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SYNOPSIS. You have made it your personal mission to crack Flins' impossible composure. Unfortunately, the first person to break is you.
WORD COUNT. 3.2k
NOTES. All fluff!! No pronouns used for the reader. Please help, I'm head over heels in love with Flins...
Flins was a man of composure. Everything about him suggested careful cultivation—the way he carried himself, the measured cadence of his voice, the deliberate grace of his movements. He was the type to unintentionally fluster any who interacted with him.
You found it amusing.
More than amusing, if you were being honest. There was something deeply satisfying about watching someone so perfectly put together navigate everyday interactions. You found Flins to be an enigmatic creature, and something inside you just burned to get a rise out of him. Sure, maybe it was simply the thrill of the mischief, but you wanted to test him, push him a little, see how he would react to some casual flirting.
And if you were particularly enjoying the challenge of trying to get a reaction out of him, well. That was harmless, wasn't it? Just a little teasing. Just a bit of flirtation to see how exactly this man—the one who managed to charm literally everyone around him with effortless grace—would handle being on the receiving end for once.
The fact that you were attracted to him was beside the point.
It didn't matter that whenever you caught even a glimpse of his purplish-blue hair, your heart did something stupid. It meant nothing when he leaned down to hear you better, his voice dropping into that velvety register that made you feel like some fundamental part of you had just ceased existing. None of it mattered. Certainly not.
And hey, if nothing at all, what harm could some light flirting cause?
Your first opportunity for mischief, you were sitting together near the lighthouse. The evening light cast everything in soft amber. Conversation had drifted from topic to topic; nothing particularly important, just the easy back-and-forth of people comfortable in each other's presence. You'd been leaning against his side, playing with the cuff of his sleeve. He'd let you, the way he always did.
At some point, you'd mentioned something about having to leave soon. Return to your duties. The usual obligations that kept pulling you away.
"I'll be gone for a few days," you'd said.
Flins had simply nodded, listening.
And that's when the impulse struck.
"I bet you'll miss me," you said, your tone light but deliberately aimed. You tilted your head to look at him, watching for a reaction.
He turned to face you. His shoulder brushed against yours when he did, and you caught the faint scent of something cool and unfamiliar. Flins’ smile seemed to stretch just a little, his eyes narrowing. He reminded you of the Fae.
"Of course," he said.
You'd expected a deflection. A joke. Instead, he'd just said it, and the weight of his attention suggested he meant it. That he understood exactly what you were doing and was letting you do it anyway.
So you pushed.
"Like, really miss me," you continued, letting your fingers trail down his sleeve. "You'll probably think about me the whole time I'm gone."
He watched you for a moment. "Likely."
"I'll be devastated without you," you added, testing how far you could take this.
"Will you?" he asked softly. And his gaze was fixed squarely upon yours. You seemed to pick up on the slightest lilt of teasing towards the end of that question. But still, the manner in which he faced you—the utter unabashed composure—seemed genuine.
“That's interesting," he continued.
Your heart was doing something ridiculous. "What's interesting about that?"
"That you're telling me you'll be devastated rather than simply asking," he said. There was no mockery in it. His tone was almost contemplative, like he was turning over a puzzle piece in his mind. "Though I suppose indirect approaches are more entertaining."
Heat crept up your neck. He'd just called you out. Gently, without any edge to it, but he'd absolutely just pointed out exactly what you were doing.
"I'm not being indirect," you said, but your voice had gone softer.
"No?" He tilted his head slightly, and in the amber light, you noticed the precise line of his jaw, the way his hair caught the glow. When he looked at you like that, with complete attention, it made you feel like you were the only thing worth looking at. "That is up for debate, then, I suppose.”
Well. There would be other opportunities. Plenty of them, actually. This whole one-sided “game” had yet commenced, and you were only just beginning. It didn't matter that you were getting quite the pleasant rise from being able to flirt so brazenly with a man you'd been quietly obsessed with for the past couple of months. It was harmless. Just teasing.
Over the next few days, you made it your mission.
Make him crack. That was the goal now. Get something—a blush, a stumble, a clever comeback. Anything that suggested the composed exterior had a weakness.
You started with compliments, delivered casually while you were walking through the cemetery together. "You have nice hands, you know," you said, watching as he adjusted something on one of the graves. He simply thanked you, like you'd complimented the weather.
Then came the flirtation. You'd lean closer than necessary when you were standing beside him. Play with his sleeve. Find excuses to touch his arm. Every gesture was wrapped in humor, safely deniable if he called you out on it. And every single time, he met it with the same patient calm.
A brow raised here. A small smile there. An acknowledgment that he noticed what you were doing—because he absolutely did—but no matching energy. He didn’t stumble over his words, his pale skin didn’t darkened with the hue of red blush, and he most certainly did not tease you back. Intentionally, that is. Flins’ very existence seemed to upset your carefully curated balance.
On the third day, you tried jokes. Teasing comments about how he was probably the type to be good at everything. How his composure must be exhausting to maintain. How it was unfair that he managed to make even mundane tasks look graceful.
He listened to all of it with that infuriatingly gentle expression, like you were providing him with observations rather than attempting to dismantle him.
The frustrating part was that he clearly knew. There was awareness in the tilt of his head, in the way his eyes tracked your movements. He understood exactly what you were attempting. He just wasn't playing along. And that made it worse. Better. You weren't entirely sure which.
By the fourth day, you were running out of ammunition.
The previous few days had been a study in futility. You'd tried everything you could think of. Compliments delivered with a knowing smile. Flirtation wrapped in humor. Little jokes designed to catch him off guard. Nothing had worked. He'd simply absorbed each attempt with that same unflappable grace, and somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like a game you were winning and started feeling like a game only you were playing.
The worst part was that he clearly knew what you were doing. You could see it in the way his eyes tracked your movements, in the slight tilt of his head when you said something particularly bold. He understood exactly what you were attempting. He just wasn't giving you the reaction you wanted. No flustering. No stumbling. No moment where his composure cracked and revealed something underneath.
In fact, your attempts had been so famously (infamously) fruitless that even Illuga had made it a point of note. "You know, perhaps Mr. Flins simply enjoys the attention," he'd said when he'd caught you trying to get a rise out of Flins during a supply run. "Some people are harder to rattle than others."
You had huffed then, indignantly, “Sure, but it’s absurd how he treats every comment I make as though it is the most obvious thing in the world!”
Illuga smiled then. Conflict avoidant as always, and a tad bit skeptical of Flins, he kept his opinions to himself. But you could have easily guessed what he was going to say: this is pointless. Shouldn’t you be focusing on your patrols?
It was starting to make you wonder if there was anything underneath at all, or if he was simply always like this. Infuriatingly calm.
But then, there was Nefer. You didn’t even know why you bothered to hide anything from her at all. She always found out about your little schemes; even the tiny, playful ones.
“Persistent, aren’t you?” She commented. “Are you quite sure your crush on Flins hasn’t driven you up a wall?”
“I do not—” You began, but then stopped abruptly as you came to the (very obvious) realisation that your face went hot the moment his name and “crush” were in the same sentence. “—fine whatever. Still! It’s so… strange, how he never reacts.”
“Aw, poor you,” Nefer purred. You shot her a look.
She tilted her head, considering you. "Actions speak louder than words sometimes, you know. Especially with someone like him." She paused, adjusting the items in her arms. “Besides… the Fae are rather adept at words, so…”
You spent the last day turning both conversations over in your mind.
Towards the end of a particularly gruelling patrol is when your next, hopefully successful opportunity for teasing presented itself. You were sitting on a bench near the lighthouse, close enough that your shoulders were almost touching. The afternoon was quiet. The snow twirled in the sky, a transient, glacial staircase coiling into the wind. Nod-Krai’s frost always seemed to have a mind of its own. Conversation flowed the same way the snow did. Gently, with easy flow and expected lulls. Sort of the perfect moment for a detour, really.
"You know," you said, your tone deliberately playful, "if you asked nicely, I'd hold your hand."
You were grinning. Already prepared for the laugh, the deflection, the way he'd turn it into something clever. You had your exit strategy ready. In all honesty, you expected Flins to look at you kindly. Make a small comment about “how that would be ideal, considering the cold” but then simply pocket his hands into his jacket. Or something that would reduce the simmer of the conversation into a still pool, like every other time.
Instead, Flins simply glanced down at his own hand. Then, without a word, he turned his palm upward and offered it to you.
Waiting.
Your grin froze.
"...What are you doing?" you managed.
"Asking nicely," he said, smiling at you, elfishly.
Oh. Oh no.
You stared at his hand like it had personally betrayed you. Because this wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to laugh it off. Instead, he'd somehow turned your own joke into something sincere, and now you were sitting there unable to do anything but take his hand because the alternative was admitting that you completely miscalculated this entire interaction.
So you did.
Your fingers found his, and his grip was warm and certain. His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles in a gesture that felt far too intentional for someone who was supposed to be unaffected.
You spent the next twenty minutes very carefully not combusting, acutely aware of every point of contact, every small movement of his hand against yours, every time his thumb made that gentle pass across your skin.
This was fine. Completely fine. You'd simply bitten off more than you could chew, that was all.
You thought you were recovering. You were not recovering.
The problem was that you'd learned absolutely nothing from the hand-holding incident. If anything, it had made you more confident. More reckless. You'd convinced yourself that you could still win this game, that one successful moment of sincerity didn't change the overall trajectory of your campaign to crack his composure.
So when you'd finally extracted your hand from his (after what felt like an eternity of trying to act unaffected), you pushed just a bit more. Surely, it could not get worse from now, could it?
"You know..." you started, already smirking.
"Hm?" He turned to look at you, waiting.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you actually liked me."
You grinned. You were expecting a smile. A laugh. Maybe something playful that would let you both pretend this had all been harmless banter.
Instead, Flins went quiet. An awful kind of silence. The kind of silence that realistically only lasts a couple of seconds, a minute at max, but in your head rang for an hour. It seemed to consume you, settle the snow around you. What was most awful though was the fact that Flins was actually considering it. You could see the cogs turning in his head. The way he was turning over your comment, looking at every square inch of it.
Then he turned fully toward you, giving you his complete attention in a way that somehow felt worse than any response could have been.
"You needn't be so indirect," he said.
Your heart stopped. Actually stopped. "...What?"
"If you're asking whether I have feelings for you, you may simply ask."
If you thought the previous silence was bad, this was worse. Your brain had essentially ceased functioning. Flins simply waited, patient and composed, like this was a perfectly reasonable conversation to be having.
Then he tilted his head slightly. "Go on," he said, and his voice was gentle. Encouraging, even.
You'd walked directly into this. Deliberately constructed your own trap and then stepped into it with both feet while grinning the entire time.
The frustrating thing was that Flins didn't seem remotely aware that he was holding your entire nervous system hostage. Or perhaps he was aware. That possibility was somehow worse. While your thoughts scattered in every conceivable direction, he remained exactly as he'd always been—patient, attentive, and entirely willing to wait for an answer. There was no pressure in his expression, no trace of triumph at having finally cornered you. If anything, he looked faintly curious, as though he'd simply presented you with an obvious solution and couldn't quite understand why you were struggling to take it.
You swallowed. And then: "Do you?"
The question came out embarrassingly quiet.
For a moment, he simply looked at you. Then something softened in his expression, subtle enough that you almost missed it. "I've been quite fond of you for some time."
The words settled between you with alarming ease. That was it. He spoke as though he were commenting on the weather, or confirming some small detail you'd already known. As though admitting he liked you was not, in fact, causing every coherent thought in your head to immediately abandon ship.
You stared at him. Flins stared back. The snow continued drifting lazily through the air. Somewhere in the distance, waves crashed against the shoreline.
"You can't just say that,” you said, heat flooding your cheeks.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You asked."
"That doesn't mean you were supposed to answer so easily."
"I wasn't aware there was a correct amount of difficulty involved."
The laugh that escaped you sounded slightly hysterical. Of course that was his response. Of course.
The realization struck all at once then, arriving with the force of a physical blow. Every conversation from the past week rearranged itself inside your mind. Every compliment. Every flirtatious remark. Every ridiculous thing you'd said in the hope of getting a reaction. Not once had he denied any of it. Not once had he brushed you off. The problem was that you'd spent so long trying to make him flustered that you'd never stopped to consider the possibility that he simply wasn't interested in pretending otherwise.
"Oh my god."
His smile widened.
"Oh my god."
"You seem distressed."
"You like me."
"I do."
The immediate confirmation nearly killed you.
Your hands flew to your face. Some distant part of your brain registered that you were behaving like a complete fool. Unfortunately, that same distant part of your brain had become vastly outnumbered by the much louder part that was currently screaming.
When you finally lowered your hands, Flins was still watching you with that infuriating calm.
Suspicion immediately took root. Narrowing your eyes, you pointed accusingly at him. "What if you're teasing me?"
That earned a quiet laugh. "And what would lead you to that conclusion?"
"Because this feels suspiciously convenient."
"I see."
"You've spent days letting me embarrass myself."
"I never asked you to."
"That is not a denial."
The amusement in his eyes deepened. For a moment he simply regarded you, and then, to your immense frustration, his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
"Would this convince you?"
You opened your mouth, fully intending to answer. To say something clever, preferably. Something capable of restoring at least a fraction of the dignity you'd lost over the past ten minutes.
Unfortunately, you never got the chance.
Flins leaned in and kissed you.
His lips were warm against yours, soft in a way that felt unfair after all the time you'd spent trying not to think about them. For one dizzying moment, all you could focus on was the sensation of him—the brush of his mouth against yours, the faint pressure of his thumb where it rested against your knuckles, the cool air gathering at your cheeks while everything else felt impossibly warm. It wasn't a long kiss. It wasn't demanding. If anything, it felt terribly, devastatingly fond. Like a question he'd already known the answer to.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that you could feel him smiling. The faint curve of his lips brushing yours, as though he found your complete inability to function endearing. By the time he pulled away, your heart had lodged itself somewhere in your throat, and you were left staring at him with the distinct sensation that something irreversible had just occurred.
You stared at him, owlishly.
And, for the first time in days, you caught something in his expression that hadn't been there before. Or perhaps it had always been there, hidden beneath the effortless composure you'd spent so much time trying to unravel. The fondness in his gaze was almost unbearably soft now, no longer filtered through amusement or polite patience. It was simply there, warm and open and directed entirely at you.
And then there was the faint dusting of pink at the tips of his ears.
You blinked.
Flins, apparently realizing exactly what had captured your attention, looked away for the briefest of moments.
But you saw it.
After days of teasing him, days of trying to make him crack, days of wondering whether anything could possibly ruffle that impossible composure, there it was. Not embarrassment, exactly. The discovery hit you harder than the kiss had.
"Oh my god," you whispered, for the third time that day.
His gaze flicked back to yours. The corners of his mouth curved upward.
"What?"
You pointed at him immediately. "You are blushing!"
"Am I?"
The smile threatening at his lips made the response entirely unconvincing.
"You are."
"A little, perhaps."
It occurred to you then that perhaps Flins had been right all along. You needn't have been so indirect. The realization should have been embarrassing. Instead, it only made you smile.
thank you for reading :)) check out my other fics if you'd like !!
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In rare cases you happen to wake up before Mydei does, then you're in for a sight made for sore eyes—
His golden hair forms a halo around him, casting itself over the pillows. His eyes are shut, with sunlight seeping past the cracks of your curtains, illuminating each delicate lashes. His arms, now free of his golden gauntlets, wrapped loosely around you—one acting as a pillow under your head while the other lay over your body.
The crown prince of Kremnos does not lower his guard—though the prophecy tells otherwise—even in his state of rest. And being handed this blessing by the Titans, you take a moment to simply stare at him.
Mydei rarely stays still long enough for you to be satisfied in taking in all of his intricate features—at least not without him questioning your intentions, and gradually looking nervous the longer your gaze stays on him. Sometimes he'd even nudge your face (gently) over to the side, just to avert your attention elsewhere.
It's interesting to see the contrast in his reactions—if you were any one else, you'd receive a much different treatment. You recall how stiff his shoulders become when he feels eyes on him, and the way his guard grows sharper as if readying himself for a possible ambush. No matter how unlikely it is.
A soft rustle breaks the silence of your bedroom as your hand emerges from under the blanket. Your fingers hover the side of his face, just a centimeter from touching the man's skin. The hesitation came from the thought of waking him up—the softest graze against Mydei would send him into an alert state.
And seeing this, extremely rare, state of peace he's currently in—you decide against touching him, despite how deeply you longed to cup his face and lay affection over your beloved's face.
Unfortunately for you, the motion of pulling your hand away ended up being the interruption to his slumber. With a slow rise of his eyelids, you're greeted with his golden irises focusing onto you.
“.. What is it?” He questions, his voice sounding much deeper than usual.
You shook your head, though you're fighting the urge to sulk at your unexpected accident which caused the loss of time meant for appreciation. “.. Just go back to sleep, Mydei.” You urge him, laying a palm over his cheek. Brushing over the red marking leading up to the side of his eye.
He hums, acknowledging your command but not following. “It would be unbecoming of me, and you aren't attempting to weaken my guard, are you?” Though his voice carries an aura of seriousness, you're the few people who knows when Mydei is simply jesting. In his own way.
You play along, moving your arms around his neck. Loosely hanging off of him as you shift closer. “Do you find the idea of staying in bed with me to be an act of sloth? I see it as lovers finally having a moment after so long being away from one another.” and you aren't wrong, Mydeimos had been away for… Whatever battle needed him.
You worry for him, despite knowing he lacks the ability to die, he still feels pain. Each and every wound he sustains, he can feel them. He may try to hide it from you, but you can see the way he would distract his brain from the pain each time his body heals a broken bone.
“Surely the crown prince wouldn't mind my request to stay here, just a little longer?” For good measure, you leave a quick kiss on his lips. A bold move. One you have a privilege to pull off.
Another hum, this time full of feign contemplation. He can never truly decline you. You both know that. And with a heavy sigh, he adjusts himself to perch his chin above your head.
“.. Two minutes.”
“Five?”
“.. Not negotiable.”
“Mydei..” you purposely nuzzle your face against his neck, softening your tone as you plead.
Without needing more convincing, he pulls your body closer to his.
— – ✦ Phainon
You can never sleep in when your lover is a dog that happens to have a human form.
Especially one whose strength outweighs yours by ten fold, if not a hundred.
Many complain about how they're unable to fully enjoy a slow morning due to their pet jumping up and down on the mattress. Desperate for attention. And food.
Phainon craves both.
While pets normally cannot communicate with owners through words. Your beloved, while fulfilling the criteria of a dog, can indeed speak. Which makes your situation much, much worse.
“.. Dawnlight, Dawnlight… hey…” gentle, persistent, pokings against your cheek as he attempts to nudge you into opening your eyes. He's definitely aware that you're awake, and purposely squeezing your eyes shut out of the need to prolong your sleep.
It's early in the morning, and he has this mental schedule ingrained into his brain. Which made it so no matter how exhausted you may be, he needs to have you awake by his side while he makes breakfast. Even if you ended up sleeping on the kitchen counter. He has taken many, many photos of you in that state.
“.. Dawnlight, I know you're awake.. C'mon.. I bought your favorite snack from the market yesterday. Don't you want to try it first thing in the morning?” Ah, one of his tactics—bribery. Fortunately, this morning you aren't particularly craving anything other than sleeping.
And seeing your insistence in playing pretend, Phainon opts to double his effort to get you up. He gathers you in his arms, in spite of your verbal complaints, with one arm around your head while the other holds your back. Cradling you against his chest.
“It's not good to sleep in,” he reasons gently, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your face. “You shouldn't stay up late so often or you'll end up lowering your brain's ability to focus.” a valid reasoning, but you refuse to heed.
“.. Let me sleep.. You can make your breakfast alone, Phainon..” There's quite literally no need for your presence in the kitchen, you always end up being a spectator as he cooks.
“But it's lonely cooking without you..” He huffs, the warm air brushing back your ear. “I'll let you sleep in next time, okay? C'mon, I'll cook something good.”
You can already feel the way his arms shift, just about ready to make the decision for you and head to the kitchen—perhaps he'll even cook while carrying you, isn't that just so romantic?
And you're too exhausted to argue with a man as persistent as he is charming. With a sigh of defeat, you nod. Earning Phainon another victory as he lays kisses over your neck in gratitude, rambling about what he'll make this morning for breakfast.
Yes, have a treat before Offe has her inevitable leave for a week or so due to.. Life. But, we do hope this could make up for it until Offe returns. And don't worry, we're still working on the promised O'gentle Maiden fic. It's in the works!
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a lil rant pero masaket parin na hndi ako nakapasok sa dean's list or sa latin honors. pero my family nman is okay kahit wala akong ganon—basta nakagraduate.
maybe if it was my goal all along i could have put my mind to it, pero wala na ko magagawa.
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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write a poly fic of Qifrey and Olruggio with reader.
Can you make one where they’re doing domestic things when the girls have gone to bed/settle down like cleaning the kitchen and getting ready for bed together as they reminisce on how they got to where they are today
"Woven into Home"
Summary: After a chaotic morning involving broken beds, hangovers, and far too much teasing, the quiet rhythms of life at the atelier continue on as normal. But beneath the warmth of shared meals, playful bickering, and peaceful evenings, you can’t help but feel slightly out of step with Qifrey and Olruggio’s long history together. As the day unfolds, both men gently remind you that love is not measured by time known, but by the care woven into everyday moments and that somewhere along the way, you’ve already become part of their home.
Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Qifrey/Reader/Olruggio, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Emotional Insecurity, Established Relationship, Hangover Shenanigans, Soft Teasing, Found Family, Atelier Life, Qifrey Being Smooth, Olruggio Being Bluntly Affectionate, Apprentices Being Observant, Cuddling, Emotional Reassurance, Slice of Life.
Word Count: 3.4k
Requested?: Yes! by two anons, the 2nd request featured below.
Dividers by: @cursed-carmine & @enchanthings-a
Your eyes squint from the intrusion of the early sun’s glistening rays, a painful moan escaping you as the alcoholic activities of last night catch up to your consciousness. You feel suffocated and unbearably warm as sweat pools onto your back while two weights press against either side of your body.
You attempt to sit up but are pulled back down by a pair of equally sweaty and hot arms. Your slightly hungover brain slowly registers that the weight pulling you down is none other than both of your lovely partners, whom you would love nothing more than to get away from because of the unbearable heat you all collectively generate.
“My dears… please…” you plead, your arms straining against their hold as they lovingly try to pull you back into their embrace. “It’s so hot and sweaty… and it’s still too early.”
While actively trying to escape their strong hold, you look back at Qifrey. “Aren’t you supposed to be preparing something for the girls?”
“They aren’t usually—” Qifrey grunts, trying with all his might to reel you back in. “—awake during this hour.”
Olruggio groans, attempting to pull you down further. “Jus’ come back to bed.”
“And… respectfully, it’s not like this isn’t our first time being hot and sweaty together,” Qifrey says smoothly, followed by Olruggio’s deep laugh that shakes the hanging bed, each tremble echoing throughout your very being.
As quickly as it came, that flustered state is cut short when another bead of sweat pulls you out of the lovely bubble you had been in.
“Okay— seriously, let’s get uUP—!”
You are quickly interrupted as Qifrey locks his arms around your waist and forcibly drags you back down.
Olruggio snuggles closer, his nose buried into the crook of your neck as he inhales contentedly at your scent, no matter how sweaty you may be. “Just stay. It’s rare that we get a quiet moment like this.”
Your own body betrays you as it starts to relax into their hold, your muscles seemingly melting into theirs like puzzle pieces.
…sssnap!
Your eyebrows furrow at the sound. You look around, eyes narrowing as you try to find the source of the noise. You spot it. One of the many ropes responsible for keeping the hanging bed well… hanging.
Your previously tipsy state vanishes as realization sobers you up.
“Um… guys?”
They both hum at the same time and at the same pitch before laughing at their synchronization. Moments like these always catch you a little off guard. The ease between them is effortless, years of history woven into tiny habits you aren’t always quick enough to follow.
From their heavy laughter, the bed shakes again and your eyes widen as the rope begins to…
…sssnap!
“Both of you stop moving, the bed is going to break,” you say hurriedly, desperately trying to get them to notice.
You’d think Olruggio, out of the three of you, would be the one noticing that his own bed was literally hanging on by a thread, but instead his tipsy state gives him the courage to make a joke.
“It’s not our first time breaking a bed.”
They both laugh and wheeze at the joke before a concerningly loud SNAP bounces off the walls.
Their laughter quickly dies down as their eyes snap toward the noise. You look up and a breath of relief escapes you as you realize you all have not fallen. One rope has snapped and landed on your torso while the remaining ropes still cling to the metal hooks nailed into the brick wall.
“Okay, now you guys notice? C’mon, what if we were actually in danger?”
Qifrey, ever the charmer, presses a chaste kiss onto your cheek. “We’re sorry, love.”
From your neck, Olruggio gives you a small kiss as well.
“Should we be worried about the other suspenders?” you ask as you point toward the remaining three intact ropes.
Suddenly, all three nails keeping the ropes secured snap from the wall, sending the three of you crashing onto the stairs below.
Olruggio lands flat against the stairs, you falling on top of him and cushioning yourself, while Qifrey desperately grabs onto the wooden frame of the bed in an attempt to steady himself, his legs sprawled across your body.
Qifrey, dazed from the fall, mutters, “Well… you’re out of bed now.”
You and Olruggio can only groan in response.
Olruggio lays on the couch, fingers pressed to his temple as he attempts to soothe the avalanche of a headache plaguing him.
In the kitchen, you and Qifrey prepare breakfast for the entire atelier.
You walk toward your hungover lover to try and soothe him, but he swats your hand away.
“I’m fine… dun’ worry ‘bout me,” he mumbles unconvincingly, his words slurring with every consonant.
You playfully roll your eyes. “We both know that’s not true. Now let us help you. You never accept me or Qifrey’s help!”
His brows knit together, one raised higher than the other. “As if you and Qifrey are any different!”
You laugh. It’s true. All three of you have a difficult time accepting help, but that refusal comes from not wanting to make life difficult for others. So the fact that he refuses for that reason only makes you want to help him more.
“You too! You are actively refusing our help in this very moment!”
Qifrey joins the two of you, hangover cure in hand. “Here, my star. Drink.”
Olruggio takes one good look at the cure and immediately turns away. “No. Is that the raw egg and milk cure????”
“The very same.”
“You’re trying to kill me.”
You and Qifrey laugh, Qifrey hiding his giggles behind his hand.
Your laughter softens as you watch them bicker so naturally. They move around each other with such ease that sometimes you feel a step behind without meaning to.
“I’m joking. It’s water. It’s important to stay hydrated when you’re hungover.”
Olruggio carefully inspects the contents of the glass, making sure it truly is water. After concluding that it is, he drinks it.
You notice the shift in his eyes after the first gulp, his Adam’s apple bouncing rapidly before he exhales in satisfaction.
“Wow,” you say, slightly surprised. “You must be really thirsty.”
“Of course I am! That drinking game was—”
“Did someone say game?!” a high-pitched voice exclaims.
All three of you look up to see Qifrey’s apprentices, all donning their in-house uniforms.
Richeh sticks her chin over the stair railing. “I want to play too.”
Qifrey’s eyes light up at the sight of his beloved students. “Good morning, girls!”
“Good morning, Professor Qifrey,” they all say in unison, though with varying levels of enthusiasm.
Qifrey notices the lack thereof from Coco and Agott and makes a mental note.
Sometimes it amazes you how quickly Qifrey and Olruggio notice changes in the people around them. You still feel like you are learning how to keep up with that quiet attentiveness.
“What happened to Master Olruggio?”
“He’s just feeling a little sick,” Qifrey explains as he stands up. “Now, who wants breakfast?”
Coco approaches Olruggio with genuine concern, asking what she can do to help him recover. Judging by the worried expression on her face, she seems to believe he has come down with an actual illness.
Meanwhile, Agott, Richeh, and Tetia exchange knowing looks amongst themselves, the true cause of Olruggio’s condition painfully obvious to the three apprentices who are already more than accustomed to their masters’ antics.
Olruggio is somewhat conscious on the kitchen table, still nursing his better-than-before hangover, his forehead resting against the hard wood.
Qifrey watches your figure as you silently hover over Olruggio’s somewhat conscious body. He sees you hesitate and carefully measure your actions as if even a small mistake could mean catastrophe, though he doubts you could do anything of that nature.
You slowly lift Olruggio’s head and place a folded towel where his forehead meets the table.
You glance back at Qifrey, whose hands are occupied with preparing lunch, though his attention seems elsewhere. “A pretty penny for your thoughts?” you ask.
“You don't need a pretty penny, you simply need to ask,” he replies. “I’m just thinking about how lucky I am.”
His hands skillfully continue preparing the lunch for today’s outing while his gaze drifts toward Olruggio.
You smile softly. “He’s such a lovely person. We are both lucky to have him as our partner.”
“Not just him.” He pauses as he caresses your cheek, forcing you to look at him. “You as well.”
You flush instantly. “O-of course! I knew that… you meant me too.”
You smile awkwardly at him. “I knew that,” you blurt again, more to convince yourself than him.
But alas, his all-seeing eye notices everything.
He gives you a look that clearly says he doesn’t believe you before continuing to pack the lunches into baskets.
“What, pray tell, is the reason for your…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Apprehension.”
You shake your head while placing the prepared lunches into the basket. “I… perhaps I feel a bit insecure. You and Olruggio have known each other since you were children, I—”
You look down, your hands lightly gripping the table. “I just feel out of place sometimes, like I’m getting in the way of something.”
He moves closer to you, his head leaning against your shoulder while his hand slips around your arm before resting within your palm.
“You are not getting in the way. Me and Olruggio knowing each other for years does not make our relationship with you any lesser or insignificant.”
“In fact…” he murmurs against your ear, effectively sending a chill down your spine, “I find it quite nice. While we know so much about each other already, me and Olruggio really love getting to know more about you.”
His eyes drift around, searching for an object to compare the situation to.
“To us, you are like a magic textbook. Something thrilling to explore and study.”
“Your mind, the people you know, the magic you cast… every bit of it, we love to learn.”
He steps away, still close enough for you to feel his warmth but far enough for you to fully see his face.
“But…” A teasing smile tugs at his lips. “There are other things we enjoy exploring as well.”
His gaze slowly trails over you, affectionate and unbearably knowing.
Your eyebrows raise in surprise. You quickly shove the finished basket into his arms before running toward your personal chambers in a fit of flustered embarrassment.
You hear him chuckle behind you.
You and Olruggio sit shoulder to shoulder on the picnic blanket, eating the lunch you and Qifrey lovingly prepared.
As you lean into Olruggio, you admire the peaceful scene before you: Qifrey and his students practicing magic.
It’s really nice watching this, seeing both Qifrey and Olruggio so deeply in their element.
“I heard your conversation. With Qifrey.”
He starts suddenly, and you feel yourself figuratively shrink.
“And…?”
“Well— I agree with Qifrey, though I can’t explain it as eloquently as him,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck.
A long stretch of silence falls between you before he finally asks:
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I… I don’t really know. I just didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want you and Qifrey to have to change to accommodate me.”
He exhales softly, the hand that had been scratching his neck now wrapping around your shoulders.
“You are never a burden, alright? And—”
“Then maybe you should do it yourself!”
You and Olruggio immediately look toward the source of the argument and see Coco and Agott bickering while Qifrey attempts to de-escalate the situation.
Your feet instinctively carry you toward the trio.
“What’s wrong?” you ask as you kneel down to meet Coco and Agott eye to eye.
“Every time I try casting it, Agott keeps correcting me before I can even finish!” Coco exclaims, tears already welling in her eyes.
Agott immediately fires back, sparks practically flying from her mouth. “I was trying to help you fix it before it became dangerous!”
“See?! You always do that!”
You place a comforting hand on each of their shoulders.
“Both of you, breathe. We are letting our negative emotions get the better of us.”
You demonstrate by taking a slow deep breath, and eventually they follow.
You turn toward Coco first.
“Now, Coco, why don’t you tell Agott how her words felt to you?”
“Um…” She fidgets nervously with her wand. “I know you were trying to help… but every correction made me panic more.”
Her eyes squeeze shut.
“It makes me feel like I’m doing everything wrong.”
“But if I don’t point it out, the spell could fail completely,” Agott insists, looking toward Coco.
“But you always sound so annoyed when you talk to me!”
“I’m not annoyed at you! I’m frustrated because you keep doubting yourself!”
Your eyes flicker between them.
It’s clear Agott truly just wants to be helpful; she simply struggles to communicate it properly.
And Coco… hears the criticism louder because of her own insecurities.
Agott’s words only deepen those fears.
You look directly into Coco’s eyes, desperate for your words to truly reach her.
“Coco, being corrected does not mean people are disappointed in you. Agott was only trying to help you improve.”
Then you turn toward Agott, gently brushing her curls away from her face.
“And Agott, being helpful also means considering how your words affect others emotionally. I know you more than anyone understand how hard Coco works to catch up. So try being a bit gentler, okay?”
Slowly, Coco and Agott pull each other into a soft embrace, silently exchanging apologies.
Tetia immediately joins the hug while Richeh quietly tugs at both their sleeves, pulling them even closer together.
Coco lets out a tiny sniffle as Agott blushes furiously beneath the affection.
You stand back up, smiling softly at the sight of their reconciliation.
Qifrey walks up beside you, whispering a quiet “Thank you” before pressing a kiss against your cheek.
Before returning to his students, his eyes drift past you.
When you glance behind yourself, you notice Olruggio staring back at him.
For a moment, you feel a step behind them.
Did you miss something? Why were they sharing that look? What did you miss?
Olruggio walks toward you, his expression both serious and soft.
But his affectionate gaze goes entirely unnoticed as your thoughts spiral violently in your head.
What if you stepped in where you weren’t needed? What if you never truly fixed the rift between them? What if—
“Hey.”
Your head snaps toward him.
His hand rests gently against your shoulder, concern clear within his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
You quickly look away, blinking your tears back. “Yes.”
He pulls you closer immediately.
“You can’t hide from me.”
You say nothing.
“Did it look like he didn’t want you there?”
You still don’t answer.
What could you even say to that?
“[Name], listen to me.”
“You add so much to us, to our relationship with Qifrey and…” He glances toward the scene before him. It resembles the one he saw earlier with you. But it’s different now.
Because it has been touched by you.
He nods his head to point at the apprentices. “To the kids.”
You are then enveloped into a tight embrace. “You aren’t a burden, you never will be.”
“Now, like I said, I’m not as well spoken as Qifrey but–” He pulls away, staring deep into your eyes, much like you did with Coco. “Us adjusting to your needs, your wants, your life style? is the easiest thing we have ever done.”
You look into his tired eyes, eyes heavy from endless deadlines and late night work sessions. What you find isn’t exhaustion but the eyes of a man who loves you.
Just as the atelier is full of life in the early hours of the day, the atelier goes to sleep at the early hours of the night. (Due to Olruggio’s strict rules on the importance of a good sleep schedule.)
The girls had been sent off to bed together with their respective roommate, though not without complaints from Tetia, one last question from Coco, and Richeh nearly falling asleep at the dinner table from her food baby before Qifrey carried her upstairs himself.
Now only the three of you remained awake.
This has become an unofficial tradition for you three, to let go of the stress from deadlines, teaching and insecurity.
The golden magical light illuminated the room as you and Olly diligently work on washing the dirty dishes.
You dried dishes while Qifrey stacked them inside the cupboard specifically for kitchen appliances, and Olruggio stood at the sink washing the last few cups.
The rhythm between the three of you was quiet and practiced.
Comfortable.
“Agott pretended not to care about dessert again,” Qifrey mused absentmindedly.
Olruggio snorted softly. “And then took the biggest slice after everyone else grabbed theirs.”
“She thought nobody noticed,” you added with a laugh.
“She gets that from you,” Olruggio muttered toward Qifrey.
Qifrey gasped dramatically. “Excuse you? I am very emotionally transparent.”
Both you and Olruggio looked at him in silence. A look that read 'Come on now, look who’s talking.'
“…Cruel,” Qifrey sighed.
Your laughter filled the kitchen before slowly fading back into comfortable quiet.
You handed Olruggio another plate to dry, only for him to catch your wrist instead.
“Hm?” you blinked.
He brought your knuckles to his lips absentmindedly before letting go like it was second nature.
And maybe it was now.
For a moment, you simply watched them.
Qifrey humming softly to himself, Olruggio’s sleeves rolled past his elbows.
The soft clinking of dishes.
The occasional splash of water.
The familiar feeling of being gently bumped into whenever one of them passed by.
You smile, you could live the rest of your life like this.
Within the familiar walls of Qifrey’s room sits the three of you.
Olruggio spoons you from behind, your back pressed firmly against his chest, while Qifrey lies in front of you.
All three pairs of legs tangle together beneath the comfortable softness of Qifrey’s blanket.
“Today was perfect,” you sigh contentedly. “Nothing went wrong today.”
You pause thoughtfully.
“Well— other than our incident this morning and Olruggio being hungover.”
You hear a grunt from Olruggio and a chuckle from Qifrey.
Olruggio takes your hand within his and presses a soft kiss against it.
At the same time, Qifrey adjusts the blanket higher around the three of you, only for Olruggio to immediately tug it back down.
“You’re gonna overheat them again.”
“I control water, not body temperature.”
“Clearly not well enough.”
Their familiar back-and-forth makes warmth bloom within your chest before either of them notices your smile.
Sandwiched between your lovers beneath the blanket, you finally feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with the sticky heat from earlier that morning.
You exhale softly, the exhaustion of the day dissolving beneath Olruggio’s steady warmth and Qifrey’s calm, flowing presence, as though the two of them together could melt every worry away.
You close your eyes and simply exist within the moment.
No overthinking.
No comparing.
No wondering whether you belonged here.
You feel them shift around you occasionally, absentminded touches tracing along your arms and hands.
Olruggio reaches over your shoulder to steal one of Qifrey’s kisses meant for you, earning an offended gasp from him.
“That was for dearest here, how greedy of you, Olly!” Qifrey teases.
“Mhm. Don’t care. Shared resources,” Olruggio mutters sleepily against your shoulder.
Qifrey narrows his eyes before leaning forward and pressing another kiss against your forehead anyway, purely out of spite.
Caught between their quiet bickering, you can’t help the laugh that escapes you.
Their touches are soft and thoughtless now, the kind of intimacy born from habit, from love, from knowing exactly where to find one another even in silence.
At some point, without realizing it, you had stopped feeling like a guest in their lives.
You had become part of the routine.
Part of the home.
Held safely between them, you finally let yourself rest.
A/N: I cant believe this fic took me like 11 days... sorry! I was preoccupied preparing for college adjhwkjdha
here is the other request btw, i decided to combine them bcuz why not
I hope you guys like this! if you like what you read maybe tell me in the comments below :3
