#asra x apprentice

Switch, but mostly tops. They just oh so enjoy seeing you squirm underneath him.

Speaking of, can be a tad unfair. They’ve always been a little coy and that just amplifies in the bedroom.

“Ah, keep holding on… I know you can do it.”

If you beg enough, they’ll go easier on you. They can’t bear hearing your sounds of displeasure (even if it’s really not). They just want to please you.

And speaking of again, very eager to please. Enjoys giving more than receiving, but what else is new.

Sometimes they just can’t help themselves. There’ll be an hour left for the shop to be open and they just wrap their arms around your waist from behind.

“Asra… people are gonna see…” You’d murmur as Asra pressed soft kisses from your collarbone up your neck.

“Then let’s close early… it’s been a slow day anyway, (Y,n).” They’d nibble on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. Gingerly, they squeeze your hip affectionately before they’d go to lock the shop for the night.

Asra finds themselves in between your legs quite often. It might just be their favorite place, their favorite hobby. Absolutely pleasing you and drawing every sound from your throat.

“A-Asra…!”

You’d whimper and grip his scalp a little tighter. Their white curls fit perfectly in between your fingers.

Asra hums as they continue to go down on you, sending vibrations against you that simply make your senses heighten. Even though you couldn’t see it, you could imagine their smirk.

And when they’re inside you? Asra is on cloud nine. But they’ll always focus on your orgasm first. They’ll concentrate hard on it, not allowing themself to finish before you.

Asra’s amethyst eyes bore into your own. With every thrust, another wave of pleasure spiked within you. The gaze your lover carried, it couldn’t be put into words. Something so beautiful, as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world. It’s enough to make that familiar feeling pool in your stomach.

“Asra, I’m… I’m close…”

You pant, clawing at their chest as another rhythmic moan leaves your lips. Asra smiles lovingly and holds you closer.

“Unravel yourself for me, darling.”

They pick up the pace with their thrusts, going harder and deeper.

When you’re both finished, if Asra topped, your snow haired lover would pull you into their arms once more. Your head resting comfortably against their chest.

Their heart would be beating fast, but slowly begin to calm with time.

If Asra took the sub position, they’d cuddle you close no matter, pressing their forehead against your own.

Gentle face kisses as Asra commends you for doing such a good job.

Asra would draw you a bath no matter what position they were in. Making it for you but also never declining an invite to join.

They love you unconditionally, and they revel in the opportunity to present that to you during intimate times.

JULIAN

—For a heartbeat, he doesn’t even realize what’s happened. He was supposed to take that blow, it was his duel, his mistake… and then suddenly, it’s you lying there.

—The way he screams your name could wake the dead.

—He falls to his knees, blood smearing across his gloves as he tries to hold you together with shaking hands. His voice breaks on apologies, curses, prayers, all tangled into a frantic litany: “No no no no, please, gods, take me instead.”

—Every trauma, every failure floods back. You were his light, his one proof that he could do something right, and now you’re fading because of him.

—He doesn’t stop talking while the healers work. He tells you stories, half-mad, to keep you anchored. Recounts the first time he saw you smile, the first time you scolded him, the first time he realized he was in love.

—When you finally wake up, he laughs and cries at once, clutching your face like you might vanish. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he says, voice hoarse. “If anyone’s going to make reckless, life-threatening decisions around here, it’s me.”

NADIA

—It happens too fast. You push her out of the way, take the hit meant for her, and in that instant, the Duchess disappears. Nadia the woman takes over.

—Her scream echoes through the marble halls like thunder. She drops to her knees, ripping a strip of her gown to staunch the bleeding with trembling hands that have never trembled before.

“Stay awake,” she orders, voice cracking. “That’s an order, do you hear me?” But there’s nothing commanding about it, only pleading.

—She calls for healers, for guards, for anyone. But she refuses to let go of you. Blood stains her sleeves, her rings, her hair. She doesn’t care.

—When you finally stir hours later, she’s still there with the eyes rimmed red and crown discarded somewhere on the floor. She takes your hand and presses her forehead to it.

“You fool,” she whispers, half-sobbing, half-laughing. “You absolute, magnificent fool. I should imprison you for terrifying me like that.”

MURIEL

—The world narrows to sound: the impact, your gasp and his own heart pounding. He doesn’t even think. He’s beside you in seconds, lifting you with the gentleness of someone holding the last fragile piece of his soul.

—His hands are huge and clumsy, slick with blood. He keeps whispering your name, over and over, like it’s a spell that might wake you.

—Muriel has faced beasts, curses and exile. But this kind of fear is new. He can’t fight it with strength. He can only hold you and hope you keep breathing.

—When Asra or Nadia arrives to heal you, he doesn’t move away. He just keeps your hand in his, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

—For days after, he barely speaks. The guilt eats at him, the idea that you were hurt because of him, because you thought his life was worth protecting. He can’t accept that.

—When you finally sit up, pale but smiling, he almost crumples. You reach for him, and he hesitates, afraid to touch you, afraid he’ll break you again, until you insist. Then he buries his face against your neck, silent tears soaking your skin.

PORTIA

—The moment you push her out of harm’s way, she doesn’t even process it. One blink, and suddenly you’re bleeding.

“No no no no, hey— hey— look at me!” She’s on the ground beside you, hands pressing against the wound even though she’s shaking. “You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m right here, we’re fine—” She’s not fine.

—When the healers come, they have to physically pull her back because she won’t stop talking to you, begging you to stay awake. She’ll pace the hallway for hours, blood still on her hands, refusing to rest.

—When you finally regain consciousness, she collapses beside your bed, head in her arms, sobbing with relief.

“You idiot,” she mumbles between hiccups. “You could’ve died, and then who would I annoy all day?”

—But later, when it’s just you and her in the candlelight, she gets quieter. Her hands tremble as she cups your face, voice small: “Don’t ever think I’m not worth saving, okay? But don’t you ever trade yourself for me again.”

LUCIO

—Lucio has always believed himself invincible…until you throw yourself in front of him. The sight of you taking the hit meant for him breaks something fundamental.

“No— no no no, don’t you dare—” He’s yelling before he even reaches you, his hands frantically trying to stop the bleeding, his voice raw.

—For once, he’s not thinking about image or pride, just you. “You weren’t supposed to do that! I can handle it, I always handle it—” His words crumble into panic.

—He carries you himself, shouting for healers, refusing to let anyone else touch you. His armor is streaked with your blood by the time you’re stable.

—When you wake, his eyes are red and his hair a mess. The proud Count reduced to a man who’s been sitting in the corner all night, head in his hands.

—The second you speak, he’s at your side, half laughing, half crying: “You absolute maniac. I was supposed to protect you! That’s my whole thing!”