crowshadows

[crowshadows]

Royal Court AU

an au i doubt i'll ever end up writing because it'd be LONG

The Oberons are never captured by nightweavers. But a ship they raid has a nightweaver on it. Owen and Aster realize their parents have been lying to them, and interrogate the nightweaver. The nightweaver tells them that the red island exists; that he doesn't know more than that; and that the information is known only to those part of the king's royal court. With the help of a little human magic and a faction of human resistance, they disguise themselves as nightweavers of lower nobility, invited to the court.

There would be so many fun scenes with Titus and Will, especially since Titus knows who Aster is, but she doesn't know his secret identity >:D tidbits i did write under the cut!

-

"I wonder, what is it you possess that captivates him so? I've seen Titus charm countless girls with only a smile, but he's never had any true interest in them. And you seem quite immune to his charms."

How to reply in a way that didn't compromise everything we're here to do? Of all the people I've met at court, Will, with his probing questions, has been the greatest liability. "I'm sure I couldn't hope to know what goes through the mind of his royal highness."

His mouth quirks on one side, and I find myself annoyed at the amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, of course not. But I'd quite like it if you were to hazard a guess."

"What you'd like isn't my concern."

His eyes glitter as he pulls me towards him, guiding my steps through our dance. "No, you're right. I ought to ask Titus himself."

"No!" I reply, too quickly. 

As he spins me away from him, I look up to his face.  He has the expression of a cat stalking its prey.

"Oh? Is there some reason you don't want me to ask him?"

I open my mouth, close it. Then finally say, "I don't appreciate his attentions."

He chuckles lowly. "You could have fooled me. Last night in the hallway..."

"Was nothing," I insist.

"Mm, so the two of you weren't close enough to scandalize the entire court?"

"It was just-" Just what? Even I didn't know what that had been. That moment felt removed from everything else, the skitter of Titus's breath against my skin oddly alluring. I should hate him. He lived a life of luxury in this opulent manor while below my people were subjugated, hunted, stripped of their free will. I did hate him. So why, in that moment, had I hoped he'd kiss me?

Will watched me, a slight smirk on his lips. "Yes?"

Think, Aster. Think! "I was unwell," I tell him, the words not entirely a lie.

The playful expression drops from his face immediately, his forehead creasing with concern. "Are you okay?"

I’m caught off-guard by his concern. Why would he care what happens to me-who am I to him, except just another girl at court?

"Fine. It was really nothing."

Will looks like he wants to ask more, but he only dips his head in acquiescence.

The dance comes to a close, and as we part, Will murmurs, "Stay safe, Aster Oberon."

I shiver when our hands slide apart, instantly missing the contact. The wave of calm that wraps around me in Will's presence fades, and suddenly the ballroom seems larger, the packed space yawning around me like the jaws of a beast. In this place I'm surrounded by enemies, and at any moment we could be discovered. If that happens, Owen and I will have to fight for our lives. And I need to be ready.

-

"It was- Some kind of shadow."

Will's eyes go wide. "You saw it?"

"You didn't?" 

"It was a Sylph. You shouldn't be able to see it, unless-" He grabs my arms gently. "You're c-" He cuts himself off, swallows the word, instead saying: "You're like me."

I know all too well what he was about to say. Cursed. The word leaves me reeling, hitting harder than any physical blow ever could. My hand goes to my throat, Will's eyes following the movement.

-

There wasn't a woman in the ballroom tonight that didn't try to capture the prince’s attention. Whether married, windowed, or hoping the prince was one of her prospects, Titus was engaged in conversation wherever he went. And it wasn’t only the women; Men and women alike vied to be noticed by him. After all, to be favoured by the prince was to be the envy of every noble at court.

[crowshadows]

Heat of the Night

Will Castor x Aster Oberon

smut, possessiveness, biting, (technically) mildly dubious consent because of Will's persuasion powers (but it's not an active part of the fic), au where Will doesn't leave to fight, more time has passed, they're both 18+

4.7k words

Despite the layer of frost that makes the grass crunch underfoot, it’s still warm inside the conservatory. As I step through the door, a wave of humid air breezes by me. Will looks over from the roses he’s tending, eyes bright with the shine of the moon above. Glowing flowers float gently above our heads, drifting lazily through the air.

“Aster, you look cold. Come here, and stop letting the cold air in.” He steps away from the garden bed, opening his arms.

I meet him with barely suppressed glee, stepping close and feeling him wrap me into a warm hug. This is something new, a level of casual touch we only broached recently, and I’m trying not to examine it too much. Friends hug. We’re friends. It doesn’t mean anything. I don’t need it to mean anything.

Liar, Whispers something deep inside me. 

Winter has fallen upon us like wolves on a flock of sheep, a thing quick and sharp, rolling over the land with a suddenness that leaves me feeling unsteady. I’m still getting used to my life on land, and I didn’t expect all the ways things are different here. The number of times I’ve slipped on the frosty ground is far larger than I’d like to admit, and the amount of those Will witnessed– If the Stars were merciful, it would have been less. On the Lightbringer, we had always sailed to warmer waters during winter, and I’m discovering frost is a foe far beyond me.

“Surely a Nightweaver can handle a little cold air,” I say as he releases me from the hug. When I step back, it’s reluctant, though I keep my face impassive so Will won’t know.

“Surely a human can handle a little cold air,” he returns, amused. “Why don’t you go back out there?”

“No, I couldn’t possibly let more cold air in. What if you caught a cold? I just don’t think I could forgive myself.”

When he turns away, he’s smiling, and the sight of it chases the lingering chill from my fingertips. I follow him as he walks towards the Sorrowsnaps, leaning down and running his fingers gently across their petals. The drooping plant starts to stir, its leaves shivering upwards until it looks bright and healthy again. I drop down beside the Oak tree as he works, watching with interest.

“I miss Liv,” I sigh, picking at the grass below me absently.

“I know,” he replies, not looking up from where he works in the garden. “Me too. She’ll wake up in the spring with the other pixies.”

“I get it though. Winter on land is terrible. I don’t know how you stand this every year.”

Will smiles absently. “You just think that because you keep slipping on nothing.”

“It’s not nothing! Ice is evil. I think humans should start hibernating too.”

“You’re too tenacious for that,” he replies.

“And what about Nightweavers?” I ask, expecting the same absent answer. But Will turns to me, his gaze considering.

“We’re too tenacious for that, too,” he says, a slight crease forming in his brow. It makes me want to push the topic. There’s some part of me that can’t help trying to push against the unspoken things between us, seeing how close I can dance near those flames without getting burnt.

“More tenacious than humans?” The crease in his brow deepens, and he turns to me fully, giving me his undivided attention. Something inside me arches at that, daring me to reach toward him, to pull him closer.

“In some ways, yes. But in other ways…” He trails off, eyes dropping away from me.

“You think we’re weak,” I say. You think I’m weak.

Will hesitates. “Not exactly.”

His response nettles me. “Then what? You don’t think a human can take down a Nightweaver?”

He looks pained, and his reply is careful. “I think there are particular differences between them that would make it very difficult.”

“And an Underling?” I ask, voice harsh. Will looks up sharply, seeming to realize the full weight of his words.

“That’s not what I meant, Aster.”

“Then what did you mean, Will? That you have no intention of helping me? That you’d given up on me before we’d even begun? That you think I’m some– helpless human–”

“No,” he denies. “I don’t think of you that way. You must know that. Surely you must know that. After the things you’ve been through, the things I know about you. I just…” He stands, taking a step toward me, then another. I don’t pull back–instead I lean towards him, intent on the words spilling from his lips. “I get scared, Aster. Not for me. For you. Sometimes, I…” He hesitates. “I wish I could just keep you here, with me, and never let you go.”

His words send a shiver through me, despite the warmth of the conservatory. Will sits down beside me, his gaze unwavering, and we’re so close, I feel the heat radiating from his skin. My mouth goes dry, all thought suddenly escaping me.

The tension between us feels like something alive, thick and electric in the warm air of the conservatory. I stop noticing the glow of flowers suspended in the air, or the stars glinting through the glass above our heads. All I see is Will, our faces so close I feel his breath ghost against my mouth, his deep green eyes staring into my own, searching. This close, his familiar scent wraps around me, damp soil and the thick scent of flowers. A smell that has become warm and comforting. He smells like home.

I hardly realize my hands have drifted toward him until I’m pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the irresistible pull of the thrumming beneath his skin. Calm radiates into me from the point of contact, sending all nervousness drifting from my thoughts. Will’s gaze drops to my hand, then darts to my mouth, his palm sliding up the bare skin of my arm. The feeling of his warm, dry skin against my own burns a trail up my arm, making my heart stutter. Before I know what I’m doing, I close the distance between us, my eyes sliding shut.

The press of his lips against mine makes my skin buzz. They’re so warm, so soft, I bring my hands up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. I feel myself melt into him, shivering when he tilts his head in a way that makes our mouths slide together. And then his tongue swipes against my mouth, sending a bolt of electricity shooting down my spine. My lips part in response, and I gasp when our tongues slide against each other. The kiss is hungry, with a touch of desperation, a thrumming current between us.

He pulls back with a sharp breath, and it feels far, far too soon. I find myself chasing after him with a longing sigh.

“Wait, Aster,” he says, voice low. “This isn’t a good idea.”

His words hit me like a slap in the face, and I physically recoil. Of course. He doesn’t want me. I feel so stupid for thinking he did. How could I ever mean anything to him, a Nightweaver, Nightweaver nobility, when I’m nothing but a kitchen maid in his family’s employ? In this place I am nothing, and he is everything.

I start to rise, ready to flee. My voice is tight when I let out an “Oh.”

His hand shoots out to grab my wrist, preventing my escape. At the contact that familiar wave of calm washes over me, and the cut of his words starts to ease. “Wait,” he says again. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” I ask, cutting my eyes to him sharply. “Like you don’t want me?”

His expression darkens, and he looks up at me through his lashes, his emerald eyes flashing with an emotion I don’t recognize. His voice turns husky in a way I’ve never heard from him before as he says, “There’s nothing in this world I want more.”

I hesitate, feeling calmer, but I’m still ready to run at the first sign of rejection. “Then why did you stop kissing me?”

He looks into my eyes, his gaze searching, all traces of his usual dancing amusement wiped away by something dark and wanting. 

“I’m a Nightweaver,” he begins slowly. “You must know that this–us–is dangerous for you. I know you know that. The law against it...”

I raise my chin defiantly, eyes burning like lightning in the midst of an ocean storm. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he replies. “But Aster, we can’t tell anyone. I have to keep playing the Lord, and you need to keep playing the servant. And if they find out- well, they can’t find out.” He breaks eye contact with me, looking at the ground. “I want to keep you safe.”

I drop to my knees in front of him, grabbing his face between my hands and forcing him to look at me. “I’m not just some helpless human, Will. I’ve fought my fair share of battles, and the people I’ve killed… I lost count a long time ago.”

“That’s just it. They were people, Aster– humans. Not Nightweavers. Not Underlings. It’s just not the same.”

The words sting, rubbing salt into the wound of Owen’s death. Wasn’t that the reason we had spent the last six months here? So I could learn to kill Underlings, so I could rip every last shred of life from the thing that killed my brother? His lack of belief in me slides between my ribs like a dagger, and in that moment I know I need to show him just how dangerous I can be. 

My hand drops to the reassuring weight of the knife holstered at my hip. I slide my fingers around the hilt as I tell him, “It’s not that different.”

In the blink of an eye, I hold the knife to his throat, the back of his head cupped in my other hand. “See?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, the blade just barely biting into his neck. Seeing the glint of metal against his skin sends a thrill through some deep part of me, and I have the strangest urge to bite him.

“But I’m not–” He cuts himself off with a gasp. “A-Aster?”

As if in a haze, I had pressed my tongue against the side of his neck. I pull back slightly, the knife still to his throat, and find him frozen in place, eyes wide as he stares at me. Then, I watch as his gaze turns dark and hungry, a faint glint of gold surrounding his irises. “Fuck.”

That desire is all the confirmation I need. Tossing the knife aside, I press a wet kiss to his neck, open-mouthed, my teeth scraping lightly against his skin. He tastes like petrichor and salt, like something clean and delicious. The world shrinks around us until it’s nothing but Will, and me, and my mouth on his skin. I decide I want to taste him on my lips forever.

It catches me off guard when he grabs my shoulders, pushing me into the trunk of the old oak, his mouth pressing hot against mine. His hands run over every inch of my exposed skin, skimming down my arms, coming up to caress my face, then resting on the rough bark of the trunk behind me, one hand roving down again to grab firmly at my hip. I gasp into the kiss, my hands running through the dark curls of his hair.

When he finally pulls back to catch his breath, both of us are panting. But I’m not done. Baring my neck to him, I murmur, “More.”

He freezes, letting out a groan as his green eyes fix on my neck, that glimmer of gold bordering his irises expanding. His cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed from the intensity of our kiss. “You,” he whispers, “have no idea what you do to me. Aster, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Let’s hope it’s a good death,” I say, ghosting my hands down his back. 

“If it’s at your hands, I know it will be.”

“Well,” I grin at him playfully. “As long as you know I’m the one coming out of that fight victorious.”

He opens his mouth to reply, the gold of his irises starting to give way to his usual deep green. But the moment I slide a hand under his shirt, running my fingers along the bare skin of his back, he falls silent. The tension inside him snaps like a rubber band pulled taut, and he presses into me again, his lips meeting my neck. 

At first he kisses cautiously, just a whisper of lips ghosting slightly above my scar. But as my hands explore his back, fingers running over the scimitar of his spine, he starts to lose himself to it. His kisses become open mouthed, his tongue running along my neck. It isn’t long until his teeth are pressing into my skin, the bites firm but gentle. Low sounds escape his mouth as he kisses me, rumbling noises that sound almost akin to growls. 

Deep inside me, I feel the pull towards the blood humming through his veins. It holds me in its grasp, a thing that wants to be freed. But I also feel a low heat curling inside me, desire burning like fire through my veins. 

“Will,” I gasp. “Will, I need you to touch me more.”

It takes a few moments for him to pull himself away from me, panting heavily. “More?” He meets my eyes as he moves a hand to my thigh, hesitates. “Here?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply, fervent. I need to feel more of him, need him closer. In that moment, I feel so connected to him, I want to melt into him, to become part of him. He is safety, and he is thrilling, and he is the only reason I’m not alone in this new life.

I belong to nobody. Not the Kingdom, not Bludgrave, not even my family. Nobody, human or Nightweaver, owns me. I belong only to myself.

But in that moment, I want nothing more than to belong to Will.

“I want…” I hesitate, unsure how to voice this desire.

I am Aster Oberon, pirate of the torrid ocean, wielder of blades, deadly to all who cross me. And right now, I have no idea what to say. So I use the only weapon I have at my disposal: the truth.

I cut my eyes to him, and find he’s watching me with that always-searching look, asking a question I think I finally know the answer to. “I want to be yours.”

His eyes widen, a rush of roiling emotions passing over his face in quick succession. Then he looks at me like he’s been waiting his entire life to hear those words. My breath catches at the heat of his gaze, a dark, ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“Aster,” he murmurs, voice husky. “Mine?”

“Yes,” I reply, the word barely a whisper.

His hand slides up my thigh, tantalisingly close to where I ache for him to touch me. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I want you by my side, always. Stay with me. Let me look after you. Let me touch every part of you. I’ll give you everything, everything I am, Aster, anything you need, it’s yours. You need only ask. Say it again. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” I tell him, my breath coming unsteady.

Will growls, then, a sound deep and guttural, and I watch as his eyes flare a bright, luminous gold. I should be scared, but I find myself drawn to him, a deep trust sinking into me. I know that he would never harm me.

My breath stutters as he surges into me, the weight of his body pressing me into the trunk of the oak at my back. He captures my mouth in his, the kiss ravenous, and desire sets my body alight. I gasp when he slides his hand over the wet heat of me through my pants, sending the arousal simmering inside me into overdrive. But his hand doesn’t stop there, travelling up to the button of my pants.

“Aster,” he chants through panting breaths. “Aster. Mine, you’re mine. Nobody else gets to touch you like this. Only me. Only me.”

The moment the button is freed, he slides his hand straight over the curve of my stomach, fingers slipping beneath my underwear. My breath catches as his fingers brush over my clit, but he doesn’t stop there, giving me hardly a moment to catch my breath before he’s pushing a finger inside me. It’s intense, and entirely overwhelming, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I claw at his back with a low moan, my hips lifting in a desperate attempt to take him deeper inside me.

“So eager,” he purrs, the rumble of his voice resonating through me. Then he starts pumping his finger inside me, and all words escape me. My sharp breaths give way to moans, the sounds escaping my mouth unbidden as the fiery heat inside me intensifies.

I learn back against the oak for support, and find his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that shudders its way through my entire body. When I try to break eye contact, overwhelmed by the feeling behind that gaze, overwhelmed by seeing the way I feel mirrored in his eyes, he grabs my chin gently, forcing me to face him. 

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,” he whispers, his gaze turning unbearably soft. His words are everything I’ve wanted to hear these last six months, every hope I’ve had, every thing I’ve told myself I didn’t need–and more. Something inside me wobbles, dangerously close to coming undone, and every word catches in my throat, every thought comes half-formed. 

“Will,” I breathe, hoping that somehow, the word carries the crashing waves of feelings inside me across the ever-shrinking space between us.

He kisses me, then, leaning in to press his lips against mine slowly, infinitely gentle. I let out an involuntary whine when his fingers leave me, feeling empty. But I’m immediately distracted when he kisses a trail across my skin, pressing his lips to the curve of my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Then he undoes the buttons of my shirt one by one, slowly inching his way down. When he places a kiss above the line of my underwear, my breath catches.

Anticipation unfurls inside me, a spike of arousal shooting through me as I realize what he’s about to do. The moment between that kiss and him pulling down my underwear is only a handful of seconds, but it seems to stretch torturously slow. One hand presses into my thigh, gently spreading my legs wider as he settles between them. His breath is warm between my legs, and the sigh that leaves me as his tongue presses on my clit is half relief–but that other half is a buzzing, winding thing, a tension building and building inside me. I feel his tongue flick my clit, his hand dipping down as his fingers fill me.

“Will,” I say again, his name falling out on the edge of a gasp. “That feels– ah, really good, don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. His mouth works against me, sometimes sliding down to replace his fingers inside me, sometimes trailing back up to circle my clit. When I try to push up into him, wanting more, his hand presses into my hip, pushing me back down, holding me still. The tension inside me winds tighter and tighter, until I feel the crescent of it ready to crash, but just before the wave breaks, Will stops.

I whine in protest. “I was so close.”

He moves up, threading his fingers between mine. Will kisses me, and I taste the salty tang of myself on his tongue. While I’m distracted, he pins my hands against the oak behind me, pulling back to look at me with a wicked grin.

“Sorry,” he says, without even a hint of apology in his voice. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what he’s planning next. But I don’t wait to find out–lithe as a weasel, I slip out of his grasp. If he won’t give me what I want, I’ll take it for myself.

“Sit back,” I tell him. He blinks at me, looks at his empty hands, looks back to me.

“How did you…?”

“Sit,” I say again, pointing to the spot in front of me. Will complies. He watches me, and his green eyes are as curious as they are intense, completely intent on my words. “Take your pants off.”

A touch of amusement crosses his face, but that interest sharpens, too. “You never fail to surprise me,” he says. “I guess I should have known you could escape my grasp like that.”

Then he complies with my second request, too. I watch as his cock springs free of his pants, hard and already leaking. I waste no time in moving towards him, settling myself practically in his lap, my face close enough to his that our breaths intermingle. He grunts when I grind myself against his cock, letting it slide over my folds, my breath catching as it rubs over my clit. 

My hands go to his face, tracing the arch of his brow, stroking the warmth of his cheek. His eyes slide closed as I run my fingers through his dark curls, and his hair is feather-soft. I take in the set of his jaw, the shape of his nose, the curve of his mouth–he is handsome, so handsome, and I want to look and keep looking at him until I’ve had enough, which I think might be never.

“And now?” he asks, voice low.

“I like the way you look,” I tell him. “Beneath me, I mean.” I press my hand to his chest, pushing him down until he’s resting on his elbows on the soft grass. I grind against him again, angling my hips so his cock rubs my clit. A shiver skitters down my spine. After all this time, all my fervent wanting, I can hardly believe he’s letting me touch him this way.

“I like the way you feel against me too,” I say, voice low. “So, you said you’d make it up to me?”

“Yes,” he replies, and I hear the way I’m affecting him laced through his voice. The rim of gold has flared around his pupils again, a sun eclipsed. His hands slide up my thighs, fingers pressing into my skin just below my ass.

“I want to feel what it’s like to be filled by you,” I tell him, sliding my hand to his cock and positioning the head of it at my entrance. “Do you–”

“Yes,” he interrupts me forcefully. His fingers squeeze into me, pressing indents into my skin. The molten shine of his eyes wavers, consuming the deep cedar-green of them like a forest fire.

“Stay still, then,” I murmur, flashing him a wicked grin. Then I sink down, feeling the slow stretch of his cock filling me. He lets out a shuddering breath as I take him fully, sliding down until I feel the press of his body against my own.

“Aster– Fuck–” His hips move, grinding up into me.

My hand goes to his chest, pushing him back down. “I told you to stay still.”

His laugh is breathy. “Now? You’re asking a lot of me, Aster.”

The smile I give in response has a hint of teeth. “I believe in you. And, well, if you don’t…”

“If I don’t?”

“I’ll stop riding you,” I tell him with a satisfied smile. “Every time, until you can be good for me.”

“You know I’m not good,” he murmurs, grinding into me again, a gasp escaping me as I feel him deep inside me.

I push his chest hard, forcing him down to the grass below. “I think you can be good,” I say. “If you have to be.”

Then I start moving. I find a rhythm, my hips rising and falling, sliding thrusts that pound their way through me, my breathing going ragged. When I look down, I catch sight of Will–his face flushed, pupils rimmed starlight-gold, watching me, hair mussed, expression hazy. Like this, he’s a sight to behold, and I try to burn this moment into my memory.

I feel him thrusting up into me. I stop moving, and he groans.

“Aster.”

“Will.”

“Fine,” he growls, voice guttural. “Fine, I’ll stay still. Don’t stop.”

I grin back at Will, my hips rocking into him, each movement punctuated with the soft sound of skin meeting skin. His eyes slide half-closed, watching me through the thin sliver that remains. I can tell that staying still is taking every bit of restraint he has; I see it in the set of his jaw, the tightness of his arms. His breaths come in catching rasps, faltering as I take him inside me again and again.

It’s not long before I feel that winding, buzzing tension pooling inside me again, coiling tighter and tighter, until I think I can’t possibly take any more, needing the wave to break, needing to feel the release. I reach down, rubbing my clit, moans escaping me with each ragged breath, and finally that blazing heat bursts through me, my hips moving erratically as I clench around Will’s cock. 

My eyes slide closed with the intensity of the feeling crashing through me, but I open them in time to see the golden gleam of Will’s eyes as he pulls me down against him, my breasts pressing into his chest. He starts pounding into me relentlessly, the thrusts coming hard and fast, turning every breath into a whimper. It is so much, it is too much, and it is somehow not enough.

“Mine,” he growls into my ear. “You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I gasp, voice ragged against my teeth. Will’s thrusts grow more erratic, and I feel him tensing below me. His arms still crush me against him, and as he finishes, he bites the side of my neck, teeth sinking into me hard enough that I know it will leave a mark. I gasp, the intensity overwhelming, the pain delicious, shooting through me and out to my fingertips, my toes, my body thrumming with every nerve electric. Will’s hips slow under me, and with a satiated sigh he goes limp below me. We stay like that for a long time, me curled against him, his arms still around me. I don’t want to move, wanting to feel him inside me a little longer, not wanting this moment to end, not knowing what comes next. Wanting, not wanting, not knowing.

I sit up. When I look down at Will, his face is stark with adoration. Startled, I look away.

“Aster,” he says, voice sing-song. “Aster. Look at me.”

I do.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asks, then follows up with: “I certainly did.”

“Obviously, I did,” I say, face burning.

“Mhm. You said a lot of things during that…”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I reply, feeling the heat in my face intensify.

“Something about being mine…?”

“Well,” I say. “I might have said that.”

“I would like nothing more.”

I stare down at him hopefully as his hand comes up to cup my cheek.

“So we’re…?”

Then he says the words I had been wanting to hear every moment of every day for the past five months. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

The smile on my face grows so wide I feel my cheeks hurt. Not friends, Whispers that voice inside me, that finally-vindicated voice. Not just friends. I take his hand, turning it so I can kiss along his knuckles gently. Then I look down at him, eyes warm, and echo his words from earlier.

“I would like nothing more.”

[crowshadows]

i've been having so much fun writing recently which is berry cool :D

[crowshadows]

i've been thinking about how Henry and Aster can relate to each other in ways nobody else can, because of what they went through on the Deathwail and thinking about how Will and Aster have both lived lives where they've had to kill people, and sure they can relate to each other, to being forced to kill to survive, but it's not quite the same. Because Aster was always on equal footing with her opponents - they were human, and the thing that kept her alive was her experience, her wits and reflexes. But Will is powerful, far more powerful than humans and more powerful than most Nightweavers. And that power was used as a tool to massacre people who were completely helpless against him. so when Aster sees him as gentle... as kind... despite all the horrific acts he's been forced to commit. For a moment he is that person. He's someone good, someone kind. For a moment he's no longer a monster.

[crowshadows]

Through the green baize door

Aster Oberon x Will Castor hurt/comfort, fluff, cuddling, (less than) canon-typical violence, Aster and Will's usual adorable banter 3.2k words

When I wake, it isn’t because of the wailing scream. And it isn’t because of the blood dripping thick onto my face from the vent above.

No– It’s because of the dark figure looming at the foot of my bed.

I freeze completely, my breath coming ragged. I don’t dare dart my eyes over to see if Margaret’s awake, but the soft snores drifting through the room give me my answer. Somehow, she's slept through the noise.

With a touch of desperation, I reach for the non-existent dagger at my hip, sharply missing my cutlass. But I’m completely unarmed; not even the pocketknife from the knapsack remains, not after the Gore.

I am unarmed. But even an unarmed pirate is dangerous. I won’t be taken down without a fight.

I leap from the bed in an instant, hand outstretched to grab the figure. But the person at the foot of my bed is nothing but a shadow, and the instant I make contact, they seem to melt away. I pant frantically in the cool night air, eyes darting to every corner, trying to make sense of the shadows.

On the Lightbringer, we would fight in cramped quarters belowdeck as often as we would in the open air above. I’m no stranger to fighting in near-darkness. So why, now, was I seeing the figure in every dark corner? Always with sword poised, ready to strike and send me to the same bloody end that had taken my brother from me.

They must be here. I know they must be.

A yelp tears from my throat when a hand clamps around my neck from behind. My attacker pulls me back, towards them, and my eyes dart frantically to Margaret. 

“She won’t wake up,” Murmurs a man’s voice in my ear, the edges of it sharp and hollow. “I’ve made sure of that. Nobody is going to save you.”

For a moment, my breath catches in terror, thinking my attacker meant he’d killed Margaret. The slow rise and fall of her chest sends a surge of relief through me. I can’t lose another sibling, not here, where we’re supposed to be safe. Without a second thought, I elbow the man behind me with all my strength.

The hand around my throat disappears, but the sound he gives isn’t pained. The man laughs. And that laugh– it’s so achingly familiar. It's a laugh I’ve spent my whole life hearing.

I spin around, and the sight that awaits me leaves me trembling.

It’s Owen. He’s standing behind me. But his eyes aren’t the kind, tawny eyes of my brother. They’re a deep, glowing red. He’s not the person I remember. His skin is sallow, almost grey, and his eyes sunken. He looks sick. He looks like someone on death’s door. 

He looks like a corpse.

Around him, wisps of shadow rise into the still air like smoke. His form seems fuzzy, never quite settling into something solid, making me blink a few times to try and focus my eyes.

Owen smiles at me, and his teeth are sharp and bloody. “You never did need anyone to save you, did you, little mouse?”

The world around me starts to go dark, my head pounding. Desperately, I back away from him, not wanting to believe this is real. Since the night we were captured, I had wished countless times that Owen was still alive. But not like this. This creature wasn’t the brother I loved.

When my back hits the wall, I press myself against it, needing something solid to keep me afloat. The surface is soft against my fingers, and it comes to me suddenly that this is the green baize door separating the servant’s quarters from that of the Castors’. The door is locked each night, but every screaming nerve inside me gives one singular plea.

Unlock. Unlock. Please, unlock!

And somehow, miraculously, it does.

I fall back onto the rough stone floor, breathing ragged, and beside me comes a puzzled voice. “Aster?”

My eyes dart to his, and my face must be wild with fear, because Will is at my side in an instant. "Aster, what's wrong?"

My heart is pounding so loud in my chest, I almost don't hear him. I try to wipe at the blood on my face, but my hand comes away clean.

"Owen," I force out shakily. "I– I saw Owen."

Will’s eyes widen slightly, the reaction almost imperceptible. But I notice. I watch as he strides past me, looking into the room shared by Margaret and me intently. Seemingly satisfied, he scans the hallway, eyes roving for anything out of the ordinary.

Then he’s back at my side, a hand resting lightly on my shoulder. The moment the contact is made, I feel that familiar wave of calm wash over me, soothing the thunderous cocktail of fear and grief that had been threatening to overwhelm me. My mouth opens. 

“Wait.” Will raises a finger to my lips. “Come with me.”

Gently, he grabs me by the wrist, leading me to the chamber I know shares a wall with my own. The door swings open smoothly, hardly making a sound, and then we’re crossing the threshold into Will’s room.

The room is wide, at least twice as wide as the room I share with Margaret, and decorated with more things than my entire family owned on the Lightbringer. Not one, but three towering bookcases line the walls, and I catch sight of a number of books on plants among them. Tapestries hang in the remaining space, and a soft carpet covers the cold stone of most of the floor. Two ornate, plush chairs sit next to the remains of a fire, their silvery frames reflecting the glowing embers. 

I feel relieved when Will leads me straight to his bed instead, gently directing me to sit. When I do, I sink into the soft down of his mattress. He sits beside me, the weight of him making the bed dip so I find myself pressed against his side, shoulder to shoulder. In this room, on his bed, the scent of him wraps around me, the rich smell of earth mixed with the sweetness of flowers, and it feels something like safety.

Though I wouldn’t admit it, I had imagined what Will’s room might look like more times than I could count. Despite the circumstances, actually being here sends a thrill through me. It makes me feel like more than just a kitchen maid. It makes me feel like this, us, this something between us, could be real.

I lean into him, and he wraps an arm around me.

“There’s nobody there. Margaret is safe.” My shoulders sag with relief at his words. “Tell me what you saw.”

“There was someone at the foot of my bed. I tried to fight him, but… he disappeared. And then– It was Owen. Will, it was him. But it also– It wasn’t. He was different.”

Will’s eyes are intense when he asks, “Different how?”

“His eyes. They were red. Blood red, and glowing. And he was so… he looked…” I trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence. But I make myself force the words out. “He looked like he was dead.” My heart feels hollow as I say it. He is dead.

“And you didn’t see the Sylph?”

“No,” I reply. “No, this was different. There were these shadows around him, but it wasn’t the Sylph. I could feel it. It was… I think it was the same figure I saw in Albert and Elsie’s room.”

I turn my head, half burying my face in his shoulder. I know this isn’t safe– me being in his room, when I’m human, and not just human, but a pirate. Reformed pirate, I remind myself. But in my heart I know that will never be true. I belong to the sea, and the salty spray of ocean mist and rolling waves will always call me back. If anyone found me here, there would be hell to pay. But despite all that, I feel safe.

"It can't have been real," I whisper, the words half a plea. "Can it?" 

Will's expression is unreadable, his face overcast in the darkness of the room.

"Will," I beg, voice cracking. "Tell me it wasn't real. It can’t be Owen, it– it can’t be."

He leans toward me, the moon streaming through the window bringing his expression into light. It's a soft expression, his green eyes infinitely gentle. "It wasn’t him, Aster. It must have been the Shifter, taking that form to catch you off guard."

He says it with such finality that despite the doubt nestled deep inside my traitorous heart, I believe him.

Will’s gaze drops to my hands, and he frowns, taking them into his own. “You’re shaking.” His thumb runs soothingly over my knuckles, rubbing circles into the back of my hand. Warmth blooms from that point of contact, enveloping me in a cocoon of calm.

We’re too close; far too close. But I can’t bring myself to care. Safe, I feel my heart thrum. Safe. Safe. The tension starts to bleed out of me, my muscles finally relaxing. Not Owen. Of course it wasn’t Owen. Owen was resting below the waves, the Stars above the only ones who knew him now. I feel the grief of his death settle in my throat, but this time it’s overshadowed by a powerful relief. That thing wasn’t him.

I look up, watching Will. His gaze is already on me, concern stark in his eyes. Moonlight dances across the freckles dusting his face, as if the constellations had been plucked from the sky just for him. Suddenly I’m aware of his warm breath ghosting across my cheek, and I feel my face warm. I can’t stop my eyes from dropping to his mouth. When I look back up, a faint trace of amusement is glimmering in his eyes.

“I hate waiting,” I sigh. “I want to act. That’s what I do, that’s what I’m good at– what I was good at, before. There have always been threats to me and my family, but they were always threats I could kill.”

Will frowns, and his answer comes slowly. “We’ll find the Sylph that killed your brother. It’ll just take time, Aster. I give you my word that I’ll do everything I can to help you keep your family safe.”

“I’m just… scared,” I admit softly.

The bed creaks as Will’s arms encircle me, pulling me into his warm embrace. My stomach flutters, and I can’t help but melt into him, my arms coming up to squeeze him in return. Just friends, I remind myself, but the thought lacks conviction. Ever since he held me for the first time in the conservatory, I’ve longed to be this close to him again.

This time, I’m the one crushing him against me, pouring every feeling overwhelming me into our embrace; my affection for him, my hopes for my family, my fears, and the constant, aching loneliness that only seems to abate when he is around. My heart squeezes in my chest, my stomach flipping over and over in endless somersaults. 

We stay like that for a long time, taking comfort in each other’s warmth. Will is warm, and here, and alive, each breath he takes reverberating out from his chest into mine. I remind myself over and over; warm, here, alive. My family is okay.  Will is okay. And me– I am incredibly weak for him, captivated by the gold flecks in his eyes, by the way they squint when he smiles; by the gentle way he looks at me, and the lilting amusement that follows quick on its heels.

When he pulls away, it feels too soon. I miss the solid warmth of him with a sharpness that brings my fears creeping back around the edges. 

Will is first to break the silence. “Have I ever told you how I started growing flowers?”

“No,” I tell him, wondering where he’s going with this. “You haven’t.”

“It was quite a while ago now, when I was much younger.”

“How much younger?” I ask.

His mouth quirks, a small smile. “Around seven or so.”

“Oh, pretty much all the way back. So I assume this is going to be a long story?”

And there’s that laughter in his eyes again, that squint at the corners of them when he smiles. “That depends on how well I tell it.”

“I better get comfortable, then,” I say, starting to lean back. Then I hesitate, remembering where I am. It feels intrusive to lie on his bed, and strangely intimate, too. But when I glance at Will, trying to gauge his reaction, he dips his head in a small nod.

Taking this as permission, I lean back against the intricately carved headboard of his bed. All manner of myths parade around the edges of it, from ferocious griffins to prancing unicorns. His pillows–there are at least five–are comfortable at my back.

“It might be hard to believe now,” he starts, flashing me a smile, “but when we were kids, Henry and I got into a lot of trouble.”

“I would never have believed otherwise. You’re even more of a troublemaker now.”

“Oh? And what kind of trouble do I make?”

I open my mouth. Gallivanting with a pirate. Sleeping beneath the stars side by side. Holding me like it means something. Letting me into your bedroom. Looking at me like… Heat rises to my cheeks. I swallow thickly, letting the words die on my tongue.

Will doesn’t press me, but I can tell that he’s amused. My reaction hasn’t gone unnoticed.

“The kind of trouble I used to make was mostly the mischief of young Nightweavers. Those of us with powers develop them quite early, usually around five or six. We’re taught to control them as we grow, because our powers don’t have to be powerful to be destructive.”

I listen with rapt attention, grateful for something to take my mind off… well, everything. His voice wraps around me with a cadence steady as the earth. 

“Our groundskeeper at the time was Mrs. Lapel, and she was, ah, very no-nonsense.”

“You mean she was horrible.”

His smile turns bashful. “Maybe.”

“Pirates don’t mince words,” I tell him.

“You don’t mince words. It’s one of the many things I like about you.” At his praise, I feel my blush return with renewed force.

As he continues, Will settles down beside me. “Mrs. Lapel was very protective of the gardens. If even one flower was picked, she would seethe and fume at us for days. She always assumed Henry and I were the culprits.”

I raise a brow. “Were you?”

“Maybe,” he says again.

He’s sat at a respectful distance, just outside of my personal space. But he is magnetic, and I can’t help being pulled towards him, slowly closing the space between us. “Like I said. You’re a troublemaker.”

He grins. “We made a game out of it. We’d see who could pick the most flowers without Mrs. Lapel catching us.”

“And?” I ask.

He lets out a soft laugh. We’re so close, I feel it reverberate through me. “I always won. That’s not important, though. I don’t concern myself with winning or losing.”

“Oh, of course not,” I say, voice laced with sarcasm. “It’s quite below your lordship to be so competitive.”

“Quite.” The corners of his eyes crinkle, and I find myself thinking he might have the most endearing smile in the world. “The game was enough to keep us entertained… for a while. But eventually we got bored, and started coming up with more creative ways to play.”

I curl towards him like a cat to a sunbeam– closer, closer, until I’m on my side, facing him. The movement catches Will’s attention, and he watches me with curious eyes as I reach out a hand. When I rest my palm flat over his heart, his breathing stutters.

“We, uh… I started making her plants grow.”

His pulse beats fast under my palm. “And that was a prank?” I ask.

“Well, the ways I was making them grow…” he replies, slowly.  “A weed where she had just pulled one out, a few daffodils amongst her perfect garden of begonias, a root where she might trip on it. And Henry…”

I hazard a guess. “Started setting things on fire?”

Will watches me carefully as he brings a hand up, cupping my face, as if this moment is a fragile thing he’s scared to break.  “Not at first,” he tells me. “At first, it was just lights in strange places, soil a touch too dry. But eventually, yes. He started setting things on fire.”

“And that didn’t end well.” I murmur, leaning into his calloused palm.

“No,” he replies, voice low. “It didn’t end well.” His thumb brushes my lower lip, sending a shiver down my spine. I feel every point of contact between us burn so brightly, with such heat, it’s like sunlight flowing through my veins. When I move his hand aside, Will freezes, blinking back at me. But I’m not trying to move away; emboldened by his touch, by his presence, by the fact that we’re sitting on his bed, I settle against his chest, tucking my head under his chin. This close, I can hear his pulse hammering in his throat.

Silence falls between us. I breathe in the scent of Will, of his room, clean clothes and earth and firewood. Before he continues his story, he enfolds me in his arms. I melt against him. “He burned down our mother’s favourite Willow tree, and an entire bed of Marigolds, too. Our father was furious. ‘It’s about time you learn to create something instead of destroying it’, he scolded us. So, Henry was sent to help in the kitchen, and I got stuck with Mrs. Lapel.”

I wince in sympathy for a much younger Will. “Oh, no.”

He chuckles, the sound resonating through his chest. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“It sounds bad,” I reply doubtfully. 

“Okay, it was pretty bad,” he relents. “But making the plants grow– giving something life. I loved it, and that has stayed with me my whole life. And Mrs. Lapel quit in the end, so I think we know who won.”

I laugh, the sound coming breathy as Will’s fingers ghost a trail down my back. We lie together for a long while, holding each other in the soft warmth of his room. He rubs my back soothingly, his presence radiating calm, and I feel my worries starting to fade from my mind. My muscles go slack and warm in his arms, my eyes growing heavy as the exhaustion of the night catches up with me. In this moment I am not a pirate; not someone whose entire life has been upended, ended, shattered against the sharp stones of fate. Instead I am soft and I am warm and I am safe, and I forget that I’ve ever known anything other than the thrum of Will’s heart beside me.

“Thankyou,” I murmur, voice drowsy.

“What for?”

I don’t answer, my eyes sliding shut, finally giving way to the weariness that had been nipping at my heels since the night’s events.

“Sleep well, Aster,” I hear Will say softly, his voice coming from somewhere fuzzy and far away.

As I sink into the soft cocoon of sleep, I think: I wish I could stay in this moment forever.

At least I can stay in it for now.

[crowshadows]

hello!! i can't believe how little fandom there seems to be for Nightweaver

i read it recently and something about this book has been like absolute catnip for me, i am rotating it in my mind constantly. i have a few fanfics for it on the backburner which i'll post very soon! come say hi if you like it too!