Maven Calore X Reader One Shots

Songfic: Seasonal Feathers

I turn around to look at you. He has a small smile on his face. Maven... You smile back. How can such a human provoke such an emotion into you? As you stare at him, the bird flies away. Leaving you alone with Maven. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

You walk over to Maven, sitting next to him. He takes hard, deep breaths. He's been started to do that recently. You ask him if he's okay all the time. He always answers positively. You know he's lying. 

So now, you rest his head on your lap. Just to let him rest. The seasons have always messed with him. And as you look down into his blue eyes, you wonder how somebody as beautiful as he could love you.

"If there's a day my voice has gone away; if I can't sing anymore, would you still be here with me; would you still love me as you did before?" You ask. Maven looks up at you, raising his hand and putting it on your cheek. You stroke his hair, feeling a lump forming in your throat.

"But of course," he whispers quietly. Then, he smiles. Your tears fall onto his cheek. Embarrassed, you close your eyes. Just knowing that Maven will always love you brings you a joy you can't even consider to express. 

One summer afternoon when leaves were dappled blue

And in the summer, who let Maven help you pick the berries from your garden. The wind always blows in his hair in a way that makes him look like a teenager again. He always enjoys working with you, because it's a way he can bond with you. There is a lot of mystery around you and where you can come from. So whatever he knows you take interest in, he loves doing whatever you love. Even if it causes him pain.

You tired as your sickness left you weaker than you knew

Suddenly, there is silence. You only hear your footsteps. A part of your heart stops. You turn around, praying to God that your husband is okay. But his back is towards you, he is hunched over with his hand over his mouth. He jolts, coughing violently. Quickly, you drop your basket. You never thought Maven would be this bad. He has been slow, but he's always been slow.

You wrap your arms around Maven's shoulders. There is blood in his hand. He looked distressed, an emotion you've never seen on him before. 

"It's okay, it's okay." You whisper to him. He grabs your hand, holding it tightly. You feel on the verge of tears. Why is this happening? It's the scariest thing you could have imagined. You don't know how to heal him, you don't have any remedies. What is going to happen? 

You help Maven get to the house, the beaming summer heat bringing sweat to his face. You whisper to him, telling him you'll keep him safe. You promise.

What we had living together could not afford 

Remedies that were needed for curing you

Maven lays in his bed, his eyebrows knotted together. In the cold, dark room he lays in he breaths lightly in his sleep. You brush his hair with your hand before returning to your workroom. As you slide open the door, the warm light pours in. You look back to Maven. You hope the light will stay.

You look at the equipment you use to weave your blankets. In the corner is the basket Maven brought in full of cloth. You come up with a plan in your head. You will do anything to save Maven. 

You decide to start weaving again. But this time, you'll weave your feathers into the clothes. You hope people will buy them.

So day by painful day, with no more time to waste, 

While weaving at the loom I close my eyes and keep my faith

Your hands start to fade away, coming to the point where you have to bandage them up from the ongoing pain. You have open wounds constantly finding a way to bleed past the bandages. And soon, the autumn leaves start to flutter. The harsh wind constantly bounces against the walls of the house, forcing you to work harder. Even through all of the pain and the aching, you never stop working. You have to, for Maven. For the first human that showed any kindness to you. To the boy who saved you from hunters that one day. To the kindest, most handsome person you have ever met.

And so the seasons turn with time 

The summer ending echoes with the chorus of the crickets chirping their goodbyes

And with the turning seasons, you work harder with Maven to cure him. Every day you help feed him. He is becoming weaker every day. You have to manually feed him. And today, as he sits up, you help him hold a bowl of soup in his hands. His face is paler than usual and his eyes are hallowed. But he still looks like the Maven you look. 

"You hold beauty in your fingertips," he says to you. He grabs your hands with his, holds them. It brought tears to your eyes. He cradles your wounded hands while his own as cold as winter ice.

And your hands, so much larger as they held the pain within my own

And after the meal, when the moon defeated the sun, Maven stood to watch the moon and count the stars. He did not want to interrupt you, hard at work in your weaving room. So he stands by himself, peacefully watching the night sky. He knows that one day your hands will run out, and you will have to give up eventually. But he has faith. He has faith that the day you get the remedies he will already be fine. He hopes.

"Maven," you breathe out, peering into the room. He doesn't turn to look at you. He just keeps staring at the sky, trying not to cry as the wind gets colder. You take small steps closer to Maven. With each step, it feels like you're getting closer to accepting his fate. It makes you want to stop, to turn back to your workroom. But you don't stop. You hug him from behind, grasping him in your arms. 

"If there's a day my hands have lost their glow and I can't weave anymore. Would you still be here with me; would you still love me as you did before?" You ask, pressing your face into his clothes. You try to memorize his smell, trying to grasp onto what makes him real.

"But of course," was his reply. Quickly after he spoke, he coughed into his sleeve.

No time to sleep, I need to weave, I need to heal you somehow

As the summer's breeze came, you counted all of the coins you received. Not enough, still not enough. There's no time to weep. You need to weave. You continuously pluck your feathers, leaving you with just a handful. It's not enough. You continue to weave. Maven listens to you from his room. He can hear your constant winces and cries. Often Maven stands by his window, watching the swaying decayed fruits that once were perfect in your garden. There are no birds this season. There are never any birds. When you look out the windows, you check the leaves. You race them. As the seasons start to turn, you hope to beat them in the act of making a difference. But you're falling behind. 

Keep fighting 'til my fingers are nothing... Weaving until the feathers are all gone...

Your purple fingers can no longer care to weave, and your naked Crane body can't handle the cold winters anymore. 

Soon on his deathbed, you hold Maven. His face is pale. His breaths are slow. 

"If there's a day where I am not the same, not human anymore. Would you still be here with me would you still love me as you did before?" You ask him. He looks up at you with his pale, blue eyes. He opens his mouth, letting out air. You grab his hand. Warm tears fall onto his cheeks, a mixture of his and yours. He keeps his eyes on you, taking in your beauty before his eyes suddenly glaze over. 

"Maven?" You let out, gently shaking him. You shake your head, looking him up and down. This can't be happening. This isn't how it's supposed to end. You were supposed to save him. He was supposed to live on and hold you tight forever. This can't happen. 

You grasp his face with your purple, numb hands. More tears started to form. The man who saved you and continuously proves that life is worth living just disappeared from your grasp forever. And just as he passed, the snow of winter began. 

Reaching out, drifting down, the final feather falls alone...