#Maven Blackbriar x Reader

[technically-a-writer-technically]

Pinned Butterflies

Maven Black-Briar x Reader

Warnings: She's Evil, She's Maven Black-Briar. Not-so-graphic descriptions of a severed hand. Purplely Prose

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It started with gifts.

An extravagant dagger with crushed rubies in the blade. A fine, ornamental piece that came on the mounting rack. It was an impractical weapon, but a gorgeous show piece, so you placed it above your bed.

The finest silk tunic, adorned in goldwork flowers that danced in the firelight. It went on the mannequin in the basement. A, perhaps, unfitting place for such a fine garment.

Ivory-gold jewelery inlaid with flawless amethysts. They came in a velvet box, and that box sat on your nightstand.

Then, the hand of the thief that dared try and steal the jewlery off your finger, with your jewels tucked safe in their fist.

You closed the box, and stormed from your house, bareing down on Maven’s door with a heavy, angry hand.

You were greeted by Hemming, who ushered you into his mother’s room where she sat at her writing desk. She read by candlelight, her reading glasses on the tip of her nose. She grabbed a handful of papers, stood them upright and stabbed, before grabbing another handful.

“I was wondering if you’d come, I though surely you must have gotten at least one of my gifts”

“You call this a gift!” You branished your box, the thief’s hand heavy at the unsecured side.

Maven placed another perfected handful of papers on top of her growing stack. “Do you not appreciate having your jewelery returned to you?” She says, innocent as a poisoned apple.

“You did more than that, how am I supposed to rid myself of this. A hand, surely even you know how extreme that is?”

Maven laughs, short, sick, and sweet. “He’s not dead, and for your jewelery you could be more gracious.”

“You want me to thank you?”

Maven hummed, “Is that suprising?”

“I won’t fawn over your groteseque display, Maven”’

“Fawn, no, no,” Maven got up, laying waste to your personal space.

The box fell to your side, nearly out of your hand as the weight of it resettled.

Maven grabbed your cheeks with her hand, nearly piercing your skin with the length of her nails. “You mustn’t put words in my mouth, be grateful, I said, that I returned your jewelry, wear the tunic I bought you, adorn yourself with my amethyst.”

“Or?” You asked.

Maven frowned, though she looked away from you out the window, then back to you. Taking you in, consumption, she was swallowing you whole. Her fingers tight at your face, sure to leave bruises, if not incisions.

“I’ve only ever gotten what I wanted, or …” Maven hummed, “Taken it.”

She let go of your face, grabbed your hand delicatly, took the box that she could open it, uncurled the fist, and she took your pearls from their cold grasp, and closed the box. She held your hand soft as a bear trap, that she could put your ring on your finger.

You held your fist.

“I could break it,” She said,

“I’m not afraid of you Maven.”

“Because I don’t want you to be, but I could hurt you”

“As if I wouldn’t win that fight,” You said.

“Would you?” Maven asked. “Would Lydia, would Lucia? Or even that boy … Aventus?”

“You wouldn’t dare!” You tried to wrest your hand from her, but she held strong.

“Maybe I wouldn’t, maybe Sibbi would, or the Dark Brotherhood. Tamriel is full of swords-for-hire, many with no qualms about getting blood and tears on their hands.”

You gave Maven your finger, and she pressed the ring on.

“If I’d known you liked pearl more than amethyst,”

“I prefer whatever I earned myself.”

“As if my attention is something given freely, No, no, my time, my effort, are hard won. In time you will come to understand that, much better than you do now.”

You bent for the hand, but Maven waved off your attempt, “Leave it, I’ll make sure my next gift is less …” She said, a tiny smile graced her features, it brought a chill to the air, “extravagent.”

“Good-Night Maven,” You said, tight, it felt wrong to say.

But Maven smiled, and let up on your personal space, clearing a path to the doorway. You all but run home.

You slammed the door behind you, throw your back against it, as if you body could keep out the influence of Maven Black-briar.

The next day, a fine set of pearl earrings wait on your doorstep.

Cross-Posted on AO3