Here for the Fandoms

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When you woke, it was with confusion. You were in a warm bed - your nest - with a still somewhat-full belly and could hear the distant hustle and bustle of a community, something that you hadn’t been a part of in years. And when you lifted your head from the pillow, you saw the alpha sitting in the corner of the room. His eyes were closed, though you were certain that he was awake.

You were proven correct when his hazel gaze met yours, a slight smile sliding onto his face. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” Joel said, raising from the armchair and walking over to the side of the bed you were laying on. “You feel like breakfast?”

Morning already? Just how long had you slept…? You nodded, and watched as he left the room without a word, locking the door behind him. It was only a few minutes before he returned, a tray of food in hand. There were two bowls this time, filled with the same stew that you’d eaten the night before. You gladly accepted the bowl, tucking into your food without hesitation.

Once you were finished, your bladder was near bursting, and you resigned yourself to speaking. “Could I use the restroom?”

Joel took the bowl from your hands with a nod, and you slowly climbed out of your nest, reluctant to leave even with your needs unmet. You followed him down the hall to the shared bathroom, did your business, then walked back to your room, your hand laced with his. You fought the feeling of comfort that his touch brought you, determined to not find any pleasure in being forced to be his omega.

You settled back into your nest, and were surprised to see Joel sinking into the armchair again, without even asking to enter your nest. Perhaps he was trying to gain your trust, or… He might actually respect your boundaries.

You shook that thought from your head. Respecting boundaries includes not kidnapping someone from their totally-safe-and-not-at-all-dangerous lifestyle of survival.

“Is there anything you want me to bring you, sweetheart?” Joel asked, his eyes looking you up and down as if he could see what you desired.

While you didn’t want to indebt yourself to him, there was very little to keep your mind occupied when you were locked in a room with him, and you weren’t about to start chatting with him. “A book or something would be nice, I guess.”

“Anything else?” You shook your head. “If you think of anything, you just need to let me know.” And with that he exited the room, the lock snicking into place after he’d shut the door.

You nuzzled into your nest, running your hands along the soft fabrics that you’d so carefully arranged yesterday. Finally, you understood what had been causing you such distress during each of your heats while on the road. The comfort that your nest brought you was second to none, and you would be damned if you ever spent another heat without one.

And, you supposed, you would never have to unless you escaped from this place, which seemed highly unlikely with how closely you had been watched. The only upsides that you could see so far is that you were safe and your basic needs had been met.

As you waited for Joel to return, your stomach twisted into knots. When would Joel decide that he’d had enough waiting for you to come around and choose to force himself on you? Or would he wait until your mind was too addled by your heat to refuse him?

You were mid panic attack when he reentered the room, a stack of books held in his hands. His hazel eyes were worried when they met yours, the books dropped into his armchair before he approached, standing right at the edge of the bed. “You alright, princess?” You nodded shakily, not trusting your voice. “Well, you don’t look alright. Is there anything I can get you? A glass of water or-”

“Just stop.”

“Stop what?”

You let out a sigh. “Stop trying to make me comfortable. It’s not going to work.”

“So I should toss all these books out the window, hm? Lock you in here and leave you alone until your heat?”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I am making you as comfortable as possible, darlin’. If you don’t appreciate it, that’s on you. But I won’t let my omega sit with nothing to do, bored outta her mind. You have a place here, even if you don’t think of it that way.”

“I was doing just fine on my own-”

“So that’s why we had to take out a pack of infected? Cause you were doin’ ‘just fine?’”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “That was a one-off thing-”

“Exactly. It will never happen again, not when you’re with me. Now, did’ya want these books, or not?”

Your lips fell into a pout once you realized that you had lost the argument you had started. “I want them,” you said quietly, watching as he scooped them back into his arms and deposited them on the edge of your nest. You scooted towards the foot of the bed, hands reaching out to sort through the books. Most of them were water damaged at the edges and had small rips in the covers, but they were all readable. There were a few westerns and sci-fi books, along with a large selection of romance novels. While you’d never been one for the genre before, it would be fun to escape into a low-stakes world filled with love and longing.

You knew you should say thank you, but the words sat heavy in the back of your throat. You’d picked a fight after he'd brought you what you’d asked for, and you were feeling… regretful, as you snuck peeks at the man when you thought he wasn’t looking. Yes, he’d abducted you, but he hadn’t laid a finger on you aside from carrying you and holding your hand when you left the bedroom. So far, he’d turned out to be a better alpha than you’d believed, though you knew a truly good alpha would have let you go free.

The cover of a book was flipped open after you’d deemed it interesting enough, sinking into your nest as you sank into the fictional world. Joel had saved a book for himself, opening his own once he’d seen you had chosen one for yourself. The two of you read for a few hours before you finally closed the cover, marking the page you’d stopped at with a tiny fold in the corner. You stretched out your limbs, suddenly feeling restless, though you didn’t want to leave your nest.

Something was missing. You just didn’t know what.

A whine slipped from your lips without your permission, a noise that instantly caught Joel’s attention. His eyes were on you, watching as you stretched again. “Need somethin’?” You shook your head, eyes catching on the way his biceps looked with the sleeves of his flannel rolled up-

No.

You loosed a sigh and rolled onto your side, facing away from Joel. Maybe you would take a nap, waste some more of the day… You pulled a stray blanket up to your face to cover the light, then did your best to ignore the sound of turning pages, drifting off into an uneasy sleep.

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The rest of the day passed with ease, though you found yourself growing more and more restless as the night went on. You chalked it up to your approaching heat, the way the scent of vanilla and cinnamon and leather was driving you crazy with need. If Joel scented the change in your mood, he said nothing about it.

Dinner came and went, and this time you were able to finish your slice of pie, feeling absolutely stuffed after you’d done so. You settled in for another round of reading, Joel joining you, but found yourself too distracted to focus. Instead, you settled for running your hands over the different fabrics that made up your nest, losing yourself in your omega instincts.

By the time an hour had passed, you were near sleep when the feeling of something being amiss came back.

And this time you knew what it was - your omega crying out for an alpha’s comfort. You snuck a peek at the alpha in your room, his eyes scanning the pages in front of him. Everything in you was desperate for an alpha, but you weren’t ready to admit that yet…

Another whine escaped your lips as you rolled over in your nest, and you curled into a ball in an attempt to keep you from asking for Joel to join you.

“Do you need anything before sleeping?” Joel asked, and your head whipped up to look at him. Your omega melted at the way he was trying to provide for you, urging you to accept his help. Instead, you shook your head. “Alright, then.” He set his book aside and stood from his chair, making his way to the lamp and shutting it off. You heard him return to the chair, the rustle of his clothes as he settled in for the night.

You almost felt bad for him, having to sleep in a chair.

With darkness covering the room, you found it far easier to fall asleep. It only took a few minutes for you to fall into a deep slumber.

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Whines spilled from your lips before you even registered that you were awake, your omega desperate for the alpha residing in the corner of the room. He was up in an instant, standing by the side of your nest that you were closest to.

“What is it, ‘mega?” A pained moan left you before you could stop it once the cramping in your abdomen made itself known, and Joel dropped to his knees so he could look you in the eye. “Do you need an alpha?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from nodding your head, or the way that you scooted back in your nest to make room for the large man. He kicked off his shoes before climbing onto the bed, laying on his back and wrapping one arm around you. You let out a sigh when your head came to rest on his chest, breathing in his scent deeply. It soothed your omega, clearing your head the slightest bit so you could wonder just what the hell you had done.

You tried to pull away, but Joel’s arm held you fast. You fought his grip for a moment before giving up, your omega too pleased to have you trying for long. “That’s it, ‘mega. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Who were you to resist such a suggestion?

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You nuzzled into the warmth in front of you, purring lightly when an arm gripped you tighter. Heat was beginning to build in you, and cramps hit you every few minutes, but breathing in your alpha’s scent helped soothe the pain.

Your alpha?

That thought got you to pull back slightly, just enough to look at Joel’s face, slack with sleep. Your eyes darted to the door that kept you between captivity and freedom, an idea suddenly crossing your mind.

You could escape.

Very carefully, you pried yourself from the alpha’s grip. While it was hard to get yourself out of your nest, once you had, you padded towards the door on silent feet. You turned the handle slowly, surprised to find it unlocked. The door creaked loudly, and you glanced back towards Joel. After finding him still asleep, you snuck into the hallway, walking a few paces before a voice stopped you.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” You froze in place as Joel caught up to you, his arms wrapping around your middle and holding you in place. “If you go any further, you’ll be taken by an alpha faster than you could take a breath.”

“Let me go,” you whined, squirming in his hold until his arms loosened enough for you to turn around.

“No. You’re coming back to your nest, sweetheart, and that’s final.” Joel pulled you back to the room, only ten steps from where he’d caught you, then shut the door behind him and locked the door. “Don’t try ‘n leave again, ‘mega. I might not be able to save you from being claimed by a much rougher alpha than me.”

You pouted as you went back into your nest, pulling the blankets tightly around your shoulders. “I want to leave.”

“That’s too bad, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere without me, or while you’re so close to your heat. Now be good and go back to bed, there’s still a few hours before it’ll be light out.” You followed his command with a frown on your face, but found yourself restless once more.

With a resigned sigh you said, “Can you come here?”

Without a word Joel came over, settling into your nest and pulling you close, and it was only a few minutes before you fell asleep again.

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You awoke with heat coursing through you, unbearable in its intensity. You squirmed against the body in front of you, arms wrapping around it tightly before loosening when a strong cramp hit you. Your alpha was awake in the next moment, his hands running over you in a soothing manner.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You let out a groan before murmuring your name into his chest. He repeated it softly, like he couldn’t believe that you’d said it. You could hardly believe that you’d said it, but the way he said your name… It sent butterflies to your stomach. His hand slid beneath your flannel and ran across your lower back, the cold that it brought making a pleased shiver run up your spine.

With half a thought you unbuttoned the shirt and slid it off your arms, leaving your bare chest pressed against his clothed one, which wasn’t good enough. You whined as you tried to tug his shirt off, failing miserably until Joel helped you remove it. Once he had, you sighed happily at the skin-to-skin contact.

The relief was gone almost as soon as it was there.

You pushed your sweats off of your legs quickly, then shrugged the blanket covering you to the side, far too warm to be enveloped in fabric. Joel’s pants came next, leaving him in just his boxers while you crawled on top of him, desperate for relief from the heat running through you.

There were no thoughts in your mind as your lips met his, the heavenly taste of him soothing your pain for the moment. Your hands came to cup his face, and when your lips parted you let out a sigh of relief. Everywhere you touched him, your skin cooled slightly. You didn’t care anymore that you were here against your will, not when you’d found something that finally helped alleviate the overwhelming pain of your heat.

Joel groaned your name after you kissed him again, his arms coming to wrap around you and hold you closer to him. “What do you need, ‘mega?” You merely whined, unable to name what would make you feel better. “Do you need your alpha’s knot?”

That got your full attention, along with the hardness that you’d somehow aligned with your core, only a thin layer of fabric separating you. “Yes,” you managed to squeeze out before another wave of pain washed over you.

Joel took control of the situation then, gently flipping you so that he was hovering over you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, desperate to keep him close to you as the heat ramped up again.

“Please,” you breathed, needing more to keep the heat at bay.

Joel smiled down at you, removing his underwear with ease. But instead of lining himself up with your core, he let one finger sink into you, a gasp leaving your lips as it did. You’d had sex before the outbreak, but it had been years at this point, and never had you taken an alpha before. But all you could think of was that you needed more.

Joel seemed to understand, letting a second finger join the first as he began stretching you out, which didn’t take long. You let out a keen at the feeling, but it still wasn’t enough - no, you needed all of him, and right now.

“Alpha,” you whined, hips canting as you begged for more. “Please.”

“Alright, ‘mega, be patient,” he said as he removed his fingers, now coated in your slick. He parted your thighs wide enough for him to slot himself between them, then lined the head of his cock up with your sex. He pushed into you slowly, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. Heat left you with each inch that he pushed in, breathy moans leaving your lips. When he finally sank into you completely, you felt deliciously full, the flames in your skin lowered to an itching heat.

You urged him to move and he complied, setting a slow but steady pace that had cold licking up your spine. But soon it wasn't enough, heat returning stronger than before even with the pleasure your alpha was giving you. He moved faster, each thrust sending you closer to your peak. A thumb brushed over your clit, the slightest pressure pushing you over the edge. Your walls clenched around him as you did, and soon you felt his knot catching with each thrust. Your heightened senses had you coming again as soon as he buried himself in you for the last time, his knot inflating and locking the two of you together. His mouth found the mating gland in your neck and he bit down, a heavenly chill going through you.

The heat left your body entirely as your alpha pressed a gentle kiss to the claiming bite, then kissed your lips just as softly.

Joel carefully rolled the both of you onto your sides, one of your legs hitched over his with him still buried inside of you. His hand came to cup your face, thumb stroking over your cheek like you were something precious to him.

You fell into a light sleep as the sun rose, still held in his arms as you awaited the return of your heat.

Ever raging and unpredictable, a push and pull that could very well take but never give back—the water is an endless depth where control seems so easily within grasp only to ebb away the moment you grab hold, slipping and drifting off into an unknown abyss. And for witches, it is something that takes their greatest weapon and turns it into useless splotches of ink on wet parchment, diluted strokes weeping into the paper until it's nothing more than unintelligible lines and blurs of shapes. It's just another reason for Qifrey to despise it, among other things—water slowly dripping, flooding, drowning—he suppresses a shudder as he stares at the tantrum of the waves beyond.

This was meant to be nothing more than a little trip to the shore-line, one that he was loathe to take but did so anyway, before heading back down south to the atelier. With the numerous signs before him, Qifrey definitely should have known better—the clouds so dark and heavy that it seemed one wrong breeze would break the load, sending torrential downpour hailing upon the lands and the winds whipping against him, clawing at his skin in sharp blows and threatening to strip him of his cloak.

Upon arrival, the rain had already begun to pick up, and while he had a spell on hand to repel the rain, some locals of a nearby seaside town spotted the witch before he could reroute home. Which leads him to his current predicament—saving a boy that had gone fishing now stuck mid-waters.

Just looking out unnerves him, the ocean even more so than other bodies of water as it had the ability to imprison, just endless depth that could only take you further into it's clutches. He's suppressing a shiver despite the faux composure he forces upon his frame until it seems natural, like the discomfort was never there in the first place. The cries of the Outsiders that begged for his help did little to persuade his unwilling frame to go out there, but he knows he should, into the terrifying grasp of the sea.

In the midst of his bubbling thoughts, the calls for him stop, and it becomes just quiet enough for the witch to tilt his head up, eye widening at the blur of teal flying off into the distance, far enough that they're nothing but an indiscernible splotch against the lashing waves. He yells for them, almost unable to recognize the voice that rips through as he begs them to come back.

Right, you, his dearest little apprentice that endeared him so—charming under any circumstance despite how he'd first found you, causing him to care far too deeply, far too fast that he doesn't even remember when it happened. You who he adored so much, he was willing to walk the edges of the sea just to see the smile on your face as you yipped with excitement.

You, now being splashed ever violently by the unwavering anger of the sea as you try to grab at the young teenager who's boat tossed and tumbled with the waves. Your figure is small and fragile, and with the added weight of another in your arms, you struggled to keep your body balanced while avoiding the waves that threatened to grab you and pull you down. It was his hesitation that put you out there, vulnerable to the water's seizing hands. He has to save you, was his first thought.

And yet before his sylph shoes can even touch, a collapsed heap in the sand catches his attention accompanied by an exhausted groan, wheezing breaths coming in short bursts as you attempt to chase at what little air is in your lungs. A cap falls to his feet, his arms catching you by instinct as your legs wobble from being bullied by the sea—the salty scent is strong on you, sea water and sand clinging onto once pristine teal fabric as you tremble in his arms.

His clothes dampen as you hold onto him, every bit of you soaked through, though that means little when your frame looks even smaller in his arms than he was used to. Your name slips easily from his lips, in a worried whisper, holding you up by the waist as he pushes back the hair clinging to your cheeks that were now flushed as you regained your bearings.

"Breathe for me now, there you go…" your master's voice reaches your ears in a muffle, as he guides the feel of your breathing beneath his palms. It anchors you, the warmth of his hand radiating against your back in contrast to the clinging cold on your skin as he counts to the rhythm of each breath.

As you calm down, Qifrey crouches to come eye-to-eye with you, a quiet worry settling as each beat of silence passes, taking your hand in his, feeling the fingers pruned, "What you did was incredibly dangerous… You shouldn't have rushed out there all alone."

You almost retreat at the chastising, but decide to stare back instead, returning his hold on your hands with a far tighter grip, "I know… I'm sorry, but…"

Qifrey waits as you pause, wondering what it is that had you flustered, before you speak again, "I just didn't think! My body felt like it was moving on its own. I have the power to help so I couldn't wait, not when someone's life is at risk!"

Something lodges in his throat at that; even if it had been just a moment, he'd hesitated—and despite his fears, as your master he should be leading by example. Witches beyond the day of the pact train to spread good virtue to those that cannot access magic, and you were growing to be the very epitome of that. His first thought hadn't even been the fisherman—it was you.

Just when did you become the forefront thought of his mind? And just when had you grown into such a capable witch?

"… What a lovely sentiment," he breathes out your name, almost content but still letting the worry burrow in his heart—he can't be too relaxed now. Picking up the sand covered hat and dusting it off as best he can, he places the cap back onto your head, a proud smile on his face that radiates so much warmth a similar one crawls up your face, warming your cheeks, "I have no doubt you'll be a witch that surpasses me by leaps and bounds."

"However, that doesn't not mean you should lack temperance," he pinches your nose, "It is a vital component in becoming a proficient witch."

You shiver—whether that be due to the cold or the sudden tightness in your chest, you don't know, but you shake your head at your master, embarrassed by the sparkly glimmer in his eyes as he watches you, "I—don't be a sap, Master..! Let's just go home..."

"Hm, yes, let's," he hums, "Though, I'd like to carry you home. You may have been lucky during the rescue, but the water could have altered the seals on your sylph shoes."

"Ah—! No! That's embarrassing!" you protest, but his arms are already looping under your legs as he stands, sitting you on his arms like a throne as you complain, a petulant pout settling on your lips alongside indignant complaints of how childish this was.

Pleasantries are exchanged and the boy is handed off to a local doctor, and as the two of you fly away, you hear the calls of the townsfolk and the boy's family in thanks, chasing your figures in the sky before they slow down as you disappear farther into your retreat. You look down and give them a small wave before holding on to Qifrey with a satisfied hum, "Can we have something with parasol jellies for dinner?"

"Of course, I think you rather deserve it," Qifrey grips at his arms tighter.

Gossip was an unavoidable thing—humans, after all, craved a distraction from the mundanity of their lives, allowing rumors to feed their need for something novel. Kalhn was a town no different from the rest in that regard, with each ambling alley and twisting road teeming with people, there was no true way to silence the whispers that fluttered into the air, just loud enough that you needn't strain your ears to catch a stray sentence or two. However, today was particularly loud.

It was tragic, really. An atelier, just to the west of Kalhn had burnt down, and while many believed it had been forbidden magic, an investigation by the Knights Moralis proved otherwise. Still, the incident left a pit in many witches' stomachs—after all, that atelier was one of high stature, having produced some of the most talented of witches in their respective eras. The kind of magic able to wipe out an entire atelier and kill everyone inside sends a shiver up Qifrey's spine just thinking about it. It was much too akin to them.

All that was left in the aftermath was the remaining embers embedded in burnt wood and a child, the latest of the apprentices and the only suspect.

The witch didn't realize that something like that could be a risk when taking in an apprentice, for them to have a power not even their teacher can contain (allegedly). Still, it was a risk Qifrey was all too willing to take should he want this creeping parasite to keep away for as long as possible. Unfortunately, no child has approached him about an apprenticeship. Despite how prepared his atelier was to accept one, there would be no point should no one seek him out.

Sighing, he pulls back from the produce he was looking at when a figure bumps into him, shoving him to the side. A voice follows, yelling out in a gruff cadence, followed by short puffs as an older man chases after a figure that disappeared into twisting alleys, panting as he stops and puts his hands to his knees, grumbling to himself in a more inconvenienced tone than angry if anything, "Damn it all! If I had me sylph shoes…"

Curious, Qifrey follows with short steps, "Oh, what seems to be the matter?"

"One of the hand pies from me shop was stolen!" the man grumbled, scratching at his head as he composed himself, his breathing beginning to even back out.

"That is quite the predicament," Qifrey hums before offering his assistance, "Would you like some help in apprehending them?"

The man waves him off before straightening himself out, "Na', with the rumors goin' around about the rogue on the loose, I'd rather not deal with it. Sends a shiver down me spine."

Now that intrigued Qifrey. But just as he's about to ask the man for more details, he'd already scuttled back to his stall. Still, it wouldn't be too much to try and catch a glimpse of this so called rogue loose in Kalhn. What if…? Qifrey clears his mind of these intrusive thoughts.

Deviating from his initial errand of buying materials for the apprentice he was planning on taking in, Qifrey decides to slip into the last alleyway the figure was seen in. But being a center hub of witchkind on the surface world, Kalhn does not lack in populace and instead can feel like it's dwindling with space. Shoving past other witches would prove to be a bit of trouble, not that Qifrey was so rude as to do such a thing anyway.

Just as he's about to turn around and give up on his search, a small figure bumps into him, before something falls to the ground with a wet splatter. The panic is almost immediate, watching as the pastry splatters onto the ground, filling spilling onto the pavement in a messy heap, leaving it completely inedible and eliciting a loud yelp from the figure that dissolves into a whimper, "No! I just got that! And I can't go get another…"

Qifrey can barely get a word out when the figure lets out a sniffle, tears streaming down their cheeks and dripping onto the very same pavement their food had fallen onto. Their hands wipe at their cheeks as their hood falls off their head, revealing their nose tinted red as they continue to cry over the wasted meal, "What do I do now…? Master, why…? Why me?"

So he was right—the thief was a child. And if he had to propose an estimate, they looked to be about 8-9 years of age, on the dreadfully young end of the spectrum to be an apprentice witch, let alone fending for themselves. Where was their master? They clearly had one. Could it be a case of neglect?

No, Qifrey knows the answer, if the man's reaction earlier was anything to go by. Should the rumours be true, you were the very apprentice from the recent incident. Though, you were much younger than the rumours ever made you seem out to be, having spoken about the remaining apprentice like they were much older and a scarier depiction than the trembling mess before him right now.

"Oh dear… I'm terribly sorry for bumping into you. Are you alright?" he mutters, crouching down to your level, his words seeming to aggravate you more than provide any comfort seeing as how you shuffle away from him, taking wary steps back.

"I truly am sorry. I can buy you a new one, if that will make you feel better," he offers, but it does little to patch the dam he's already burst. The feeling of having to console a child he himself upset is terrible and he very much does not know how to deal with children. While he'd, begrudgingly, approached his old Master on how to properly train an apprentice (especially with knowing how particularly difficult he was), trying to put it into practice was a different case all together.

"No…" the small voice leaves your lips, trying to move further away from Qifrey, but you know these alleys well—nothing but a dead end awaits you if you run further into them, and should you run the other, there's no way you're not to be caught by a man his stature.

The fear is evident in your eyes, analyzing each and every route to escape. Qifrey's eyebrows furrow at the very idea that you think he'll hurt you, but with the short interaction from earlier a small hint as to how the other witches think of you, he knows the reaction is all too reasonable. Unsure of what else to do, the witch pulls out a handkerchief from his back pouch, offering it carefully, "Please… I'd like to help. What can I do to make you feel better?"

Something about this seems to catch your attention, as you finally pause, angling your body to look at Qifrey in the face, properly, then to the handkerchief in his grasp. Tentatively, small fingers reach out for the piece of fabric, barely brushing against the cloth before they stop, your eyes drifting back up at man before you with swimming uncertainty in your eyes. When he doesn't budge, only smiling to urge you on, you grasp the cloth with haste, as though Qifrey would take it back should you not take the chance, eyes casting down at the pristine white fabric and feeling the smooth quality, "You… want to help?"

"Of course. It's alright to cry, it is natural after all, but I'd like to fix the problem I caused," his voice is soft to your ears, a kind you haven't heard since the incident.

He watched as you hid behind the small piece of fabric, nose scrunched as you felt the heat at the tip of it spreading to your cheeks as you tried to look elsewhere, trying to evade eye contact, "Then, uhm, yes. I want a new one."

"Perfect! Let's go then," he offered his hand, palm up in a way that you could hold onto it. Unfortunately, that's where the interaction stagnates, as you only give a passing glance at the outstretched limb before ignoring it completely, bringing it upon yourself to simply follow. He still thinks that's progress though.

As you pass by though, the witches around town seem to forget themselves, eyes blatant in their stare and lips loud with their judgment the moment you step out into the crowd. You must have been in some sort of daze, as once you'd become aware of the peering eyes, the panic sets in, realizing your hood wasn't on, scrambling to tug it forward. But it does little, everyone has seen you and they will do well to show you what they think about it.

Watching the crowd back with the same judgment pointed toward them instead, Qifrey notices when your small frame tries to hide in his presence, as though taking up the role of his shadow, while still avoiding making too close contact with him, so he does well to skew you from he peer of these irksome eyes. To cast such disdainful glares at a child the Knights have proved innocence upon, the young witch wishes he could do more than just this.

The more you follow the white capped witch though, the more your body seems to stiffen.

"I—nevermind, I don't want to—I can't be here—can we go somewhere else?" you finally speak, now completely frozen in your tracks as the stares become too overwhelming, too knowing of you and your situation. Even to a child as young as you, it's obvious what everyone still thinks, despite all the Knights Moralis have claimed to point otherwise. You are the killer apprentice in everyone's eyes, with an all too powerful talent for magic that must be contained—no, erased—and little would do to change that. He remembered feeling like this as a child, the Outsider taken in by one of the Wise of all people when he should have been stripped of his memories instead and left to live the true life of an Outsider.

An audible attempt to bite back a cry through a pathetic whimper pulls Qifrey out of his anger, "Ah, yes, my atelier is close by. But I might have to carry you though. Is that alright?"

He watches as you shuffle around, eyes cast down on your feet with an expression twisted in discomfort and frustration. You must be cursing your lack of sylph shoes, biting your lip as though the idea of being held or even touched disgusts you. Still, your eyes cast up at Qifrey and the patience that graced his face, lacking the disdain so many have held for you since the incident. He's been nothing but kind—a presence so warm you can almost feel it radiating at you. Permission and consent explicitly given to him by you was important and he wouldn't do anything should he not get it. Was there really anything to lose?

"Alright," you mutter, the sound so soft that it barely reaches Qifrey's ears. But he hears it nonetheless, smiling when you bring your arms up, causing him to shuffle close enough for your to loop your small arms around his neck, his arms settles beneath your bottom to make sure you sit secure.

The take off is a bit rough for a moment as he adjusts to the unfamiliar weight of another person, regardless of how small, in his arms. But the longer they're airborne the more comfortable he is holding you, clutching your head to his chest to make sure the wind doesn't whip your hair around. He can't help but chuckle when he finds your eyes shut tight, and hands digging into his cloak like it's your only lifeline. You really are just a child.

It's not long until their little trip ends and upon your arrival he leads you to the kitchen, allowing you to sit at the dining table as he puts on fairy tea to brew. With a strong enough spell, the scent flits into the room, the very smell of it soothing to the senses. Aware of your hunger, Qifrey knows he has little time to prepare anything fresh so he reaches over for the magic cookpot perched upon one of the shelves. It's still quite full, having only recently been made.

He takes the pot and places it upon the table, watching as you eye at the pot warily, flitting to the bowl he'd laid before you as though the soup contained bad intent. Giving you time to get acquainted with the meal, he fetches the steeping tea, along with a few teacups, pleased with himself when he return to find you heartily shoveling large spoonfuls into your mouth, "Careful now. You should pace yourself as to not overwhelm your stomach."

He can see the way you visibly freeze up, before your pace significantly slows—Qifrey can't help but smile at it, how skittish you are, like a bunny that threatened to flee the moment he made any noise too loud to your ears. It showed just how much of a fledgling you still were in a world that condemned you as though you were more than that. In his stupor, gentle hand falls against his forearm as you softly tug on the fabric and his attention. He watches as you pause for a moment, using your sleeve to wipe at the residue stew on your lips.

"Why did you help me, sir?" its not a question a child should be asking, yet it falls from your lips so casually, as though being refused help was the default you'd known. Qifrey pauses, the soft flow of tea into the dainty ceramic pausing, drops trickling before coming to a complete stop.

"What a silly question, little one. Why wouldn't I help you?" he hums, before continuing to pour tea into the cup until it nears the rim.

You fiddle with your fingers, nails picking at the skin surrounding them, a knot between your brows summoned by pure frustration, as though you can't fathom how condescending his answer is, as though the idea you'd proposed was the absurd one when everything you'd been shown since your atelier burnt down proved otherwise, "You know. Surely, you know—I know that you do! Master always said you can tell a lot about people by their eyes! You know! You know but you—!"

"You don't look at me angry—like I did something bad. Not like everyone else does. It's not my fault! They Knights say so too!" they grasp their cloak, pulling it over their head as they try to reign in their emotions. But their just a child, and their feelings become too big for them to contain, coming out in a rasped sob, "But no one believes me! Why won't they believe me?!"

A warm hand comes atop your head almost immediately as Qifrey comes down to your level much like he did in the alleyway. He uses the pad of his thumb on his free hand to wipe at the falling tears, hushing you as you stared the tears still coming down in waterfalls, "I believe you. And that's why I helped."

The emotions almost come in waves—first was disbelief, then relief before pure joy consumed you, stumbling into him as he startles, making sure to catch you. You sob loudly, a volume that he would have never imagines to have come from a child as small as you. You tears dampen his cloak as he rubs your back, soothing you as you continue to cry, hiccuping and struggling to catch your breath, "Then please—Please be my master! I don't—I don't want to be alone anymore!"

Qifrey pauses before wrapping long arms around you, so small and fragile. A small breath of laughter falls from his lips, "Of course. But first, will you tell me your name, little apprentice?"

You mumble it into his cloak, words almost caught by the fabric before it reaches his ears but he hears it anyway. He repeats your name, foreign on his tongue but something he's sure he'll get used to at some point. Taking you in as his apprentice might lead to a path unknown, but he's sure it will turn out fine. And if it doesn't, that's all the more reason he should keep you in his care.

He speaks your name again, pulling away and placing his hands on your shoulders, "Why don't I show you around? Then we'll get you cleaned up."

Yes, you would be his apprentice.

"Master."

Qifrey tilts his head up staring at neatly peeled pile of parasol jelly legs before him, your miffed expression—a pout he finds truly adorable, though would never admit to you—painfully endearing as you hold it out to him. You sigh, rubbing your fingers of the briney feeling that enveloped them as he takes the plate of unshelled legs, and places it down on the counter, watching as you move in on him with suspicion, "Are you alright? You were looking at me strange."

You can't help the warmth that spreads to your cheeks as he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck in a sheepish way—he knows how he was caught looking, that same adoring look in his eye every time. It's embarrassing how aware you are of it—like you're the thing he's most proudest of when you've done nothing to elicit such an expression from him.

"It's nothing at all, my dear. Can't a master admire his favorite apprentice?" his words come out in all but an attempt to flatter, as though to try and distract you from his strange behavior.

You snort at the attempt, ineffective on you as you move up to look at the bubbling concoction brewing in the pot, sighing in bliss as you catch a whiff of the mixing flavors while your master slices the parasol jellies into thin strips. For a moment Qifrey almost thinks you've decided to let him off the hook and ignore the way he was staring, "I'm your only apprentice, master. Now, talk."

"Fine, fine. Nothing escapes you, my dearest," he shuffles in beside you, ruffling at your hair as he pours the strips he'd made into the stew, stirring the thick broth to distribute each piece just how you like it, "I was just thinking how much my little witch has grown."

You sputter for a bit before elbowing the man softly in the side, "Ugh, I shouldn't have asked…"

He laughs, the sound spreading a warmth through your chest as he scoops up some stew for you to taste on a ladle, "Good?"

"Mhm, always."

“Move over kid,” Olruggio suddenly appears and he uses his knee to gesture you forward. You scoot up, giving him space to settle on the seat behind you. He pulls you back with his hands on your shoulders, situating you between his knees. Tetia’s uncertain hands are replaced with Olruggio’s large ones. They travel up the side of your neck and scoop your hair between steady palms. His fingers run over your scalp, slipping your hair into sections as he instructs Tetia. You don’t really hear what he’s saying because the sensation of his touch sits somewhere between soothing and nervewrecking. A shiver runs down your spine when his thumb catches the base of your neck, the pads of them rough from years of work.

“Gee, Master Olruggio! How did you learn that?” Tetia is leaning in so close she sounds like she’s speaking right into your ear. You squint.

“You learn a lot of things out in Ghodrey, this is no different than braiding rope.” You snort, gosh, you’d hope your hair was more than just a simple farm cord. It’s definitely softer than that. When Tetia is satisfied with her little lesson she straightens, pointing at Richeh.

“Richeh, let me practice on your hair,” she says. 

“No.” Richeh says before biting into her snack.

“Please!” Tetia cries. Agott comments on her being too loud, and you agree. Coco is rubbing her neck sheepishly.

“No,” Richeh says again, with her empty bowl in hand she scurries to the kitchen. Her pace quickens when Tetia skips after her. Coco follows in an attempt to placate and Agott mutters something about wanting a snack. All four girls leave the room as chaotically as they entered it. 

Olruggio’s hands don’t leave your neck. You hear rustling in the kitchen, food pulled from cabinets and Tetia’s continuous pleas for a practice head before the back door opens and closes. Their voices grow distant. 

Olruggio leans forward, bent at the waist as you shuffle back, straightening your spine to reach him. He drops one hand, leaving the other to cup the opposite side of your neck and jaw as he presses slow languid kisses from the back of your ear to the dip of your shoulder. You sigh and let your head fall to the side. Your hand reaches for him, body relaxing.

“Soft,” he mutters. You giggle as he turns your head, your eyes meeting. Your smile mischievously, “my hair?” 

Olrugigo hums, “You.” You tilt your chin up and kiss him. The angle is a little awkward at first but you shift sideways to adjust, relieving the tension in your neck. Olruggio isn’t arched over your so uncomfortably as you place your hand on his knee, twisting up to push into your kiss. He smiles against your mouth and deepens the affectionate gesture. His hand cups the side of your face, fingers threading into your hair. He hums, deep in his throat as you move to your knees, still stationed between his legs, your chest now facing his. Every few kisses you creep closer until you're stopped by the edge of the couch, your hands finding their way to his hair as your arms tangle together in a knot that cannot be undone. 

“Ha! Look Master Olruggio!” The backdoor slams open and you pull away from the dark haired man. You skillfully shuffle to the seat beside him and he throws an arm behind you in an attempt at casualness. 

“Richeh let me braid her hair!” Tetia forces the other girl to spin around, gesturing to a lopsided braid. It was progress but you weren’t so sure Richeh actually let her use her hair without some sort of deal.

Tetia tilts her head when she regards you, “Why is your braid undone, it was so pretty!” 

You hear Olruggio snort, and you hit him on the knee to shut him up. His fingers trace your shoulder playfully. You ignore it as best you can.

“I was trying to do it myself but it seems I messed up. Would you like to rebraid it for me?” 

Tetia lights up, “Of course, Tetia to the rescue!”

Qifrey looked up at him, gaze penetrating over the rim of his glasses. 

“You know why I have to,” Qifrey said. Of course Olruggio knew why. He just didn’t like it. You wouldn’t like it. Was it necessary? Maybe, Olruggio wasn’t sure. He only just learned about the threat that Qifrey was scrambling to neutralize. 

After Senaka’s visit to the atelier and your reluctance to explain it, Qifrey pulled Olruggio to the side. Told him that there was no client, no job. He’d been looking for a brimcap who’d been leaving evidence of themself to everyone in Kalhn, sloppy spells and taunting sigils. They wanted to be found but didn’t want to make it easy. He’d been keeping a secret from him, and you, for at least two months. 

Olruggio would say the reveal spiked his irritation but he could only sigh. 

“Are you going to tell her what it is?” Olruggio asked. Qifrey often purposefully negated information, not out of malicious intent or psychotic manipulation but rather the paranoid belief that not knowing was sometimes better than knowing. He meant well, Olruggio knew that, despite not making the best decisions.

“Of course I will, she has to be the one to activate it.” Qifrey said it like it was obvious, like a tracking necklace was some casual gift made of nothing but sparkling red gems and a loving touch. 

Olruggio sighed but pulled up a stool and fell onto it. He grunted as he held out his hand, asking for the contraption. He knew he had no other option than to look at it. Qifrey was going to give it to you either way, the least he could do was make sure the thing didn’t shatter after one use or burn your skin where it would rest against your chest.  

Olruggio plucked a loupe from the edge of the desk, squeezing the cylindrical piece between brow and cheek to hold it in place in front of his eye. Qifrey moved the spotlight above them, casting a concentrated glow over Olruggio’s hands.

“What is it exactly supposed to do?” He asked, rotating the piece in his fingers. The weight was good, comfortable. Not too large, not too small. It was warm from Qifrey’s touch. He’d done well with designing it. 

“A part of the seal is sketched on the gem and on the back of the fauceting. When you press it,” he reached over and gently popped the gem into place with a soft click. It flickered briefly before puttering out. “It glows, and triggers two rings to tell the wearer that something is wrong.” 

Olruggio popped the gem out of its placement with the back of a wooden tool. He raised it to the light to examine the spell. 

“It needs to be inscribed.” He said. He ran his thumb over the back of the gem and the markings smudged. “This ink won’ hold, ah know it’s used for painting like this but the constant friction will wear it down in days, whether it’s activated or not.” This ink couldn’t handle the heat of the body like it could outdoor temperature. Paired with the elements and human sweat it was bound to dissolve.

Qifrey peered under the light. He rocked forward a little for a better view. “I trust you.” He said simply. Olruggio glanced at him but didn’t reply. He reached for the searneedle pen, plucking it from a glass holder and activating it. It hummed with heat. 

Just as he was about to press the needle to the back of the gem, Qifrey’s hand snaked underneath the table and settled on Olruggio’s closest thigh. The gesture was casual and Qifery made no comment as his long fingers squeezed gentle.

Olruggio was suddenly having a very hard time concentrating. 

His finger twitched and he willed himself to focus. This sigil was sensitive and the slightest mistake would ruin everything. 

Qifrey’s hand rolled tortuously, caressing Olruggio’s leg. Olruggio gripped the pen tighter, the steady hand of an inventor nearly unravelled by a touch meant for a lover.

It only took only minutes for Olruggio to inscribe the spell, even with his distraction. 

Olruggio placed the finished gem on the table, before reaching for the metal bed it would sit in. Out of the corner of his eye, Olruggio could see that Qifrey was watching him work, rather than watching him. As if he were unaware (or good at masking) the fact that he was practically groping him. But Olruggio made no attempt to remove the touch. He actually adjusted towards it, his thigh moving just a tad closer to his friend.

When he finished searing the patterns into the metal Olruggio couldn’t put the necklace back together fast enough. He shakily placed the gem into its housing and pressed down. 

Click.

Buzz. A long drawn out ring and a small light pillared in the bowl on the table. It wiggled before straightening, pinpointing the location of the pendant. Qifrey smiled, “They work perfectly.” 

When Olruggio released the contraption the buzzing stopped and the light faded. He handed it to Qifrey. Qifrey’s one hand remained on his thigh but he used his free one to take the piece. 

“I trust you with her, you know.” he said casually. He held the gem up to the light, watching the candle lick at the shadows of his fingers and dance along the back of the pendant. The red gem pulsed beside the flames, rolling shades of red and orange, dancing in time with the flickering candle.

Olruggio didn’t know what to say, that damn hand on his leg was already making it hard to think, so he gave up on even trying to talk.

“Olruggio, has she said anything to you?” Qifrey asked suddenly. The question jolted the other man back into reality, only a little less dazed by their bodies being so close.

“What?” Olruggio asked.

Qifrey hummed, “ah, I mean, has she shown any interest.”

“In what?” Olruggio questioned. Qifrey looked at him like you would look at a wounded dog, with nothing empathetic understanding. Was he? Olruggio’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to respond, but Qifrey smiled gently and spoke before he could get the next words out. 

“Nothing,” Qifrey said, “Do not worry, my friend.” 

The word friend was heavy, falling from his tongue with something adjacent more to that of a lover. Olruggio’s heart pulsed, he felt sweat bead at his brow. 

Qifrey was married. He was married to you. But the way he spoke to him, the way he has spoken to him, dug a hole in his heart that he has never been able to fill. Never been able to satisfy, and he had no right to even try and fill it. 

Qifrey was married and he was married to you and he should have pulled away when Qifrey placed his hand on his leg, but he didn’t, Qifrey never does anything by accident, it’s always calculated, this was no different, right, 

and when Olruggio held you beside him at the market the other day and when your hands fell to his chest after waking up, they left the same heated touch as Qifrey’s did now, grounding, rich, addictive, but Qifrey was married and he was married to you and Olruggio knew he had no right to get in between that, but Qifrey was suggesting that he could just—right, right, right—?

“Master Qifrey? Are you awake?” 

Olruggio nearly jumped out of his skin. Qifrey pulled his hand away, the weight of him now a ghost, the heat of him gone. “Yes, Tetia? Another nightmare?” 

“...yes…” she said, defeated. 

“I am coming, my dear. Let me clean up and I will help you settle back to bed.” Qifrey shuffled about the room, pulling on his evening robe and dropping the necklace in the bowl with the rings. He slipped out of the room silently, only looking back at Olruggio once, a glint in his eye. 

“I mean it, Olruggio, I trust you with everything.” 

When the door clicked shut behind him Olruggio let out a shuttering breath and rubbed his face with a trembling hand, barely concealed by his work. 

“Fuck.”

That necklace haunted him for the rest of the night.

“Have you lost your mind, Qifrey?” You hissed. It was late, well into the evening, and the three of you were sitting in the living room. You’d been restless for the better half of the week. You could barely sleep and every little thing made you jump. Qifrey’s soothing hums and delicate caresses did nothing to ease you into the realm of dreams. You’d jerk awake every few minutes, the faint sound of phantom thunder and the rattle of the brass door knob rocking you from sleep. 

Your nerves were fried and Qifrey suddenly telling you that he was going to the great hall to do some research, burnt out the last bit of stable light you had. 

Olruggio sat awkwardly on the floor when you shot up from the couch, watching you carefully. 

“Darling—” 

“Do not ‘darling’ me, husband. You can’t just leave with all this going on!” You kept your voice low not wanting to wake the children, but the power behind it, the irritation was clear. 

“I have to do this,” he said gently, reaching for your hand. You pulled back, and Olruggio could see the flicker of hurt that darted across Qifrey’s face. Part of him felt bad, but another part of him didn’t. He’d warned him this would cause a rift the longer he hid it. 

“You have people in this home who need you here,” you said. You tried to not let your lip tremble. From the frustration, from the fear, from the anger. “We need you here. I need you here.” Your voice faltered. 

“What if he comes back, Qifrey? What if he takes one of the girls from us.” You don’t know combat magic like they do, you never had the interest to learn, and you certainly never had the need to. Regular witches didn’t have the need for fighting. 

He opened his mouth to speak and you cut him off when the realization struck you, “he’s going to come back, isn’t he? How long have you known?” Out of the corner of your eye, Olruggio dipped into his work and you knew you’d discovered something you shouldn’t have. 

Your husband sighed. “You don’t have a client do you, Qifrey?” 

“No, I do not.” When a lover slips out of bed in the middle of the night to dip away to privacy or when they stay out working late again and again, the conclusion is rather simple. A secret lover, a midnight rendezvous.

Yours was not so simple. You had other worries, stranger ones, because when your husband did exactly that it meant he was putting himself in danger not slinking off to have an affair. It just always takes you a while to realize it.

“How long?”

“A few months. The first time I recognized it was him we were at the market.” It’s been weeks since that day. He’s known for weeks and was only telling you now?

Olruggio was not spared your wrath, “you knew too, didn’t you?”

“…for only a week o’ so…” he mumbled, shrinking to avoid your fire. He was scared of those flames. 

“Out of all the stupid things both of you have done!” Your eyes burned from frustration. Tears prickled the back of them and you struggled to keep your voice steady. 

Here you were, beating yourself up for hiding a palm quire for a week and your husband knew about everything for months. You’d done the same thing yourself, in all honesty, but the bubbling irritation that all three of you seemed incapable of asking for help and now wanting to worry about each other was a testament, in your mind, as to why you were together. 

“You didn’t tell me, you didn’t warn me!” You gripped the front off your night gown, the robe over it heavy and suffocating, “what if he took one of our girls! I could have seen him anywhere, he’s clearly following us. I would have known to avoid him, to tell—our girls you two. Our children!”

Days of little sleep and constant anxiety burst from you in a waterfall of tears. You gripped the edge of the couch to keep yourself from collapsing, the world was blurry. You could saw Qifrey, a mass of white and grey, reach for you but you stepped back to avoid him. Stumbling. 

Warm hands fell to your lower back, supporting you and keeping you from falling bottom first into the glowing hearth. “Aye, let’s sit.” 

“I don’t want to sit,” you grumbled. Nonetheless you gripped Olruggio’s sleeve as he helped you settle onto the couch. He crouched in front of you as you sniffled, your mind was racing, running circles around every scenario you could think of before stopping and starting over again. 

You stilled when a small wooden box was placed in your lap. Qifrey’s long fingers titled your chin up and he delicately pressed a handkerchief to your cheeks, dabbing at stress-dampened skin. “I am sorry, my love.” He said carefully. He ran pacifying thumbs over your cheeks. “I did not want you to worry.” 

“Too late for that,” You bit out weakly. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, the kiss was a shadow, a statement. You returned it weakly. 

Olruggio watched the two of you quietly. It hurt him to see you like this. His hand twitched with the desire to comfort you. He wanted to place his hand on your knee, just to tell you that he was here, but he froze when Qifrey kissed you. A harsh reminder that it was not his place to do that. 

“It will just be for a few days,” Qifrey said quietly. Your breath hitched, but you let him explain. “Senaka is a brimcap. There were whispers of one hiding in Kalhn, and I was trying to track him down. The last thing I ever wanted him to do was come to our home.” 

“and you’re certain he’s after?” You grabbed the box, the edges digging into your hand.

“Coco. Yes. ” He said. Olruggio shifted back and settled on his bottom, bringing up a knee and resting his arm on it as he propped himself up. He stayed silent as you spoke. 

This was not Coco’s first encounter with the Brimmed Caps. That poor girl had seen them once every few months since arriving at the atelier. The damned book she was given haunting her day and night. You’d thought they’d taken a break from chasing her, you’d hoped they’d given up but clearly that was not the case. 

“I need to do more research. You said a storm hit when he arrived, yes?” 

You nodded.

“I think he is manipulating the weather, those weeks of storms weren’t just an unusual rainy season. That was an attempt to keep everyone indoors.” 

“So, he could snoop out the residents?” Olruggio said. 

“Yes, precisely.” Qifrey said, as he reached for the box. “Residents would only leave for necessities, which allowed him to watch and observe. I suspect when he realized we did not live in Kalhn, he needed to find another way to smoke us out.”

He pried open the box with a gentle pop, and your eyes widened at it’s contents. 

Settled comfortably a small satin cushion was a pendant, bright red and sparkling, it was connected to a golden chain. 

He lifted the piece from its storage. He placed it in your hands, guiding your fingers to the facets. 

“What is this?” You whispered. 

You pressed into it and the pendant clicked, two bright red lights followed. Qifrey flipped his hand over to show you his fingers and situated beside his wed band was a thin gold ring lined in gemstones. They pulsed with light and the ring vibrated gently. Your eye caught Olruggio’s hand as he revealed his own, same color, same shape. 

“When I heard of Senaka’s whereabouts I wanted to make something you could contact us quickly and discreetly in the event of an emergency. A portable windowway would not do. This should work, however.” 

All those nights of him hidden away he was working on this. You caught Olruggio’s eye who returned it with a sheepish avoidance. 

You gripped the piece between your palms as he added, “You will not be alone. Olruggio is staying with you.” Your eyes flickered to the dark haired man, he smiled at you. “Aye, you’re stuck with me until he gets back.” He bravely reached for your hand and you gripped it, allowing Qifrey to slip the necklace from your fingers. 

He eased the chain around your neck, and the pendant settled just above your breasts, glowing softly across the cotton of your pajamas. Qifrey kissed the side of your head, placing his hand on top of yours and Olruggio’s.

“He will keep you perfectly safe, darling.” 

Qifrey sought out Olruggio’s gaze over the crown of your head, the two stared at each other, speaking silently in that unique way only they understood. 

“Perfectly safe.” 

He pawed at the darkness, hands grabbing nothing but water. It flooded his eyes, filled his lungs, and he just spun and spun and spun as he was sucked into a blight of agony.

He could hear you, see your shadow above the rim of the pool, reaching for him but he couldn’t move. And when hands, that were not his, not Olruggio’s fell on your shoulders and pulled you back—

Qifrey’s eyes popped open and he inhaled deeply as he was pulled from a rather unsettling dream. It meant nothing, a whirl pool sucking him down into unfathomable darkness with no means of escape. It was normal for him. He traced the veins of the wood beams above him, the sheets of the canopy that surrounded his bed swayed gently in the earlier morning light. The sun had barely risen, illuminating the room with shades of orange and yellow. The sweat on his brow dried with the cool morning air. 

Senaka had been on his mind since he’d fallen to sleep. The mystery of the man and the threat he held over them a haunting lullaby.

“Hmm…” you were curled at his side, head resting on his chest. He brought a hand up and gently brushed your hair from your face. You slept peacefully, finally, after nearly weeks of unsettled rest. Your gown, skewed and uneven from adjusting in your sleep. The rays of light caught the pendant around your neck, reflecting the gem across your chest. You’d not taken it off since he’d given it to you. He was happy for that, it eased him, if only a little. His ring sat securely on his finger.

He glanced at the wall clock opposite of the bed, it moved thoughtlessly, hands on 7 and 6. He sighed. 

He needed to get up, but he didn’t want to disturb you. He always found sweet satisfaction in how you clung to him at night, hand desperately clenching his night shirt and nuzzling as close as you possibly could. 

He tried to slide from underneath you but you whined. He smiled and kissed the top of your head, hand caressing your cheek as he tried again. He evaded your touch the second time and managed to leave the bed without tripping. You groaned and rolled, pawing the bedsheets. He crouched when your eyes cracked open, looking for him blearily. He thumbed your cheek, “I am going now.” he said gently. 

You hummed, half aware. You knew he was leaving this morning but the exhaustion sat so deep in your bones that you barely had the energy to speak. “Come back soon?” You muttered, burrowing further into the pillows. “Of course,” he said softly. He kissed you delicately, and all you could do was hum in satisfaction before being lulled back to sleep. Thank goodness. He was sure he’d be able to leave if you begged him to stay again.

Qifrey rose and dressed, pulling the curtains to the canopy closed just before he left the room.

He stood in the kitchen now, tucking bread and dried meat into a sack. Checking to make sure he had enough ink and parchment for spells. 

“Goin’ away for a while are yuh?” Olruggio leaned against the wall, watching him casually. His accent was thicker in the mornings.

Qifrey continued packing, “I hope for just a day or so. I won’t be long.” 

“Aye, like I’ll believe that.” Olruggio hummed. Qifrey’s plans always derailed in one way or another, and Olruggio was always prepared for that inevitability. Qifrey, from the way he was packing, was too.

Qifrey’s face was set in melancholy, “She will get lonely.” 

“Well, that means you’ll ‘ave to hurry back.” Olruggio said. It wasn’t often that you were separated from Qifrey but it always felt like the weight of the world was suddenly crushing you when he wasn’t around. 

“Will you stay with her?” Qifrey asked. He stepped in front of Olruggio who righted himself, straightening to his full height as he looked up slightly at the taller man.

“We already talked about that, I’ll keep the girls safe too.” 

“Olruggio.” Qifrey said. 

The dark haired man raised a brow, “Hm?” 

“When I spoke to you that night, when I first started drafting the seal.” 

“Yeah, wha’ about it?” Olruggio asked.

“I told you I trust you with everything. With her.” Olruggio remembered. The night was not easily forgotten.

“If she needs anything, wants anything. You do it.” Qifrey paused, rolling the next words in his mouth to taste them before saying, “If you want to give her anything, you’re more than welcome to. I’m sure she’d like it.” Olruggio’s breath hitched and his eyes darted to Qifrey’s lips before catching the man’s bright blue eyes.

Olruggio muttered the phrases to himself, lips mouthing the movements, trying to understand exactly what he meant. He couldn’t possibly—?

Qifrey didn’t break eye-contact as he secured the bag around his chest, and grabbed his cap off the hook by Olruggio’s head. Olruggio followed his movements. They were steady, assured. When he pulled his arm down he paused, glancing at Olruggio’s lips just before he leaned in and brushed his against Olruggio’s cheek instead. It was so light that if Olruggio wasn’t paying attention he would have thought it was a brush of the breeze. 

“I will be back soon.” He placed his cap on his head, “Stay safe, Olly.” 

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You rolled over in bed, seeking the extra warmth that you knew would be beside you. Your arm slung over Feyre's stomach, your hand resting against Rhys's bare skin. A contented sigh left your lips as you nuzzled into Feyre's shoulder.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Rhys chuckled softly, his own hand coming to brush over your waist, his touch tickling and drawing a breathy laugh from you.

"Mornin'," you said with a yawn, burrowing your face into Feyre's chest - one of your favorite things to do in the mornings.

"It's almost time for breakfast," Feyre said as her hand came to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp gently. "Do you think you can move?"

"Can? Yes. Want to? No," you said, words muffled as you tightened your grip on them. Feyre laughed, a beautiful sound that sent your heart racing each time.

"What if I carry you to the dining room?" Rhys asked, and you raised your head to look at him, eyes bright.

"I suppose that would be doable," you said. "So long as we can cuddle afterwards."

"That's a given, love," Feyre said, pressing her lips to your forehead. "We took the day off just for you, you know."

That had you perking up, now raised onto your elbow. "You did?" you asked, delighted to know that they wanted to spend an entire day with you.

"Of course, darling. It's our sixth month anniversary after all," Rhys said with a smile.

You had known that, of course, but with their busy schedules, you hadn't expected them to remember such an inconsequential date in the grand scheme of things. After all, they had already been mated for fifty years. What was sixth months compared to that?

"Everything, little love," Feyre cooed, her blue-grey eyes on you. You blushed when you realized you'd shouted your thoughts at them. "You're everything to us."

Your eyes grew teary at her words, a smile spreading over your lips. "And you're both everything to me," you whispered.

How you were lucky enough to be with the two of them, you weren't sure. It had all started with a chance meeting in the Palace of Hoof and Leaf, when you'd been shopping for your dinner one night. Feyre had accidentally bumped into you, making you drop your groceries to the ground.

"I am so sorry!" Feyre exclaimed, bending to help you return your purchases to the bag you had brought with you, her fingers brushing over yours. A light shock went through you at the contact, a pleasant feeling that spread through your body.

"It's fine, High Lady," you said quietly, a blush on your cheeks when you finally registered that it was her helping you.

Another set of hands joined in, large and tanned, setting the last few items back into your bag. "You must excuse my wife, she was so taken with your beauty that she forgot herself," Rhys said, a humorous smile on his lips when you finally glanced up at him.

"Oh, I- I'm sure that's not true," you giggled nervously, standing and pulling your bag into your arms.

It was Feyre's turn to blush, a delicate thing that had her looking even more stunning than before. "That was very much the case," she said softly, her eyes on yours. "What is your name?"

"Y/N, my Lady."

"Oh, none of that, love," Feyre laughed. "Call me Feyre... Would you care to have dinner with us? I would say as an apology, though it's more of an excuse to get to know you." Her hopeful smile had your heart racing.

"Oh, I..." You bit your lip as you thought about it. The groceries you'd picked would only be good for tonight, and you didn't want to waste them. And you did have enough for the three of you… "I would love to, but I really do need to cook these," you said, lifting the bag slightly higher. "Would... You could both join me, if you'd like."

They wore matching grins at your suggestion, and nodded at the same time. "We would love that, darling," Rhys said.

Rhys had helped you cook dinner while Feyre watched, sipping a glass of the wine they had brought with them. They had stayed late into the night, the three of you chatting about anything and everything. You’d grown impossibly close in only a month, spending all of your free time with the two of them, and it was then that they had formally asked you to be theirs. Feyre had slipped a promise ring onto your finger, a matching one to the rings they both wore.

You moved in with them after three months, and had since enjoyed many a lazy morning like the one you were experiencing today.

“I thought I could make cinnamon toast for the three of us,” Rhys said, bringing you out of your thoughts and back to the two of them.

“That sounds delicious,” you said, your words punctuated by your stomach grumbling, drawing a laugh from both of your loves. Then began the flurry of getting dressed, your hands lingering on them and theirs on you, the process slowed by the lingering kisses you shared. Rhys carried you downstairs as promised, settling you in a chair next to Feyre. You leaned on her shoulder while he cooked, nearly falling asleep again before a plate was set in front of you.

Breakfast was lovely, just the three of you feeding each other bites of syrup covered cinnamon toast and berries, exchanging loving glances the entire time. Simply being surrounded by their love was perfect, and knowing that you had a whole day of it ahead of you filled your heart with joy.

🤍🩵🤍💜🤍

You were pulled out of your thoughts as a gentle voice whispered from behind you. You turned around to see him standing there. Light hair with eyes that reminded you of the vast blue sky and a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

“Qifrey…”, you managed to breathe out. His eyes softened even more, if that were possible, before kissing your head. “Sit down. I’ll feed the girls.”

You wanted to protest. But it was feeling heavy again. What exactly… you still didn’t know.

And so you were sitting nearby on a chair as he bustled about the kitchen, amusing the girls with his antics as he served them lunch. Their laughter echoed through the walls of the atelier, light and airy. It was such a contrast to what you felt that you couldn’t help but think… 

Was there something wrong with you?

You had a loving partner. You had four delightful, intelligent and kind girls who lived with you, brightening up the place. You had friends. You had a good life.

Why weren’t you happy?

Why was it so difficult to get up in the morning even with him beside you?

Why was it so hard to make them a simple lunch?

Why was the coffee so damn bitter!?

“Darling?”

A soft gasp escaped your lips as your eyes focused onto the man in front of you. His brow was knit in worry and he was leaning towards you. “Are you alright?”

You gulped and opened your mouth just as you saw the girls staring from behind him, their spoons half-way to their mouths. Just as they realised you’d caught them looking, their heads whipped back to their plates but it was too late. You schooled your expression back just as quickly.

“I’m fine, love”, you murmured, standing up from the chair. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if you need me…”

Qifrey didn’t say anything as you got up, leaving behind your unfinished coffee as you trudged up to the bedroom. His eyes followed your figure until you closed the door, then set his eyes on the coffee mug. The once warm drink was now a cold undrinkable pool of caffeine. He glanced at the girls and back at the coffee, before taking off his hat and placing it on the table.

“I’m going to the bedroom, girls. Do knock if you need either of us.”

Hearing the chorus of ‘Yes, Master Qifrey’, he walked to the room. He listened outside the door for a minute before stepping in. He saw you lying on the bed with your shoes on and staring at the ceiling. 

“You aren’t napping”, he said, softly. 

“...Can’t…”

He nodded, sitting down next to you. His hand slowly rested atop your head, his fingers running through your hair. “What’s wrong, my dear?”

You didn’t answer. He didn’t prod any further. Sighing, he got up from beside you.

As he stood up, you were sure he would leave… he should be hurt at how dismissive and cold you were to him. It was quiet right now. Yes, he should have left by now-

“Ah, there it is. Found your comb.”

Your comb? Why did he need that? You sit up slowly, watching him. He smiled at you fondly before walking back to the bed. Adjusting the pillows, he sat behind you and… started to brush your hair. 

“Qifrey…”

“Shh… I know what you are going to say. And I don’t believe any of it.”

Before you could protest, he pressed a light kiss to the nape of your neck.

“Let me take care of you, my love… please”, he whispered. Your shoulders- which you didn’t even realise were tensed- sagged visibly as he said those words.

“Why?”

Qifrey laughed. That soft, breathy laugh that still sent shivers down your spine and made your heart clench. “Now that’s a silly question. I think, my dear, you know the answer to that yourself.”

A small smile made it’s way to your face. One he caught discretely before smiling to himself. Once he was done with your hair, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back against his warm chest. “You didn’t finish the coffee… it got cold…do you want me to reheat it?”

Tears welled in your eyes. And Qifrey instantly knew it wasn’t because of the coffee. You were hurting. Hurting to the point where you felt numb inside. Hurting because your brain convinced yourself that any feelings you had didn’t matter and had to be hidden from everyone. 

Even from him. 

He pulled out a piece of paper with an incomplete glyph and completed it. Your eyes widened as a flower grew from it and dropped into his hand. Your favorite one… Your eyes rose to meet him as if asking what this meant. His gaze never left yours as he just said,

“Talk to me.”

And surprisingly… that was all it took. Your walls broke down as you held onto him. 

You both spent all afternoon in the bedroom, just holding each other and sharing whispers and soft kisses. By nightfall, he took you and the girls outside to gaze at the stars.

Your eyes followed the young apprentices running around pointing at the constellations and chasing the fireflies that emerged from the grass. Wrapping the shawl around you tighter, you felt a little at ease. Like a small stone had been chipped off a boulder you insisted on carrying without even realising how much it hurt. Not completely alright… but you were getting there. And more importantly, you weren’t alone.

Qifrey’s arm wrapped around your shoulder as he smiled at you. “Enjoying the view?”

You nodded, slowly, a ghost of a smile making it’s way onto your face. “It is an exceptional night…”

He chuckled at that before turning towards you again, his hand, warm and safe, coming up to cup your face.

“I love you. And I promise you… we will get this sorted together. You and me. Always.”

“Always… “, you whispered back, your smile widening by a fraction. “I love you too.”

And his lips met yours in a soft, gentle kiss. The night was a beautiful one. And you knew he vowed to make each day just as beautiful for you. That was just how he loved people. And in this moment, you felt luckier than you’d ever before.

For he was yours and you were his. And you knew things would turn out fine. 

The mug of warm coffee in your hand was proof of it.

Thank you so much for reading!

"Qi... don't be mean," you pout, trying to look incredibly cute so she can't say no to you.

"Oh sweetie, look at you," she cooed, reaching one hand out to gently tug at your wrist. "What happened to my brave girl?"

You felt your face burn hotter, knees pressing into the soft sheets as you hovered there, totally exposed. Your heart was racing so fast and Qifrey's body being right there, all smooth skin and gentle curves, was not helping.

"Qi, please," you whimpered, it came out more like a needy plea. Your thumbs kept twisting together nervously while your thighs trembled.

She smiled wider, biting her lower lip for a second before sitting up a little more. "Alright, alright. I won't be too mean. Come here, dear." Her voice dropped softer, guiding you with both hands now, one on your hip and the other sliding up your thigh. She pulled you forward until your bodies met, her warmth pressing right against yours.

You gasped the moment your pussy slid along hers, slick and hot and so much better than you imagined. Qifrey let out a pleased hum, her hands settling on your waist to help you find the rhythm. "There we go… just like that. Move your hips, baby. Grind against me nice and slow."

She rocked up to meet you, her wet folds rubbing perfectly with yours in a slippery way. Every little shift sent sparks through your whole body. You were a total mess, moaning softly and gripping her shoulders for balance while she kept teasing you with that knowing smile.

"F-feels sooo good, Qi!" you whined, leaning to be closer to her.

"See? Not so scary," Qifrey whispered as she guided you a little faster. Her own cheeks were flushed now, but she still managed to look in control, loving how you fell apart on top of her. "You're doing so good for me. Keep going… let me feel all of you."

Her hands roamed up your back, pulling you closer so your tits pressed together too, skin sliding against skin as the pleasure built between your legs. You could barely think straight anymore, just chasing that sweet friction while Qifrey whispered encouragement mixed with little giggles at how wrecked you already looked.

"Ah ah! Qi!" you cried out, voice cracking as the pleasure built up too fast and too strong. Your thighs shook hard around her and you pressed down desperately, chasing that perfect friction.

Qifrey's eyes widened a little, but her smile turned wicked and fond all at once. "Let go for me, baby" she whispered, rocking up to meet every frantic movement of your hips.

It hit you all at once. Your whole body tensed, then shattered. You came hard and loud, a broken whine tearing from your throat as you buried your face against her neck. "Qifrey! Qifrey, please—oh god, Qi!"

Your voice came out all needy and wrecked, repeating her name like a prayer while your pussy throbbed and clenched against hers. Waves of pleasure crashed through you, making your hips jerk messily as you soaked her with how much you came.

Qifrey let out a breathy laugh that turned into a moan of her own when she felt you pulsing against her. She held you tight through it, one hand stroking your back while the other kept your hips moving just enough to drag out every last bit of your orgasm.

"There you go… such a good girl," she said against your hair, sounding a little breathless herself. "You're adorable when you fall apart like this."

You could barely reply, your pussy was still pressed flush against hers, while Qifrey gently rocked you through it, she was clearly enjoying every second of you being a complete needy mess for her.

a/n: everyone get butch!qifrey pilled NOWWWW

Both of you freeze up under Qifrey's tense glare.

"My, my. What," He mutters, stepping closer and closer with each word. "Do we .. have here?"

He stops just in front of Olruggio.

The two of you flounder, having no excuse — still, you've always liked getting on Qifrey's nerves.

"Aw, is someone jealous they didn't get an invite?" You coo, and you see Qifrey's jaw tighten deliciously. Olruggio chews the inside of his cheek to stifle a snort. Qifrey glares at Olruggio, then you.

"No, of course not," He said, his voice soft and airy like he was discussing the weather. "Just a tad bit disappointed at your... hm, shall we call it irresponsibility?"

Olruggio bristled. "What d'ye mean by that? We've been plently responsible!" (A blatant lie, and all three of you knew it.)

Qifrey chuckles lightly like they were bickering over food. "You door wasn't fully closed, and no casting spells were drawn up. You also don't look like you intend to use a rubber."

Both of your cheeks flush, because he was exactly right. You'd both gotten so caught up in things that you simply.. forgot.

"Get out, Qifrey. I've gotta treat t'enjoy." Olruggio grunts, his hands already flying to your hips. One hand guides the tip of his cock against your folds, nudging lightly against your clit and making you jolt and whimper with each press.

Qifrey's hand lands on Olruggio's shoulder, pulling the man away from you. "Not so fast, my friend. You had your turn."

"Arsehole.” Olruggio huffs, but he doesn't fight it. In his place, Qifrey steps in, his palms sliding up your thighs. "Hello, darling."

"Qifrey.." You mumble, cheeks flushed. His large palms glide gently up to your shoulders as he eases you to sit up, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "Olly was mean to you, no doubt?"

You nod, and Qifrey smiles that same disarming smile he always gives the girls. "I'll take care of you, darling. Don't you worry your pretty little head."

He extends himself to his full height, hands already deftly tugging his robes down. "Now, be a dear and open wide, won't you?"

You, kneeling in front of him, obey. Of course you do. Olruggio makes a noise between a grunt and a whine, his fist lazily pumping along his cock as he watches Qifrey feed the tip of his erection past your lips.

"Good girl. You're doing great already." He murmurs in that charming drawl of his, one of his hands gently weaving through your hair.

You moan softly at the praise, eyes fluttering as you blink up at him. A spurt of bitter-sweet precum leaks onto your tongue; Qifrey and his hatred for vegetables.

Slowly, his hips begin to inch forward, pushing his tip deeper and deeper into your hot, wet mouth. Qifrey lets out a quiet hiss of pleasure, his other hand joining the first in your hair. "There we go…"

His hands are gentle on your hair and face, but his hips are not. You whine softly as he hits the back of your throat, your nose buried into the trail of soft white curls under his navel. Tears prick in your lashline as he rocks his hips back and forth, back and forth—

"You can take it, sweetheart." He murmurs, stroking your hair while his hips continue their motion, fucking his cock almost lazily down your throat, not giving you any chance to breathe. "You will take it, won't you? You've got to make it up to me somehow, for choosing dear Olruggio over me…"

You nod weakly, the tears spilling over your cheeks as you gag briefly. You chance a look in Olruggio's direction.

He's leaning against the wall, fucking into his fist in time with Qifrey's hips, groaning softly. "Shite…"

Your eyes linger on the Watchful Eye, appraising the way his back is arched, the narrow slant of his waist flaring out to his hips, until—

Slap.

Qifrey's palm meets your cheek, making your skin tingle. "Eyes on me, darling. Did I say you could look elsewhere?"

You shake your head weakly, earning a mocking titter from the white-haired witch. You hollow your cheeks out as Qifrey fucks harder into your throat, making him grunt.

"Fuck…" Qifrey growls, canines snagging on his plush lower lip as he speeds up, his hand gripping your hair into a makeshift ponytail. The sounds coming out of your mouth are slick and downright filthy, each wet slurp and gargle making Olruggio groan loudly in the corner.

Qifrey finally pulls out, pumping himself to completion as he cums with a loud moan. His release splatters on your cheeks and nose, and you stick your tongue out cheekily just to catch a few drops. Bad idea: it's more bitter than sweet.

Qifrey chuckles in amusement at the cringe that overtakes your face. "That's why I pulled out."

You huff, using a nearby towel Olruggio hands you to wipe off your face. "You and your vegetable-less caffeine diet."

"Move over, arse." Olruggio growls, nudging Qifrey to the side to crawl over you, trailing hot kisses down your throat and lower. His hands are cupping your hips, easily lifting you over to straddle his waist. Your thighs go on either side, and he reaches down to align himself with your drooling pussy.

"You gonna just stand there?" You grinned at Qifrey, who was standing in the corner with his lips twisted into an almost pout.

Qifrey stalks forward, his hands resting over the curve of your ass from behind. You barely had any time to breathe as Olruggio eased the leaky tip of his cock into your folds; Qifrey lets a globule of saliva coagulate in his mouth before spitting it out at the delicate rim of your asshole, his thumb rubbing a circle around the tight ring.

The dual sensation made you whine, your hips shifting to accomodate the position. Olruggio's cock was thick, girthier that most, and it stretched you absolutely out.

"Olly…" You whimpered, teeth biting into your bottom lip as you braced your hands against his chest. His hands squeezed the plush of your hips, occasionally drifting to grope your ass.

"Atta girl… fuck, she's so wet…" He hissed, one hand sliding between your legs to rub your clit gently. Finally, those last few inches slipped in, your ass resting flush against Olruggio's pelvis.

"You ought to keep your hands where they're meant to be, Olruggio." Qifrey bites out, slapping the former's hand off your ass. Olruggio growls in response but obliges, his hands going to your hips and guiding you to bounce slowly on his cock. Meanwhile, Qifrey's finger slowly eases into your hole and you groan, forehead resting on Olruggio's shoulder.

"Fuck— Qifrey." You pant weakly. Your nails claw crescent marks into Olruggio's biceps, making him hiss.

Qifrey laughs — it's a dark, mocking noise. His free hand threads into the back of your head, gripping a fistful of your hair and tugging your head up meanly. "You're calling my name? When our dearest Watchful Eye is right here?"

He tuts disapprovingly, pushing your head forwards until you're full-on sloppily making out with Olruggio, hips bouncing in a steady rhythm as your tongues intertwine and drool spills, sliding over sharp teeth and swollen lips. Qifrey doesn't let you up for breath so easily; he dictates the length of your kiss as he holds your head down cruelly.

"Silly girl. Don't disrespect him." Qifrey mocks, pumping two fingers into your ass, scissoring them to stretch you. You whimper into Olruggio's lips, and one of his calloused hands come up to squeeze your chest, thumb rolling a pert nipple back and forth.

Finally, Qifrey yanks your head back to let you breathe. He leans over, sucking a deep purple mark into the back of your neck, making you whine. Your vision blurs as the tip of Olruggio's shaft nudges against your sensitive g-spot, Qifrey's fingers curling in time to make your walls squeeze, so tight and wet around them both it makes them hiss from the sensation.

You feel Qifrey's fingers leave your second hole and hear the rustle of his pants dropping, before—

"Deep breaths, darling. This might sting." Qifrey's palms spread your ass wide, and the mushroom tip of his cock is nudging itself into your ass.

The stretch— hot at first, spiking like nails embedding into your vertebrae, suddenly melts into a blinding, numbing pleasure that tickles your very ribs itself.

"Oh, what the fuck—" You barely manage to gasp out, because Qifrey's cock, while nowhere near as thick as Olruggio's, makes up for it in length. Prodding up juuuust right at that thin wall separating Olruggio's cock bullying into your guts. Fat tears roll down your flushed cheeks from how overwhelmingly full you feel — and Qifrey doesn't help your case as his palm slides down to your abdomen and presses.

It's almost embarrassing how easily that pressure snaps under his touch.

"Qifrey!" You cry, your second orgasm gushing through you, skittering like lightning in your limbs and making you jerk. Your head falls forward onto Olruggio's sweat-beaded chest, chest heaving as you involuntarily clench around both men.

You hear another teasing tut from the man behind you, and his palm meets your asscheek in a mean spank, dragging a whimper from your kiss-bitten lips. "Already, darling? What an easy slut you are."

"Oi, easy on my lassie." Olruggio growls, his palms tightening their grip over your hip and thigh, both possessive and protective. Qifrey sneers; both men lock eyes before their hips are pistoning faster, as though they're in competition with no regard for you still sandwiched between them.

"No— Stop—" You inhale sharply, raking lines down Olruggio's poor back and shoulders as the pleasure doubles in waves. They've worked themselves into a rhythm — when Qifrey draws back, Olruggio pushes forwards. Always ensuring that your poor holes don't get a break.

"Yer absolutely impossible." Olruggio bites out, his hands gripping your hips so tight you were sure they'd bruise come morning. "Bargin' in 'ere an' stealin' my precious lassie from me."

Qifrey retaliates by speeding up, his hands resting just above Olruggio's, on your waist. "Me? Perhaps if you'd told me of this plan ahead of time I wouldn't have had to invite myself."

You sob from the overstimulation, sensitivity from your recent orgasm only being pushed to its limits as both witches thrust in tandem, pulsing deep inside you. Qifrey reaches over and tugs Olruggio in by a hand around his throat, an annoyed snarl escaping him as he crashes their lips together.

Olruggio reciprocates, one hand giving up the side of your hip to thread into Qifrey's scalp. They moan loudly, tongues sloppily caressing each other as their hips keep up the pace.

Not one to forget, Qifrey slips his free hand up from your waist to your mouth, shoving two of his fingers down your mouth yet again. You whine, pushing yourself back on his hips as your tongue swirls around his digits, drooling over them. Their cocks nudge into your sweet spot over and over again, Olruggio's hand on your hip urging you to quicken the pace yourself.

You whimper loudly, hips slapping obnoxiously against the Watchful Eye's pelvis. He finally pulls back from the kiss to recline against the pillows, eyes following the way your tits bounce with each grind and roll of your hips. "Atta' girl, focus on me.."

Qifrey huffs again, snapping his hips particularly roughly into your sweet spot, making your thighs shake and a whine spill. "Nonsense. You had your fun with Olruggio earlier. Now it's your turn to pay attention to me."

"Ignore tha' albino, lassie."

"Pay no mind to the drunkard."

"Stop bickering!" You cry out. They'd been so engrossed in arguing that they'd left poor you to ride them both all alone. How neglectful.

"Apologies, darling." Qifrey murmurs, leaning in to mark up your neck as his hips finally resume. One of his hands comes up, cupping the swell of your breast. The other joins Olruggio's at your clit, rubbing and pinching.

You sob again from sensitivity, hips rocking of their own accord. "Fuck—"

"Shit, yer tight—" Olruggio grunts, his head falling back against the pillows. "'m not gonna last if ya keep squeezin' like that, lassie."

You open your mouth to speak— a choked cry comes out instead as Qifrey speeds up suddenly, pounding into your gummy walls like a man possessed. You can feel him throb and pulse: he's close.

He's gone strangely non-verbal now, teeth chewing into his lips so hard he's drawn blood. Small, stifled grunts and mumbles spill from his mouth.

"Mngghh, fuck—" Qifrey gasps, throwing his head back as he jackrabbits back and forth, in and out, your poor holes leaking and drooling and just begging to be filled.

"Cummin'— Shite, lassie—" Olruggio groans, his hips jerking wildly up into your sopping folds as he grips your hips, holding you there. He bucks once, twice, thrice, and then he's spilling his gooey cum deeeeep into your pussy. It runs hot, tickling your walls and cervix as he holds himself right up against your g-spot, making you whimper as you roll your hips for the friction.

Your legs are weak from overstimulation, and you feel a trickle of his cum leak out. Whining, you rock your hips again, shifting around to plug your leaking cunt with his cock.

"Shit— Stop moving, sweetheart, or I'll—" Qifrey hisses, palms digging marks into your waist as he ruts himself deeper and deeper into your tight, greedy hole. Even biting on his lip isnt enough to stifle the pathetic whimper he lets out, his crystalline eyes filling with pleasured tears as he tips over the edge just after Olruggio does.

The three of you collapse into a sticky, sweaty bundle of limbs tangled in Olruggio's sheets — Olruggio's now dirty, sweat and tear and cum-stained, sheets.

You don't pay it much mind as Qifrey starts to kiss down your neck and shoulders gently, and Olruggio's palms wrap around both of you to pull you all down on your sides and backs. They're both still connected deep within you, and neither seem willing to pull out just yet.

Qifrey presses a quick peck to your head, then Olruggio's knuckles. He murmurs, as if he could read your mind, "Sleep, and we'll clean in the morning."

"My sheets.." Olruggio grumbles in return, kissing your shoulder and the inner side of Qifrey's wrist. You and Qifrey chuckle, and you swear to yourself that you'll wash them thoroughly tomorrow.

If they let you out of bed, that is.

thanks for reading 𑣲⋆ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆

Every morning before lessons began, you somehow already had a cup waiting on Qifrey's desk before he even realized he wanted one. You knew exactly how long he liked the leaves steeped, knew he preferred it just warm enough to drink immediately, knew that after difficult lessons he favored sweeter blends. It wasn't intentional at first—just little observations collected over months of living together in the atelier—but somewhere along the way it became a ritual. You liked seeing his expression soften when he found it there. You liked the sleepy smile he gave you and the quiet "thank you" before taking a sip. The problem was that Qifrey accepted every act of devotion with the same calm gratitude he accepted sunshine or fresh air, as though he never once considered there might be a heart attached to it. Meanwhile Coco had started watching the exchange every morning with increasing concern. "You are literally courting him," she whispered one day. "Am I?" you whispered back. Across the room, Qifrey drank the tea and smiled, blissfully unaware. Or so you thought.

The second sign should have been the list. It started as a joke after Tetia caught you staring at Qifrey for almost an entire lesson. Soon all the girls were contributing. Number three: you always sat beside him at meals. Number seven: you somehow noticed when he needed new gloves before he did. Number twelve: whenever Qifrey entered a room, your eyes found him within seconds. Number twenty-one: you remembered every story he'd ever told you. Number thirty-eight: your handwriting became noticeably neater whenever you were leaving notes for him. By the end of the month the list had grown absurdly long. Coco swore it was evidence. Tetia called it romantic. Agott called it embarrassing. Richeh thought it was fascinating. The only person not consulted was Qifrey himself, who continued existing in complete ignorance while carrying around gifts, snacks, and handmade charms that practically screamed I adore you.

The third sign happened during a supply trip. The two of you spent the afternoon gathering magical herbs in a valley where tiny floating lights drifted between the flowers like stars. You couldn't help watching him while he worked. Qifrey moved through the field with effortless grace, sleeves rolled up, sunlight catching in his hair, completely absorbed in explaining the properties of a rare blossom. You listened to almost none of the explanation because your attention was trapped on the way he smiled when he got excited. At one point he turned suddenly and found you staring. Your face burned. Your heart stopped. Surely now he would realize. Surely now. Instead he simply smiled and said, "You always listen so carefully." The worst part was that he sounded genuinely touched. You almost walked into a bush.

The fourth sign was physical contact—or rather your repeated failed attempts at it. Not dramatic gestures. Tiny things. Brushing shoulders while walking. Sitting close enough for your knees to touch during long evenings. Straightening his collar when it sat crooked. Dusting chalk from his sleeve after lessons. Every touch left your heart racing for hours. Qifrey never pulled away. Never seemed uncomfortable. In fact, he often leaned into it unconsciously, trusting and relaxed. That somehow made it worse. One evening you reached out to fix a strand of hair that had fallen across his face and froze halfway there. Qifrey simply looked at you expectantly. "Something wrong?" he asked. You nearly screamed.

The fifth sign arrived during a festival. Lanterns floated above the academy grounds like tiny moons while spells painted ribbons of color across the sky. Crowds gathered to watch enchanted fireworks bloom overhead. Somewhere during the celebration you found yourself standing beside Qifrey. The light from the fireworks reflected in his eyes, and for one dangerous moment he looked less like a famous witch and more like a man standing very close to you. The crowd shifted. Your hand brushed his. Then, gathering every scrap of courage you possessed, you let your fingers linger. Qifrey looked down. Then he looked at you. The world seemed to stop. His expression softened into something unreadable before he quietly intertwined your fingers for a brief second to keep you steady in the crowd. Then he let go. You spent the rest of the night convinced you were going to die from confusion.

The sixth sign should have been impossible to misunderstand because by then you had completely stopped hiding it. You complimented him constantly. Not his magic. Him. The way he cared for the girls. The way he listened when people spoke. The way he could make difficult things feel manageable simply by standing beside someone. Sometimes you caught him staring at you afterward with an odd look in his eyes. Hope would flare inside your chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe he finally understood. Then he'd smile and thank you, and the moment would vanish. The girls had reached the point where they openly discussed your feelings in front of him because they were convinced subtlety was wasted. Qifrey somehow remained silent through all of it.

The seventh sign was the realization that what you felt wasn't a crush anymore. It happened gradually. In quiet evenings spent reading together. In mornings when he absentmindedly asked if you'd slept well. In the way he always saved a seat for you without thinking. Loving Qifrey wasn't dramatic. It was domestic. It was finding comfort in shared silence. It was knowing how he took his tea and where he misplaced his books and what expression he made when he was trying not to laugh. It was wanting to be there on ordinary days as much as extraordinary ones. Somewhere along the way you stopped imagining grand confessions and started imagining years. That realization terrified you more than anything else.

The eighth sign ended in disaster. It was late, the atelier quiet except for the sound of rain against the windows. You and Qifrey were alone, working side by side. You had spent months dropping hints. Months hoping. Months convincing yourself he didn't feel the same. The words escaped before you could stop them. "I like you." The room went silent. Qifrey looked up from his work. You immediately wanted to throw yourself into the nearest magical portal. "Romantically," you added miserably when he failed to respond. "In case that wasn't clear." His eyes widened. For a moment neither of you moved.

The ninth sign was his laugh. Not mocking. Not surprised. Relieved. Genuinely, deeply relieved. "I've been waiting for that," he admitted, and your brain stopped functioning entirely. Waiting. The word echoed through your skull. Waiting? For what? For you, apparently. While you stared at him in horror, Qifrey confessed that he'd known for months. Maybe longer. He knew about the tea. The gifts. The staring. The attempts at hand-holding. He knew about all of it. Every single painfully obvious sign. "Then why didn't you say anything?" you demanded, feeling personally betrayed. To your astonishment, Qifrey actually looked embarrassed. A faint blush spread across his face. "Because I wanted to hear you say it."

The final sign was the way he looked at you afterward. All at once the puzzle pieces fit together. Every lingering glance. Every moment his attention seemed to settle on you a little longer than necessary. Every small kindness that had felt suspiciously personal. Qifrey stepped closer and took your hand, not by accident this time, not because of a crowd or an excuse or a passing moment. Deliberately. His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "I like you too," he said softly, and for once there was no mystery hidden behind the words. Just certainty. Outside, enchanted rain shimmered silver beneath the moonlight. Inside, surrounded by books, tea cups, and all the ordinary pieces of the life you'd built together, you realized that the magic had never been in the confession. It had been in every small moment leading up to it. Qifrey had known all along. And perhaps the cruelest thing about him was that he'd wanted to hear you say it anyway.

emma can't bring herself to say no. guilt entwines in her ribs, squeezes her lungs, because the fear is doing funny things to her stomach. the fear pulses between her legs, in a way it shouldn't, in a way that should scare her even more.

because emma can't bring herself to say no, but if she did, she's not so sure dana would listen to it.

she's half out of it, dizzy with arousal, fear, shame. dana guides her willowy form inside, seats her on her couch, pets her hair back from her face. emma murmurs a thank you for it, and dana grins— toothy, predatory— and praises her. polite girl. you know your manners, huh, kiddo?

emma keeps her eyes glued to the floor, hands folded in her lap, leg bouncing as anxiety tenses her shoulders. she hears dana rustle in the kitchen, the clink of glass. and then dana is bringing back a glass with amber liquid, reaching up to cup emma's cheek, a touch she forces herself not to flinch at. she whimpers, small and afraid, as dana coaxes her to drink.

i-im okay, miss evans, really, I promise, i— I don't drink.

shhh, sweetheart. just open up for me, okay? it'll make you feel all better, sweetie, trust me. calm those nerves of yours.

dana gets her drunk. tipsy, willowy, warm all over. emma doesn't even want to protest when dana's hands start to wander, searing through her clothes, lifting up her shirt. all she can feel is hazy, swirling heat, pulsing between her legs, pooling in her stomach. she distantly registers that maybe she should still be scared. but it's so pleasant, the haze she's in, so warm...

dana kisses soft at her throat and emma hears a soft whimper, realizes it's her. her hands clumsily fist at dana's shirt, the older woman laughing softly against her skin, a palm cradling her cunt. emma moans, rocks into it, willowy and pliant, panting.

yeahh, there you go, just needed to loosen up a little, huh? dana croons, teasing her dripping cunt, sliding fingers through her slick, easing one inside, petting at emma's fluttering walls. she pumps and curls slow, working her girl up, watching emma's flushed form squirm and whine at the pleasure. she seems so unused to it, and dana can't get enough of that, the thought that maybe no one else has made her feel like this. god, what a poor, sweet thing. you're so soft, baby, did you know that? all soft and wet and warm on the inside. what a perfect girl.

emma babbles little pleads as dana adds another finger, curling them deep, palm grinding against emma's pulsing, puffy clit. she's never felt so fucking good, the alcohol and the pleasure making her dizzy, hips rocking as her thighs tremor, close around dana's hands. her orgasm rolls through her in lazy, syrupy waves, and she can hardly tell where she ends and dana begins, can hardly remember when dana had pulled her into her lap, hardly remember how her panties slipped off.

goood girl, that's my girl, what a messy little pussy. yeahh, did that feel so good? did you like mama's fingers in your little cunt, sweetheart? ohh, I know. what a dumb little thing. shh, it's okay, it's okay, little lamb, settle down, now.