Maven X Reader One Shots (2)

Songfic: The Killing Type

(This song is amazing so listen to it or die, sorry I don't make the rules)

I wouldn't kill to win a war

You grab Maven's hand, standing shoulder to shoulder with him to obscure the PDA. You watch as his eyes scan the room as he tries to cancel the chance of somebody taking notice of his love for you. And as quick as lightning, he places a kiss on your cheek before you release your grip and walk off. You brush off his smell from your red vest as you continue down the hall.

I don't get what they do it for

You go into Evangeline's room. You tighten the corners of the bed sheets and take off the dust around her dresser. All the while, you admire the beautiful knives and shards she has lined up all over her room. With the black and silver clothes drapes over the bed, you somehow wish this was your room. You wish you were a magnetron, someone stern and mellow. Someone without a face.

It's all so terribly vague 

I see the pictures from a thousand years of battle

You go into Maven's study, admiring the long-lasting colors of the Merandus house. So distasteful, you never enjoyed this room. It's especially menacing without the presence of the king in the first place. You tidy his papers and spend some time dusting his walls. Especially the paintings. You try not to make eye contact with the blue eyes that you knew were watching you. Did she know? 

And I think it's such a bore

But somehow, as you trace your fingers around the frame of Elara's glowing portrait, you find yourself looking up at her. She's gone now. Meaningless. And the moment Maven exists this world is the last trace of this vile woman's treasures. You pause for a second, basking in that thought. It sounds like a threat. But you loved Elara. For no reason, you admired her more than Maven at one point.

I'm really not the killing type

And you walk into Maven's room, hugging him dearly as he opens his arms for you. You don't understand what they do it for - all the violence and aggression? 

"Admire the feeling right now, Maven Calore." You whisper into his ear. He holds you closer, his hands heating up your lower back.

"I'm trying to."

I'm not the killing type 

I'm not the killing type

And with your face on his shoulder, you peer behind him to the small piece of cloth on his dresser. You can almost recognize the aura it gives off. She's downstairs, in the basement, isn't she? Not up here. Has he been visiting her?

It seemed so obvious - yet the thought still kills you. You wish you could read minds.

I've got a picture of your mum

Before the war when she was young

You sit in his study again, on the floor, looking up at the picture. You wonder what Elara would feel right now. Would she be proud? Are her paints tingling at the presence of you, the one who mourned her death? Did she know how much you loved her? How you would do anything for her? But that - that gruesome crime - you're not the killing type.

I think it's funny that she's looking to the left

And it's her son

"(Y/N), come here." Maven says from his desk. You get up from your seating in front of Elara and walk over to him. He grabs your waist, pulling you into his lap. You love how warms his hands are. Reminds you that he's real.