Maven X Reader One Shots (2)

Songfic: Glitter and Be Gay

(Listen this is an old opera)

And here I am, my heart breaking

Wine is gross. You drown yourself in it. Licking up the substance from the bottom of your cup. Poison sitting in your stomach as well as dragging up your wrist and grabbing your arm to drag you onto the dance floor. The lights burning your gaze, pulsating along with your head. One step, two steps, four and three. You don't know the people around you. You know their blood as well as you know what's in their mind. Are they red like you? Or are you alone in this conspiracy? Violent and a secret. A spy that tells the secrets to someone of their kind. The rat in the cage filled with mice. 

"Things are about to change." Maven whispered into your ear. And he spins you, showing you off to the crowd. They smile and jester. Raising their glasses to the future princess of the powerful. If this room is filled with mice then where's the mousetrap? Because you're the one who's the center of attention.

Forced to glitter, forced to be gay

Mousetraps aren't made for rats.

You smile at them, dangling the cheese in front of their eyes. But they still look at you. Hand in front of their mouth. Leaning into each other's ears. Chitter chatter like mice. At least you're the princess. Marrying the prince. 

You face your future husband, wrapping your hands around his shoulders.

"Will I be the one to change them?" 

Maven smirks. His lips curl like a snout with fangs hanging from its lips.

"No."

That's the part I play

You pull the gloves up to your arms. They end at your elbows but you feel their clutch to your stomach, where the corset squeezes your words out of your mouth. Squeeze in. Tight. That's what makes you royalty. 

The servants swarm around you like bees. You imagine yourself as honey. Or the queen, but that's a bit wrong considering how the system works. Or is that ants?

You roll your shoulders, stretching your neck left and right. You're stiff. You should relax. Maybe you should try drinking whiskey. Imagine this doing the same thing for the next ten years. How boring. At least you'll be a princess. Always in second place in the castle. For eternity. But you chose it over a life with nothing at all. 

You've never been the type to enjoy creative writing. But grabbing a pen and writing verses on your walls has been fun in a house you don't own. Someone will paint them over. Make them into a book. Or find them and convince you it's your suicide note. There's nothing wrong with writing a little sad. Is there?

Forced to bend my soul

To a sordid role

Whiskey is nowhere near the same as water. But it still feels the same going down your throat. Especially when it's force-fed to you by the one you will spend the rest of your life with. Sometimes he feeds you both at the same time. Whether to kill you quicker to keep you alive longer, you can't say. 

But you spend your time looking the other way when he walks by or staring at his ass when he doesn't have time to look at you in the eyes. You want his attention but you also want him to die. You want his crown but you won't stand the throne. 

Maybe you should talk to him.

To calm the poetry and intrusive thoughts. This is your life after all. Basking in it won't make it go any faster. Running through it won't make it go slower.