacked the conviction you had attempted to weave into it.

Qifrey huffed out a laugh that you couldn't bring yourself to be too upset about. 

“I am.” The whine escaped before you could help it. You'd have been more embarrassed about it if your head hadn't chosen that exact moment to remind you, quite forcefully, that you hadn't slept properly in days.

“It’s late.” He hummed, voice much closer this time.

A low sigh pulled from you as Qifrey wound his fingers into your hair, nails brushing lightly against your scalp. 

“Is it?” You murmured, letting your hands drop to your lap.

His hand found your chin, tipping your face up before you had the chance to look away. You didn't have long to feel self conscious about whatever state you were in because he was already pressing his lips to your brow, soft and unhurried, and it was very difficult to feel anything other than that.

“Just past midnight.” He whispered against your searing skin.

“Far past your bedtime.” He added, cheekily.

You rolled your eyes, a small smile curling onto your face. “Here to whisk me away then?”

You had half a mind to be annoyed at how effective he was at this. The other half had already given up entirely.

“Arent I always?”

His arm slipped between your back and the chair before you'd registered what he was doing, the other sweeping beneath your knees, and then you were up– lifted clean out of your chair with an ease that still managed to surprise you no matter how many times he did it. A laugh tumbled out of you, unbidden and a little giddy, as he turned toward the door without breaking stride.

“Qifrey I have work!”

"You have sleep," he corrected, not breaking stride.

You opened your mouth to argue. You had a very good argument prepared, actually. Something about the fire sigil and the summoning radius and the fact that you were this close–

But the warmth of his chest beneath your cheek and the steady, unhurried rhythm of his steps were doing something deeply inconvenient to your resolve. You had forgotten, somewhere in the last two weeks of hunching over your desk, what it felt like to be warm. To be held. Your body remembered now and was making its opinions on the matter very loudly known.

"I nearly had it." You murmured into the fabric of his robes, more to yourself than to him.

"I know." He said it simply, without a trace of doubt in it. That was the thing about Qifrey– he never hedged when it came to you. Never softened his certainty into something more palatable. He just said what he believed and left you to do what you liked with it. "You'll have it tomorrow. Or the day after. You always do."

You exhaled slowly, fingers curling loosely into the front of his robes.

"But a brilliant mind needs a clear head." His voice had dropped lower now, the way it did when he thought you were close to sleep. "And a clear head needs rest. And rest–" a quiet pause, "requires you to actually stop working long enough to achieve it."

You wanted to tell him that you were perfectly fine. That you could go back right now and crack it if he would just put you down. That the fire sigil was the answer and you were certain of it this time.

You didn't get the chance.

The last thing you were aware of was the soft give of the mattress beneath you and the careful way he laid you down, as if you were something worth being gentle with.

Qifrey straightened, looking down at you for a long moment. Your face, finally slack and unguarded in a way it rarely was when you were awake, your hand still loosely curled where it had been gripping his robes.

He shook his head slowly, something fond settling over his expression.

"Brilliant." He murmured, more to himself than to you. "Absolutely impossible."

He reached over to pull the blanket up around your shoulders before crossing to the other side of the bed, settling in beside you. Within moments the candlelight on his side went dark.

a/n: Hey guys sorry I disappeared! Anyway heres a little short one!! I'm taking some summer classes and these finals are KICKING MY A$$. But it okay! Hopefully I'll soon be back to a more regular posting schedule! Hope you enjoyyy

Taglist: As always, comment to be added!