synopsis: padawan wakes up after last night; another vision makes itself known; padawan realizes something fundamental; master windu makes an appearance
w/c: 5982
a/n: please note i'm not really a 'form' person, it is based on what i research on wookie and such lol. it's very surface-level writing, for that - i must apologize! regardless, i hope you enjoy!
i accept any and all criticism. any typos or grammatical errors, please let me know!
warning: fem!reader, force & form inaccuracies, possible second-hand embarrassment, twice? my knowledge on star wars is limited. i depend on wookieepedia for reference.
songs to listen to as you read: hearing damage by thom yorke, space dementia by muse
“—You will observe your mother and I,” Maul begins, his voice deep and commanding. Your family is in your makeshift training ground, currently teaching a lesson. “I will attack her, and she will defend herself. Your sole job is to watch and learn.”
He pauses, his piercing yellow eyes locking onto the two young faces.
“When you encounter an enemy, they do not show mercy. They fight to kill. I need you both strong enough to fight and evade. There will come a time when neither your mother nor I can protect you. I must ensure your survival, and it begins with this lesson.”
The children look up at Maul, hanging on every word with wide, intense eyes.
“He’s right, my loves,” you add gently, stepping up beside him. They nod in quiet understanding, their small expressions turning serious.
“Then our lesson begins,” Maul says.
The two of you step back, creating distance from the children, who scramble onto a row of storage crates. They sit comfortably, perched at a safe distance but leaning forward in anticipation.
“I am not going to fight fair, my dearest, so do not hold back,” Maul warns. His lips curl into a dangerous smirk as he drops into his aggressive opening stance of Juyo. With a sharp hiss, his crimson lightsaber ignites, casting a blood-red glow across his tattooed face.
“Go, Mom!” Savage cheers loudly, only for his sister to quickly shush him with a sharp nudge.
You throw a quick grin over your shoulder at Savage before turning your full attention back to Maul. Dropping into your own stance, you press the activator. A brilliant violet blade bleeds to life, humming with raw power and illuminating your visage in contrasting hues of purple and red.
Maul begins to circle you, his movements fluid and predatory. You mirror him, tracking his every shift, expecting a strike at any millisecond. Suddenly, he lunges. He closes the gap instantly, swinging his saber downward in a heavy, overhead strike.
The blades collide with a deafening screech. You deflect the blow, but Maul immediately shifts his weight, snapping his leg up in a brutal kick aimed directly at your stomach. Anticipating the dirty move, you throw out your free hand. Channeling the Force, you unleash a concentrated burst of energy.
The invisible blast catches Maul mid-strike, throwing him back a solid five feet. The push successfully thwarts his assault and buys you valuable breathing room. From the sidelines, you can hear the faint sound of the children clapping, but you keep your eyes locked entirely on your opponent.
Maul recovers instantly. He closes the distance like a shadow, unleashing a ferocious flurry of strikes. Snap. Clash. Hiss. Each time his crimson blade cuts through the air, you meet it with your own violet steel. The metallic rings of clashing plasma fill the air in rapid succession. His attacks are blindingly fast, a relentless torrent of aggression, but you hold your ground, keeping pace with every move.
Reaching out through the Force, you touch his mind. Instead of blocking his fury, you begin to feed off his energy, absorbing his pulsing aggression and channeling it back into your own defense.
The familiar thrill of combat floods your veins, and your confidence soars. Your focus narrows, sliding effortlessly into the lethal mindset your own former master trained into you years ago.
Fighting Maul is always an exhilarating gamble. It is pure, unpredictable chaos. He pushes your limits, and you push his. As your sabers lock in a blinding shower of sparks, a fleeting thought crosses your mind: if you were both truly fighting to kill, who would be the one left standing?
The rhythm of the duel shatters in a heartbeat. Maul anticipates your next parry, slipping past your guard with terrifying speed. His foot sweeps outward, kicking your wrist with enough force to send your violet saber spinning across the dirt. Before you can recover, he raises his left hand, fingers curling into a tight claw.
An invisible band wraps around your throat.
Your breath cuts off instantly. The sheer pressure lifts you upward until you strain on the very tips of your toes, your boots barely scraping the ground. Gasping for air, your hands fly to your neck, instinctively clawing at a grip that isn’t physically there. From the crates, the children’s faces pale with sudden terror, their bodies tensing to intervene.
Then, a heavy, resonant presence brushes against your consciousness. Maul bypasses the physical air, throwing open a direct telepathic bridge into your mind.
“Focus,” Maul’s voice echoes sharply inside your head, completely bypassing the breathless wheeze of your lungs. “Look at them. They think this is the end. Show them it is not.”
Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, you mentally search for your weapon. You point your awareness toward the far corner near a shrub. Your fallen lightsaber lies dark on the dirt, several feet behind Maul’s back.
In the recesses of your mind, your master’s teachings echo like a familiar mantra: The Force is your limb when your body fails.
Maul’s mind remains intertwined with yours, tracking your resolve as you navigate the hold. “Yes – reach out. Call the weapon. Command it to ignite behind me. Break my focus,” Maul instructs mentally, his yellow eyes boring into yours, maintaining the brutal choke with unwavering discipline.
Adrenaline surges, clearing the fog in your brain. You stop clawing at your throat. Instead, you drop your arms, closing your eyes to shut out the distractions of the training ground. You reach out with your mind, feeling the cold, metallic cylinder of your hilt resting on the floor. You grip it with your absolute willpower.
The hilt drags an inch.
You push harder, channeling the desperation of your burning lungs into a singular, telekinetic command. Ignite.
With a sudden, violent hiss, the violet blade bursts to life on the floor behind Maul. Guided entirely by your mind, the humming plasma blade sweeps upward in a lethal arc towards his exposed back.
Maul senses catch the sudden concentration. He snaps his head around, and to avoid the rogue blade, he drops his concentration, severing the grip on your throat as he leaps forward to dodge the weapon.
Gravity slams back into you. You fall to your knees, drawing in a massive, ragged gulp of air, coughing violently as your hands press against the floor. Your violet saber deactivates, but as you lift a hand, it flies smoothly into your palm — the metal hilt warm and reassuring.
Maul lands smoothly a few feet away, his crimson blade hums for a brief second before he deactivates it. He does not look angry; a grim, approving satisfaction settles over his features as he turns toward the children.
“You see?” Maul barks, his voice carrying across the training ground to the wide-eyed children. “An enemy will never fight fair, they will not show mercy — and they will target your weakness the moment you expose it. When your body is restricted, your mind must become the weapon. You must do what you can to ensure victory. Remember this lesson.”
The strict, intimidating atmosphere vanishes instantly as two small blurs scramble off the crates and dash across the training ground.
Savage throws himself down by your side, his little hands patting your shoulders anxiously, while his sister, Orryx, kneels closely, her eyes wide with concern as she carefully checks your neck for any lingering marks.
"Mom! Are you okay? Can you breathe?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly.
Savage turns his head toward his father, his face twisting into a protective, tearful scowl. "You hurt her!" he whines loudly, pointing a fierce, accusing finger. "You're supposed to be training, not hurting Mom! You're mean!"
Maul does not snap or offer a harsh reprimand. Instead, his entire demeanor softens. The imposing instructor disappears, replaced entirely by a father who recognizes his children's genuine terror. He immediately clips his deactivated lightsaber to his belt and drops to one knee right in front of you and the children.
"Savage, look at me," Maul says, his voice dropping to a calm, gentle rumble.
He does not hesitate to reach out, placing his large, tattooed hands firmly but gently on your shoulders. He pulls you slightly closer, using his thumbs to lightly stroke your collarbone, checking the skin himself to ensure no actual damage is done. He intentionally keeps his movements open and tender, ensuring the children can see every gesture.
"Your mother is unhurt," Maul explains, looking directly at Savage’s tearful eyes, then at Orryx. "Look at her. She is breathing normally now. I would never truly harm her, just as I would never truly harm you."
You rub your throat, offering a warm, reassuring smile to the kids to reinforce his statement. "It was a real-life example. I'm completely fine, promise."
Maul nods, keeping one hand resting warmly on the back of your neck. "In the galaxy, there are monsters who will use that grip to end your life. If I only tell you about it, you will panic when you face it. But because your mother demonstrated how to shatter a hold in the middle of a duel, you now know you can survive it with your weapon. Do you understand?"
Savage sniffles, looking between you and Maul's steady, reassuring gaze. Slowly, the anger leaves his face, replaced by a quiet, understanding nod. Orryx leans against your side, letting out a sigh of relief as she watches her father gently tend to you, the heavy tension completely melting away from the room.
The anxious energy in the room evaporates completely, replaced by a quiet calm. It takes a few minutes for the children to sit cross-legged on the ground right in front of you, their fear entirely gone, replaced by burning curiosity.
"How did you make the saber ignite on the floor, mom?" Orryx asks, her eyes wide as she looks at your violet hilt. "You didn't even touch the activator!"
"The Force doesn't care if your fingers are on the button," you explain, holding the weapon out so they can see it. "You have to visualize the inner mechanics. You reach inside the hilt with your mind and flip the switch from the inside out."
Maul sits beside you, his massive form a reassuring presence as he leans back slightly on one hand. "It requires absolute clarity — precision." he adds, looking at the kids. "When you are trapped, your natural instinct is to panic. Panic fractures your focus, making your connection to the Force unclear. Your mother survived because she mastered her fear and focused her mind on a single point behind me."
"Could I do that?" Savage asks, his small chest puffing out slightly.
"If you discipline your mind and practice your focus," Maul answers, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"But remember the core lesson: the moment an enemy thinks they have won is the moment they become careless. I was focused entirely on holding your mother, which made me blind to the weapon behind my back. Use your enemy's arrogance against them."
The children nod solemnly, absorbing the wisdom like little sponges. For the next twenty minutes, the training ground becomes a classroom. The kids pepper both of you with questions about footwork, blade angles, and how to predict an opponent's next move. You and Maul take turns demonstrating with slow, careful movements, making sure they understand the theory behind the combat. Soon, they are mirroring the forms, practicing diligently with their own small wooden training swords
Eventually, the excitement catches up with them, and their yawns grow heavier.
"Go clean up for dinner," you tell them, giving them each an affectionate nudge.
They perk up, completely re-energized by the promise of food, and dash out of the training grounds, toward your bunker. Once the doors slide shut, sealing the two of you in absolute privacy, the strict teacher completely vanishes from Maul.
He turns to you, reaching out to cup your cheek with his large, calloused hand. His thumb gently traces your jawline, his yellow eyes dark with an intense, quiet admiration.
"I apologize for the severity of the lesson, and for hurting you," Maul murmurs.
He leans in, pressing his forehead gently against yours, closing his eyes as he inhales deeply, relishing in your warmth. His voice dropping to a low, intimate purr. "You are magnificent, my love. I will make it up to you tonight."
You smile, soaking in his rare, unguarded affection. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you lean up and press a tender kiss to his lips. As you pull back, you feel Maul’s grip on your jawline tighten just enough to pull you right back toward him. You let him. He completely engulfs your space, eliminating any space between you.
Just like that very first stolen kiss you shared on Coruscant, his kisses are all-consuming, claiming every inch of you with an intense, possessive hunger. If you don’t stop this right now, you know dinner will be the last thing on either of your minds.
You begin pulling away a little, but Maul follows your retreat, his tongue lightly tracing your bottom lip.
“Maul—”
He cuts you off with a playful, sharp nip on your lip.
“We’re not doing this right now. Not here,” you rush out in a breathless whisper.
He pulls back just an inch, his voice smooth, quiet, and dripping with dark amusement. “And why not?”
“Our children are waiting for us.” you answer, feeling a sudden, warm heat to your cheeks. You aren’t easily made shy, but Maul knows exactly how to seduce you. He can press all the right buttons without even trying, leaving you entirely malleable in his hands.
Amused by your bashful expression, he lets go of your jaw and begins walking to the exit.
The door hisses open, and you both step out into the warmth of your living quarters. You find the kids already sitting at the table, freshly washed and waiting eagerly for dinner. Maul steps up to the head of the table, his hands clasped on his back, shoulders squared. His expression returns to its usual serious cast, but the lingering warmth in his eyes remains.
“You have a task for tonight,” Maul announces, his voice commanding their immediate attention.
Savage groans softly, while his sister sits up straight, eager to hear what their father has to say.
“Before you sleep, we will sit in meditation for fifteen minutes,” Maul instructs, his gaze sweeping over them with an expectation. “You will focus entirely on the Force — not just to feel it, but to command it. Tomorrow, I will test your focus.”
“Yes, Father,” they chime together before they begin to dig into their food.
With the homework assigned, the strictness of the day fully dissolves. The four of you share a quiet, peaceful dinner, the sounds of casual chatter and the children’s soft laughter filling the room. The danger of the galaxy feels miles away, locked outside the safety of your home.
Later that evening, after the children complete their meditation with some assistance and are fast asleep in their bunks, you and Maul stand by their doorway, watching them sleep peacefully. Maul wraps a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you securely against his side. Looking at them, you know the lesson is tough, but it is necessary. “Maul…” you begin, turning your head to face him, his piercing yellow eyes meeting yours with an unreadable, intense devotion.
Maul.
Maul.
You blink your eyes open, your eyelids heavy with residual sleep. You had lived an entire evening with them — your family. For the first time, you finally saw Maul with absolute clarity. He wasn’t a shadowy figure or a fleeting phantom; he was a very clear, grounded apparition. Yet he looked more mature than he did last night. He was a father.
He was your partner.
You clearly loved each other. At least, you do in your vision.
You sit up on the edge of your bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before walking over to the refresher to wash the exhaustion from your face.
As you prepare for the day, a sudden knot tightens in your stomach. You desperately hope you don’t run into Kenobi today. You fear he might sense your dilemma or expose your late-night departure. And your alibi? Completely good for nothing if a Jedi Master decides to press you.
Shaking off the nerves, you walk over to browse your closet. Your breath hitches sharply at the sight of the dark fabric hanging there — the robe Maul gave you last night. A strange, electric feeling prickles down your spine. You finally have a name, a visual of him, and this dangerous man is apparently a fundamental part of your destiny.
You grab the dark, obsidian robe, instinctively pulling the heavy fabric to your nose and inhaling deeply. It smells like him—a mild scent of clean linen mixed with a faint hint of his raw musk. It isn't overwhelming; you can only catch it because you are actively sniffing it. Realizing what you are doing, you suddenly flinch away from the robe. A bright flush of embarrassment floods your cheeks, leaving a sudden, burning warmth behind.
You let out a long, defeated sigh of resignation. It’s official. You’re weird.
What if he somehow finds out? Can you choose to never see him again?
You stop yourself, shaking your head at the stupid thought. You will see him again. It is literally written in the stars, woven into the very fabric of the Force. But maybe you won’t see him for a while.
You groan in sheer frustration at yourself. He has already been in your personal space. He knows the breathless, vulnerable noises you make when you are pushed to the very edge. You’ve talked, you’ve flirted, and you willingly left a crowded club to go back to his private quarters.
More importantly, you are on the verge of breaking the Jedi Code.
It is only a matter of time.
Yet, as you stand there, you know it’s not because you are weak. It’s not because you are easily manipulated. You simply believe in the Force, in its grand design, and the deeper balance it demands. You will not be shaken, you will not be made afraid of your own destiny.
I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me.
Your eyes drift closed as you repeat the internal mantra, searching through the emotional chaos for a state of perfect, unshakable calm.
But as the silence settles around you, the image of your vision suddenly cuts through your meditation like a physical blow. The memory of the duel flashes behind your eyelids — the terrifying speed, the predatory movement, and the burning crimson glow reflecting off his tattooed skin. A red lightsaber only meant one thing. A Sith. The terrifying realization settles deep in your chest, sending a cold chill through your veins. The Sith will reveal themselves soon.
Your eyes snap open, your breathing getting frantically faster, with shorter breaths. How?
You grab your own robe and throw it over yourself.
You slip out of your quarters, the cold weight of your realization pressing heavily against your chest as you navigate the towering, sunlit corridors of the Jedi Temple. Your feet move with practiced urgency, guiding you toward the massive, arched entrance of the Jedi Archives. The cavernous room is quiet, filled with the soft, ambient blue glow of countless holobooks and data-stacks.
Choosing a secluded terminal tucked away in a deep shadow, you log in with your credentials. Your fingers fly across the interface. You immediately bypass standard historical files and log into the restricted Holonet databases, trying to find anything — any whisper, arrest record, or criminal syndicate rumour — tied to the name Maul.
Nothing. The search screen blinks back a mocking, empty prompt.
Frustration tightening your jaw, you shift your parameters to broader queries. You search for anything related to the Sith, forbidden red plasma crystals, or recent dark side surges in the outer rims. The terminal displays nothing but ancient historical records from centuries ago. The Jedi Order’s official stance remains stubbornly unchanged: the Sith have been extinct for a millennium. Yet, your vision told you a terrifyingly different story. A red lightsaber only meant one thing.
"A fascinating subject for research," a calm, familiar voice remarks from behind you.
Your heart leaps into your throat. You swiftly lock the terminal screen, clearing the history just as you turn around.
Obi-Wan Kenobi stands a mere two feet away, his arms are tucked neatly into the wide sleeves of his tan robes. His piercing gray-blue eyes study your face with an analytical, yet deceptively gentle intensity. The air between you grows thick with tension.
"Obi-Wan," you say, forcing your voice to remain steady, "I was merely expanding my historical studies."
"Is that so?" Obi-Wan asks, tilting his head slightly. He steps closer, his gaze drifting over the dark, locked terminal before settling squarely back on you. His presence in the Force is bright and perceptive, lacking the heavier, weathered shield of a Master, but still entirely too sharp for comfort. "You seem remarkably exhausted today. How was your…walk?”
A cold spike of adrenaline shoots through you, but you keep your facial features perfectly smooth, relying on your training to mask the sudden flutter of your pulse. "My walk was peaceful as it gets, thank you. Coruscant is quite beautiful when the traffic grid settles."
"I am sure it is," Obi-Wan replies, his voice smooth, though his gaze remains entirely too fixed on you. He shifts his weight, the long Padawan braid over his shoulder swaying slightly as he folds his arms. "Though peaceful isn't exactly the word the lower levels are known for after sun down. Master Qui-Gon always says that a restless mind seeks out restless places. I merely wondered what was troubling you enough to leave."
He steps a fraction closer, Obi-Wan's eyes narrow slightly, "I just find it curious you left in a hurry."
Realizing you need to shatter his focus before his questions grow dangerously specific, you narrow your eyes and step forward, stepping right into his personal space to turn the tables.
"How long have you been tracking my schedule now, Kenobi?" you ask, your tone dipping into a sharp, mocking whisper that echoes softly in the quiet archive bay. "Don’t think I haven’t realized it?"
It’s a bluff. You barely notice him. You know he spends most of his time with his Master Qui-Gon Jinn
Obi-Wan blinks, a sudden flush of defensive color rising to his cheeks. He straightens up instantly, his carefully maintained composure slipping just enough to show his youth. "I am not spying on you! I was returning a data-pad for my Master when I noticed your signature on the corridor logs. I am simply looking out for a fellow student."
"It sounds an awful lot like you’re following me," you press directly, crossing your arms and offering him a deceptively confident smirk. "If you wanted to spend time together, Obi-Wan, all you had to do was ask. You don't need to invent an interrogation just to talk to me."
You push away the feelings of embarrassment for your baseless accusations.
Obi-Wan flushes a deep, striking crimson, his ears turning bright pink under his copper hair. He stammers for a fraction of a second, entirely thrown off balance by your sudden accusation. "I — that is entirely beside the point! I was merely expressing concern as a friend—"
"Is everything alright here, Obi-Wan?"
A deep, resonant voice echoes through the quiet archive bay, instantly shattering the localized tension.
Master Qui-Gon Jinn steps out from behind a towering row of holobooks. His tall, imposing frame is relaxed, his long hair neatly tied back, and his calm gray eyes radiate a profound, grounded serenity. He looks between the two of you, a faint, knowing glint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he takes in his apprentice's bright red face and rigid posture.
"Master," Obi-Wan chokes out, quickly pulling his hands back into his wide sleeves and bowing his head. "Yes, everything is perfectly fine. We were just...discussing our morning schedules."
"I see," Qui-Gon rumbles softly, offering you a gentle, polite nod before turning his attention fully to his flustered Padawan. "Well, I require your assistance in the hangar bay, Obi-Wan. We must prepare for our departure to the mid-rim shortly."
"Of course, Master. Right away," Obi-Wan says, practically leaping at the chance to escape the embarrassing conversation. He shoots you one last fleeting, highly suspicious glance before stepping into line behind his master.
Qui-Gon begins to turn, but stops, looking back over his shoulder at you with a calm, discerning expression. "Oh, and before I forget, young one — I ran into Master Windu just moments ago. He mentioned that your training session was scheduled for this hour, and he is expecting you in the primary dojo shortly. It is best not to keep him waiting."
"Thank you, Master Jinn. I will head there immediately," you reply, bowing respectfully.
Qui-Gon nods, turning to lead his apprentice out of the Archives. Obi-Wan walks briskly at his master's side, his shoulders tense and his Padawan braid swinging with his hurried steps as they vanish through the grand arched exit.
Left entirely alone in the quiet shadows of the terminal, your heart hammers wildly against your ribs. The relief of escaping Obi-Wan’s interrogation evaporates instantly, replaced by a cold, heavy knot of dread. Master Mace Windu — the most fiercely perceptive warrior on the Jedi Council — is waiting for you.
—
You walk into the primary dojo, and your Master, Mace Windu, stands perfectly still in the centre of the room. His hands are clasped behind his back, his dark robes draped elegantly over his powerful frame. His expression is carved from granite, his dark eyes sharp enough to cut through any deception.
"You are late," Windu says, his deep voice echoing in the sparse room.
"My apologies, Master. I was delayed in the archives," you reply, bowing low. On the walk here, you completely locked down your mind, burying your secrets behind iron walls of discipline. You are fully prepped for this encounter. You know that to survive his scrutiny, you cannot show fear.
Windu accepts the nod, unclipping his electrum-detailed lightsaber from his belt. "Let us see if your mind is as focused as your apologies. Ignite."
With a snap and a hum, your brilliant violet blade bleeds to life, casting a purple glow across the dojo floor. Windu snaps his weapon up, his own famous amethyst blade hissing into existence. He drops into the opening stance of Form VII, Vaapad.
You copy his movements perfectly. You are mastering his form — the lethal, controversial style that demands its practitioner to channel their own inner darkness and skirt the very edge of the dark side, transforming the opponent's own malice into a weapon against them.
Windu lunges.
The initial clash is a deafening screech of plasma. Windu fights with relentless, controlled ferocity. His strikes are heavy, blindingly fast, and unpredictable. You hold your ground, your heart rate spiking as the thrill of the fight takes over. To keep up with your master, you open the floodgates. You reach down into your soul, tapping into your anxiety, your ambition, and the lingering, electric adrenaline from your visions of Maul.
You use the dark side, just as Vaapad commands, skimming its surface to supercharge your reflexes. You parry a brutal downward strike, spinning gracefully to catch his follow-up blow. The purple blades weave a chaotic tapestry of light between you.
As your sabers lock in a cascade of sparks, your faces mere inches apart, you realize his focus is entirely on your technique, creating the perfect opening.
"Master," you say, your voice strained under the immense pressure of his locked blade, "during my studies in the archives... I found texts detailing the ancient wars. If Vaapad allows us to channel the dark side...why are we so certain the Sith are entirely gone?"
Windu’s eyes narrow, his immense strength pushing down harder against your hilt. "The Sith have been extinct for a millennium. Their obsession with absolute power inevitably caused them to destroy one another from within."
"But what if they didn't?" you press, shifting your weight to redirect his blade, stepping back to create a temporary pocket of space. "What if they simply adapted? Learned to hide in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to reveal themselves?"
Windu doesn't answer immediately. He closes the distance instantly, his amethyst blade sweeping in a ferocious horizontal arc that forces you to duck and execute a tight, defensive parry. He presses his assault, driving you back across the dojo floor, his expression darkening with a mixture of intense concentration and sudden caution.
"The dark side is a cancer," Windu barks, his voice carrying the full authority of the Jedi Council as he shatters your guard with a powerful telekinetic push. "If it were rising, the Council would feel the disturbance. Do not let your fascination with the dark side turn into an obsession, Padawan. That is the path to ruin."
You recover quickly, sliding across the polished floor on your boots, your violet saber humming protectively in front of you. You keep your mental shields raised, hiding the chilling truth you already know: the Sith are not a distant myth. They are real, they are patient, and one of them is already waiting for you in the shadows of Coruscant.
Windu’s eyes narrow to deadly slits, his features hardening into a mask of pure, unyielding discipline. The subtle warning in his voice instantly translates into a terrifying surge of physical aggression. He doesn't just resume the spar; he escalates it into a brutal, breathless trial.
"You question the wisdom of the Council," Windu barks, his deep voice booming off the high walls of the dojo.
Windu lunges forward, his amethyst lightsaber cutting through the air with a deafening howl. He accelerates his movements, pushing the combat into a blinding torrent of strikes. He is intentionally testing you, probing the boundaries of your spirit to see if your sudden interest in the Sith stems from innocent curiosity or a dangerous temptation toward the dark side.
The sheer speed of his assault forces you onto your absolute heels. Snap. Clash. Screech. The violent ring of clashing plasma fills the room in rapid, chaotic succession. Windu's blade strikes from angles that defy logic, a relentless vortex of purple light meant to crush your posture and break your spirit.
To survive, you are forced to plunge deeper into the turbulent currents of your own mind. You draw upon the lingering frustration from the archives, the anxiety of knowing, and the electric thrill of your visions. You skirt the absolute precipice of the dark side, channeling that raw, chaotic energy directly into your muscles to match his impossible pace. Your violet blade meets his over and over, throwing off blinding showers of sparks that illuminate the dark intensity in both of your eyes.
"You are feeding on your frustration," Windu notes aloud, his voice entirely calm despite the ferocious speed of his movements. He sweeps his blade low, forcing you to leap high into the air. "Vaapad is a loop, Padawan. You accept the darkness, but you must remain the master of the weapon. If you lose control of the current, it will drown you!"
As you descend, Windu meets you with a powerful, heavy overhead strike. You catch his blade with a desperate, two-handed parry, the impact rattling through the bones of your arms. The two of you lock sabers, your faces mere inches apart, the raw heat of the plasma crackling against your skin.
Windu’s dark eyes bore straight into yours, searching for any flicker of deceit, any trace of the dark side taking root in your soul. He applies massive downward pressure, forcing you onto one knee as you struggle to hold his weight. Your breathing is ragged, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"A Jedi seeks knowledge to protect the Republic," Windu says, his gaze piercing your carefully constructed mental shields, searching for the shatterpoints in your resolve. "A Sith seeks knowledge only to conquer. Tell me, Padawan — why does your mind linger so heavily on a threat that has been dead for a thousand years?”
You force your burning muscles to lock, holding Master Windu’s amethyst blade just inches from your face. The intense heat of the plasma crackles against your skin, but you refuse to look away from his piercing, judgmental gaze. You know that any attempt to completely lie right now will shatter your defence. He will sense the deceit in your heartbeat.
Instead, you offer him a dangerous piece of the truth.
"I had a dream, Master," you confess, your voice strained but entirely steady beneath the crushing weight of his lightsaber. "A vision. It felt... more real than any dream should."
Windu doesn't yield an inch, his dark eyes narrowing as he maintains his massive downward pressure. "A vision of what?"
"Of the dark side," you say, drawing in a sharp, shallow breath through your nose. "Of a world wrapped in shadows, where the Sith are not a distant memory. I saw a crimson blade, Master. I felt the cold presence of someone who fights only to kill." You lock your jaw, pouring absolute sincerity into your voice. "But I do not feel tempted. I do not feel seduced by it."
Though you're not entirely sure why you confess that.
"It...made me realize how blind we might be if we simply assume the galaxy is safe."
With a sudden, fluid sweep of his arms, Windu disengages his lightsaber and steps back. The intense, suffocating pressure vanishes instantly. He deactivates his weapon with a sharp click, the amethyst glow dying out, leaving only the harsh, natural sunlight of the dojo. He stands perfectly straight, his face an unreadable mask of cold skepticism as he watches you rise to your feet.
"The mind can conjure many phantoms when a Jedi begins to master Form VII," Windu says, his deep voice carrying a heavy tone of doubt. He crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze weighing your soul. "What I teach you exposes you to the undercurrents of the dark side. It is common for a student to mistake their own internal anxieties for a grand vision of the galaxy's future."
"It didn't feel like my own anxiety, Master," you press gently, deactivating your own violet hilt and clipping it to your belt. "It felt like a warning."
"Perhaps," Windu rumbles, his eyes remaining entirely fixed on you, filled with a lingering suspicion that tells you he isn't fully convinced. "Or perhaps it is a test of your own restraint. The Sith are gone, Padawan. But the dark side is always waiting for a weak mind to claim. If these dreams continue, you will report them to me immediately. Do not meditate on them alone."
He turns away, his long robes billowing behind him as he begins to walk toward the exit of the dojo. "Our session is concluded. Go cleanse your mind. The Temple expects your absolute focus, not the lingering shadows of a nightmare."
As the heavy doors slide shut behind him, leaving you entirely alone in the quiet dojo, your hands begin to tremble slightly. You successfully deflected his probe, but the skepticism in his voice lingers like a heavy fog. Your master thinks you are just a stressed Padawan having nightmares from the strain of Vaapad. He has no idea that the "phantom" from your dream is currently on Coruscant, and that you are already bound to him by the threads of destiny.
tags @bmarkit @kc023818-blog
i would love to write how you achieved your purple saber, and how mace windu decided to take you as his padawan! uhhh essentially depa does not exist in this world. sorry kanan & ezra. it affects everything and nothing at the same time.
next update wont take long. it just needs to be proofread, and if i feel pleased, it will be posted.
ALSO, i had a question...what would you think is maul's scent? it was difficult to write lol. i searched up maul-inspired candles to help me but NOPE only one came up. i tried to find people's hc's but didn't find anything. *shrug*
synopsis: immediately takes after part two — smut ensues.
w/c: 3792
a/n: pardon my first attempt at smut while trying to maintain maul's mannerisms lol.
i accept any and all criticism. any typos or grammatical errors, please let me know!
warning: 18+ only, fem!reader, sexual themes, smut, v fingering, pet name "baby" used once.
songs to listen to as you read: jealous sea by meg myers, nothing's gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex
The weight of concealing the saber is gone, successfully hidden beneath the couch. The unspoken tension unraveling each second that passes; his kisses are a whirlwind, leaving you breathless as he claims every ounce of your attention.
You feel the firm pressure of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back to expose the line of your throat. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he trails kisses along your neck, biting you along the process, causing you to whimper. His presence is overwhelming and absolute. You feel a dizzying rush as you close your eyes, surrendering to the intensity of his focus.
“What are you doing to me…” he whispers against your skin, his voice a low vibration that makes you shiver. He slowly shifts his hands, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw to hold your gaze. His thumb grazes your lower lip, a silent command for you to open your eyes. His dark eyes scan your face with an intensity that feels like an inspection, and you find yourself aching for his approval, wanting to meet whatever standard he has set for you.
“You make an exquisite sight,” he murmurs, the praise striking a chord deep within you.
“...Need your name,” you manage to breathe out, your voice barely a whisper. You have the courage to begin grinding down against his clothed cock.
“Maul,” he slightly growls, his grip on your jaw turning firm and possessive. You don’t pull away; instead, you find yourself leaning into the contact, drawn to his opposing charismatic energy. When you repeat his name, his expression darkens with satisfaction.
“You sound so lovely saying my name, dear” he says, his voice lingering on every syllable. The mere sound of it creates a restless tension that you can’t ignore; your cunt is closing on nothing but air, you need something — anything — to relieve the ache of your cunt. He leans closer, his eyes fixed on yours. “I want to see you fall apart on my hands alone”
“Maul, please, do something — please,” you whisper, the anticipation reaching a fever pitch. Your desire overpowering you. You move instinctively toward him, your hips rolling in his grasp, desperate to break the magnetic pull of the tension between you.
He chuckles, his hands moving to your waist to hold you still, asserting his control over the moment. “Not yet. You must tell me what you truly want. Show me how much you desire this.”
You meet his gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. The game he is playing is torturous, yet you can’t look away. You are completely caught in his orbit, every nerve ending firing as he watches you, waiting for your complete surrender.
“I want you,” you admit, the truth coming out in a rush of breath. “I’m all yours, Maul — use me,” you whisper.
“Don’t move — or I stop,” he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvety low. You freeze, every muscle taut as you wait for his next move.
He reaches under your dress and moves through your satin dress, urging you to lift yourself a little higher. Then his hand slides toward your core in a slow, agonizing tease, his touch light yet electric, making your mind cloud with a singular, driving need for his touch. He moves aside your underwear, and slides a finger between your wet folds, you whimper in response. You can feel how wet you are, how easily his fingers slide back and forth on your entrance, the tip of finger nearly sliding in. Your cunt clenches in response, quivering in anticipation. He hums. “Wet for me? How adorable.”
Maul continues to rub on your wet folds, teasing your entrance. Your breath is stuttering, thighs taut — entirely focused on his command. Then you feel the pressure of one thick finger pressing in. You cry out at the foreign sensation, your toes curl — trying not to squeeze your thighs together, instead, they are tense, writhing in place. Your fingers clench on his shoulders, nails digging through his tunic. You’re making all sorts of noises: whimpering and stuttering his name.
He leans in, his lips hovering just inches from yours, his breath mingling with your own. “Doing so good,” he whispers.
Then he begins to pump his digit, in and out, in and out. Before you can even fully process the foreign sensation, he pushes in another finger, fucking you with two now. His other hand clamps hard on your left hip, anchoring you in place and preventing you from moving at all.
You moan in response to his administration, each pump causing you to whimper with a desperate, needy sound. The slick, squelching noises of your cunt echoing in the room, the friction of the movement and the focus he demands leave you feeling overwhelmed.
His pace is relentless, fucking you with his fingers alone. His thumb swipes at your clit with calculated precision. Your nerves are alight, and your thoughts are racing as your composure begins to waver; you cry out at his touch, thighs quivering, nearly sitting on his lap. You can’t believe this is happening. You have never been so wet with need. Sitting on someone’s lap with their fingers deep inside you — allowing this to happen.
A curl of shame swirls in you.
You have never ached for someone so badly; let alone experience desire so deeply, but you have never felt such a strong pull toward someone.
This has to mean something, you wouldn’t have done this so recklessly, so thoughtlessly.
“You make a fine student, you listen well,” Maul praises, cocking his head. He maintains unbroken eye contact as he uses his fingers to slam into you repeatedly, each thrust a stark, heavy reminder of his control.
Your pussy clenches tightly around him at the praise, your body reacting instantly to the validation.
Student…he called you student.
— and you like it.
“Oh,” his eyes widening with glee, he begins chuckling. “You enjoy being called a student,” he states openly, never stopping or slowing his pace; sliding in and out repeatedly, his fingers occasionally swipe against your sensitive clit. You jerk in response.
“Yes,” you exhale, desire clouding your judgement. You begin rolling your hips, attempting to meet his rhythm. Your climax is near, leaving you absolutely soaked in your own wetness. You couldn’t even muster a feeling of embarrassment for how easily you fell into temptation. There is no shame right now as you seek to chase your peak, riding desperately on Maul’s thick, warm fingers.
Then sudden emptiness.
You cry out in frustration. You feel him pull out his fingers out of your throbbing, wet cunt and you begin to squirm.
“Maul, baby, why’d you stop?” you whine, breath shallow and erratic. The sudden stillness leaves you aching for his touch.
His entire body instantly stiffens under your body. The warmth drains from his expression as his gaze darkens, casting a heavy gaze over you. “You may call me master, my naive student,” he murmurs, his tone dropping into a dangerously low, commanding register.
“What…” Your brows furrow in deep confusion, the abrupt shift leaving your mind scrambling to catch up. A cold wave of uncertainty washes over you. Did you mess up?
“Say it,” he demands. The words are a sharp, unyielding decree that leaves absolutely no room for negotiation.
You whimper as the heavy, electric coil of heat building in your core begins to dissipate, melting away into empty air. You were so agonizingly close. Now, you ache with a profound, hollow emptiness. You can feel your own slick wetness sliding down the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving a warm, sticky trail in its wake.
You hesitate. A flicker of doubt sits in your mind, calling him Master doesn’t sit right with you. But you can sense Maul’s patience running thin, the heavy silence stretching as he waits for your obedience.
Slowly, he brings his wet fingers out from under your dress. He guides his fingers upward, presenting them expectantly right to your lips. “In your mouth, my dear,” he commands softly.
You part your lips, leaning forward to lick at the fingers coated in your arousal. Closing your mouth around his soaked digits, you clean away your essence, leaving a glistening trail of saliva when he decides you have done enough and pulls back.
“Now, what do you want?” he asks, his voice smooth and demanding.
By the force, he’s fucking hot.
You are so damn screwed.
“I—” you start, the agonizing frustration of being teased for so long finally breaking through your hesitation, “—I need you inside me, Master.”
His eyes gleam with a dark look of victory. You hardly notice it, not when he reaches right back under your dress with his spit-slicked fingers. Re-coating them in your natural wetness, he ruthlessly shoves three fingers deep inside you. You cry out loudly, your body arching in absolute pleasure, your wet pussy easily welcoming the intrusion.
A shiver of anticipating courses through you as the tension reaches its height again, the long moments of waiting finally coming to a head. The rhythm of his fingers pumping into you viciously, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Your breath hitches, caught in the overwhelming surge of sensation of pleasure spiking inside you, the tight coil of heat rapidly traveling to your cunt.
The atmosphere is thick with the weight of the moment, the power dynamic between you and Maul clearer than ever as the focus shifts to the inevitable release of the built-up energy. In the dim light, the invisible threads of the Force tying you together pull tighter.
Your hands travel up to Maul’s jawline, finger curling around his sharp features as you pull him to you to meet your kiss.
He returns it instantly, biting your lower lip with a punishing intensity, then shoves his tongue against yours the moment you gasp. You close your eyes and moan directly into his mouth, his deep kisses muffling your cries as the friction of his movements continue to drive you closer to the edge.
The world outside this room ceases to exist.
There is only the consuming presence of his shadow and the undeniable intensity of the bond between you. You are his student, and he is the master of this moment, guiding you through a trial of endurance and sensation that push you to your absolute limits
His thumb on your clit sends a sharp pleasure as he continually finger-fucks you, his fingers coated in your juice, squelching loudly. Your wet, velvety cunt sucking him up, as he pushes deep, curling his fingers to a pleasurable spot that steals your breath.
“Maul,” you stagger, furrowing your eyebrows in pleasure. Mouth opening in an embarrassingly, loud moan; each deep, curling thrust of his fingers meeting a spongy spot inside you, along with his wet thumb teasing your clit. “Need to hear you, Master…” you whine, squeezing your thighs against his frame. “...Please.”
He looks at you, a satisfied expression pulling at his lips.
“Since you asked so nicely, my sweet, perfect student,” he murmurs, his smooth tone deliberate, letting each syllable hang heavily in the air.
“You like that, don’t you? You’re doing so well, my lady.”
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a smooth, and low whispering timbre.
“Relax. I have you perfectly where I want you. Just.. like…that…”
His fingers continue to poke and grind against your velvety, spongy spot inside you. Meanwhile, his focus on your clit, while maintaining eye contact drives a flutter to your walls, making you release a new gush of slick arousal.
“Come for me, my dear.”
The overwhelming pressure of your orgasm finally breaks. You cry out in pleasure, leaving you breathless. You can feel him still pumping his fingers inside, and you begin to twitch in overstimulation. The rush of the moment leaves you physically spent, leaning against him for support as the world slowly comes back into focus.
He pulls out his fingers, and brings it out from under your dress, resting both his hands on your hips. Your heartbeat gradually settles, the adrenaline fading to a dull thrum. The haze in your mind clears, and you finally step out of the singular, focused headspace you have been trapped in throughout the night.
You blink, your eyelashes brushing against the fabric of his tunic as the reality of your surroundings filters back into focus. You are looking up at him from where you lay pinned against his shoulder, your cheek pressed against the rigid muscle of his frame. The silence between you is thick, almost suffocating.
“Maul?”
The name feels heavy on your tongue, barely a whisper. He hums softly in response — a low, vibration deep in his chest that thrums against your cheek. Your mind goes completely blank under the weight of it. Your head feels too heavy to lift from his shoulder.
You become acutely aware of your bodies. Neither of you has removed a single article of clothing. Your attire remains fully intact, rumpled and suffocatingly present. He had merely shifted your underwear aside, fabric that now clings to your skin, completely soaked through with your own wetness.
“I need something to…”
Your voice gives out, the sentence fracturing into silence. Disbelief washes over you. You are actually here, with him. A pressing question hangs in the silence: does he even understand the significance of this moment? Of your meeting? You have no idea if he’s seen what you’ve seen.
Breaking your train of thought, his heavy hand pats your bottom, silently urging you to move. You comply, rolling over his lap with awkward care, trying desperately to keep your sticky thighs from rubbing together. Shifting onto the leather fabric of the couch, you watch Maul rise. He stalks toward the dark hallway, his powerful silhouette cutting through the shadows. A nearby door whizzes open with a mechanical hiss, followed by the buzz of flickering fluorescent lights.
Your eyelids grow heavy, and the temptation to doze off pulls at your consciousness. But you can’t. You have to return to the Jedi Temple. If you aren't back by sunrise, someone will suspect you are up to something — especially since Kenobi caught you slipping out. You can only hope he keeps his mouth shut.
“Here.”
Maul’s voice cuts through the quiet, grounding you. You blink your heavy eyes open, the sudden sound making the dimly lit room feel a little sharper. He is standing over you, a cloth held loosely in his grasp. You reach out, your fingers brushing his as you take it, and a small wave of surprise ripples through you — the fabric is thick, damp, and holds the soothing heat of warm water.
Shifting slightly on the couch, you reach down beneath the layer of your dress to wipe your core. Once you feel clean enough, the lingering discomfort washed away, you let the cloth slip from your hand, discarding it onto the floor beside the couch.
Maul extends his hand again, this time offering a glass of water. A soft sigh of appreciation escapes your lips.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
You bring the glass to your lips and begin gulping it down, the cool liquid shocking your throat. You hadn't realized just how parched you were until now, the thirst consuming your attention for a few fleeting seconds.
The cushions shift as he sits down beside you. Even without looking, you can feel the heavy weight of his gaze resting on you. You swallow the last drop, pulling the glass away and wiping the back of your hand across your mouth.
Outside, the moonlight reaches its highest peak. Its pale, silver glow pours through the transparisteel, casting sharp, stark reflections across the floor. In the quiet illumination, a sudden shift occurs inside you. The physical relief fades, leaving behind a raw sense of exposure. You feel fragile, entirely vulnerable in his space. Waves of shame and guilt begin to simmer beneath your skin, heavy and suffocating as the reality of your Jedi vows clashes with the room's quiet atmosphere.
“I guess…” you start, your voice trembling slightly as you break the silence. “I should head out. It’s getting too late.”
You brace your hands against the cushions and begin to stand, but a sudden realization halts you mid-motion. Your lightsaber.
It is sitting completely exposed underneath the couch, only slightly hidden, a damning piece of evidence you cannot leave behind. Desperate to keep him from noticing your weapon, your mind scrambles for a plausible diversion to get him out of the room.
“Actually,” you say, turning back to face him.
Maul has already sunk back into his chair. He lounges there with an imposing, predatory ease — one leg raised, his arm resting casually on top of his knee. His piercing yellow gaze burns directly into yours, so intense that you feel entirely exposed, like a child on display under a harsh spotlight.
“I need a robe, if you could spare one,” you ask sheepishly, forcing a small, innocent grin to your face. Inside, your chest tightens. You can only hope he actually has one to spare; you left your own cloak back in the neon-lit chaos of the Uscru District. If he can't help you, you'll have to risk a dangerous detour to retrieve it. Going back would drain precious time, but returning to the Temple in your current disheveled state is a risk you absolutely cannot take.
One corner of Maul’s lips lifts briefly in an amused smirk. He tilts his head to the side, studying your sudden shift in demeanor.
“I’ll fetch you a robe, my lady,” he murmurs.
He stands up, the casual lounge vanishing as he steps directly into your personal space. The sheer height of him forces you to tilt your head back just to meet his gaze. His eyes hold a deep, probing curiosity, as if he is effortlessly dismantling your walls without you ever realizing it. For a split second, you suspect he is reaching into the Force to unravel your thoughts. But when you desperately reach out into the ambient warmth of the cosmic energy to check, there is no intrusion — just the quiet hum of the light, pressing on you. Surrounding you.
Satisfied or perhaps merely amused, he steps around you and disappears down the dark hallway.
The moment his heavy silhouette slips out of sight, you move. Extending your hand toward the forgotten weapon, you call your lightsaber through the air. The cold metal hilt flies across the space, landing squarely in your palm with a comforting weight. Moving with practiced stealth, you quickly secure the weapon against your thigh, hiding it beneath the satin fabric of your dress. Wanting to erase any lingering traces of your presence, you snatch the empty water glass from the table and scoop the damp rag off the floor. You walk into the small kitchen area, turning on the tap to quickly rinse both of them out.
“Here you go.”
His gravelly voice cuts through the sound of running water, echoing from the entrance of the kitchen. You turn around to find him holding a heavy fabric. It is a deep, obsidian black — a stark, dangerous contrast to your traditional dark brown robes of the Jedi Order. Still, it will have to do. You take it from his hands and throw it over your shoulders, letting the dark fabric drape around you, instantly shrouding your identity from the outside world. The hem drags a little long against the floor, but it successfully conceals everything beneath it.
Slowly, you lift your gaze from the floor. Your eyes travel up the broad frame of his body, silently admiring the raw, unyielding strength hidden just beneath the fabric of his tunic. Your mind flashes back to the heavy weight of his hands, remembering the absolute power in his grip when he anchored you by the hip. Your breath catches at the memory, the phantom feeling of his fingers pumping inside makes your walls clench repeatedly, your thighs tender from being rigid too long.
When your eyes finally meet his, you catch the unmistakable gleam of smug satisfaction dancing in his gaze. He doesn't say a word, but the look on his face betrays him — he knows exactly how pleasing he is to your eyes, and he thoroughly enjoys the power he holds over you.
As you take a step toward the exit, he moves with you. He stalks silently, his frame casting a long shadow across the floor. He steps back just enough to give you space, his gaze never wavering from your face. There is an eerie, disciplined patience in the way he waits for you, watching you leave. Every rustle of your cloak sounds incredibly loud in the quiet room.
He steps toward the door, his movements perfectly synchronized with yours, acting as a silent escort. You can feel an energy surrounding him — swirling — as if tightly controlled but intensely focused entirely on you. He isn't stopping you, but he isn't letting you go easily either; he is marking every second of your departure. His proximity is dizzying, addicting. The pale moonlight catches the sharp angles of his tattooed face, cutting through the shadows and making him look devastatingly attractive.
You pause at the heavy door, the mechanical controls glowing a faint red between you. Turning slightly, you look up at him, the oversized hood of his robe framing your face.
"The black suits you better than red," Maul murmurs, his low voice a dangerous, velvet purr in the dark. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Though I might prefer you out of both."
A breathless, quiet laugh escapes you, the sheer audacity of his words sending a sudden spark of heat straight down your spine. Your previous anxiety momentarily melts under the intensity of his charm. You lean in just a fraction closer, matching his low tone.
"Keep talking like that, and I might consider staying," you tease softly, your eyes dropping to his lips before locking back onto his gaze.
Maul’s eyes darken with amusement, his chest rising as he takes a slow, deep breath. "Go then, my lady," He reaches out, his thick fingers lightly brushing the edge of your jaw, a fleeting, electric touch that leaves your skin tingling in the chilly room, "before I become selfish."
With a lingering glance, you step backward onto the threshold. The door whizzes shut between you with a sharp hiss, severing the physical connection but leaving his intoxicating presence echoing in your mind as you turn toward the shadows of Coruscant.
You take a deep breath and begin your journey back to the Jedi Temple.
tags: @kc023818-blog
next chapter will have a vision again<3 i love writing about the kids! if you have any requests for this universe, i shall oblige. update took longer than i thought due to being busy and struggling to write smut lol
synopsis: your instincts are tugging at you to leave the temple, so you follow your intuition — you meet a zabrak who shares a heavy resemblance to the boy in your visions at a club...and decisions are made.
w/c: 4406
a/n: turns out writing this came easily to me, and i'm so excited to see where this leads, hehe. this is set 3 years before the phantom menace btw. that would make maul 19? you are the same age as him:)
i accept all and any criticism. any typos or grammatical errors, please let me know!
warning: my knowledge on star wars is limited; i have watched the clone wars, rebels, and the movie trilogies. fem!reader, alcohol, sexual themes (sfw).
songs to listen to as you read: fanatica (club mix) by eisbrecher (the song playing in the club), strange effect (killing eve) by unloved, a little death by the neighbourhood, as alive as you need me to be by nine inch nails
Your exhaustion settles deep into your bones. It was a long day with Master Windu, who is teaching you the basics of Vaapad; as a result, your emotions were exhausted, yet there was an unyielding impulse that took root in your mind, whispering that a vibrant crowd is exactly what you need. Usually, escaping to a crowded nightclub was entirely against your nature; in your experience, those chaotic environments invited nothing but trouble, especially for a Jedi.
You dig through your modest closet, searching for garments that would make you blend into the lower-level crowd. Your fingers brush past rough, traditional tunic wool and a couple of formalwear, you settle on a crimson satin midi dress. Its flowy skirt promises fluid, elegant movement, though the plunging, feminine neckline makes you pause. This dress belonged in the upper echelons of Coruscant’s elite nightlife.
But you settle for it.
Standing before the mirror, you apply the final touches to your face, staring at a version of yourself that feels entirely foreign. This evening is a sharp detour from your usual quiet nights, but the urge to step outside was overriding your logic. While it wasn’t completely unheard of for Padawans to sneak out to the entertainment districts, the sheer gravity of your own desire was unprecedented. This isn’t a mere itch for adventure; it feels like a visceral, magnetic pull tugging at the centre of your chest. A silent siren call was vibrating through the Force, and ignoring it is simply not an option.
Throwing a dark, inconspicuous robe over your shoulders, you step out of your quarters and begin the long trek toward the temple exit. The corridor is close to silent, populated only by a few tired Padawans wrapping up their day. You offer curt, polite nods to those who greet you, keeping your pace steady and silent, and your focus on the heavy doors ahead.
But just before you step outside, you can hear a familiar voice call out your name.
You turn and see Kenobi, Qui-Gon’s Padawan.
“Heading somewhere?” he inquires. You can hear his genuine curiosity woven tightly into the question. He must sense something unusual in your departure, a ripple in your aura that you cannot completely suppress. Obi-Wan doesn’t talk much to you. He is always glued to his master’s side, and you are always bound to yours.
“I find myself needing a break, it’s only a walk,” you reply smoothly, maintaining steady, unwavering eye contact with him. “Did you need something?”
You see his chest rising, taking a slow, deep breath as he searches your face for the true nature of your departure. Finally, his shoulders drop slightly and he answers, “No, I guess not.”
“Right,” you nod once, giving him a slow, assessing lookover to ensure he won’t follow
“May I join you?”
Your gaze snaps violently back to his. Your carefully constructed composure is slipping fast. It feels as if something vital is actively slipping right out of your hands as Obi-Wan continues to stall your leave. You feel strangely, inexplicably late - as if something is immensely important is being missed with every second you waste.
“I…” you start, your mask of calm fracturing, “I wish to be alone tonight, please excuse me.”
You turn and take larger, hurried steps down the stairs, leaving him behind. Your heart pounds fiercely against your ribs. You can feel Obi-Wan’s heavy gaze burning into your back, yet you do not care. Something is humming frantically against your skin. The pull feels much stronger now, the magnetism far too intense to fight.
Stepping onto the landing pad, you call for an air taxi and slide into the seat, tucking your dress and robe neatly under you before you sit.
“Take me to…” you trail off, realizing you don’t have an exact answer.
You close your eyes.
You simply step back and let the noise of the Coruscant drain away. You dig deep into your senses, but you don't have to dig hard. The Force is already there, waiting like a coiled spring. It catches your awareness the moment you let go, a sudden, heavy magnetic pull that hums in the center of your chest. It isn't a struggle; it is an invitation. The invisible thread snaps taut, guiding your internal compass directly toward the neon-drenched depths of the lower levels, practically begging you to follow.
Your eyes snap open, the direction locked perfectly in your mind.
“..Uscru district.”
The driver hums a gruff response, pulling the speeder into the sky lanes. You lean back and gaze at the sprawling landscape of Coruscant. From the tops of the highest skyscrapers, the image presented is breathtaking: an engineered landscape of durasteel and glass, glittering brilliantly under the moonlight. The surface appears immaculate, as if staged for a museum exhibit. The taxi descends sharply, following the heavy traffic, and you can feel the phantom pull magnifying with every level you drop, the Force guiding you. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, internally reaching out to this impulsive pull, hoping it would explain itself.
Shortly, you open your eyes, the hum of the speeder taxi vibrating beneath you as you drift deeper into the lower-levels of Coruscant. The chaotic, subterranean labyrinth of the Uscru District bleeds into view, swallowing you whole in a wash of hyper-saturated scarlet and deep violet. Gigantic, flickering holograms of flashing advertisements for cheap spice-wine. The thumping bass of alien music thumps through the taxi’s chassis, but none of it catches your interest, nor pulls at you.
Then, you see it.
The vehicle cruises past a multi-level club bathed in a hypnotic, pulsing neon glow. Outside, a massive, diverse line of beings spill down the durasteel walkway, all waiting for a chance at entry. An inexplicable, magnetic pull tugs at your chest. The building itself feels alive, calling out to your subconscious, demanding your attention.
"Stop!" you cry out, your voice cutting through the quiet cabin.
The driver slams on the brakes, bringing the taxi to a jerky, hovering halt just past the entrance.
You dig into your cloak for some credits, press them into the driver’s hand, and step out into the humid air. Before you decide to head toward the entrance, you step into the shadows of a narrow alley and take off your dark robe, dropping it neatly behind a heavy storage crate. You grab some credits and stuff them where they can fit. Your lightsaber remains securely hidden under your dress, strapped tightly to your thigh should anything dangerous arise. Your attire might not be fitting for this specific establishment; the dress is too elegant and meant more for a formal high-rise party, and you were not anticipating that you would end up here in the lower levels. Reaching up, you pull a pin out of your hair, and your neat bun comes completely undone, leaving a wavy texture from being wrapped up all day. You walk out of the alleyway and turn toward the front entrance, ignoring the line and walking straight up to the security guard. You flash a smile as he assesses your elegant attire and determines you’re good…enough. He reluctantly steps aside, and you walk through the entryway, the sharp sound of your heels clicking against the pavement.
Immediately, the room smells of musk and sweat, with the bitter scent of alcohol lingering heavily in the air. You can see a massive hologram of a sports match being televised overhead, and a rowdy group of men are yelling and grumbling in the corner of the bar, watching the game intently. Tonight, the bar appears remarkably busy, a chaos you suspect is driven by the sports playing. You finally reach the bar counter and find an open seat. The barkeeper appears in front of you, wiping down a glass cup. “What would you like?”
You look at her and answer, “A Naboo Sunset.”
It’s about the only drink you know, as suggested by a senator you met in passing.
She turns immediately and starts working on it, her hands moving in a practiced blur. You keep your gaze fixed on the making of the colourful drink, and by the time she’s done, you hand over credits for payment.
“Open or closed?” she asks over the noise.
“Closed, thanks,” you reply, grabbing your drink and turning around to face the crowd.
The club is playing a bass-heavy, grungy electronic rhythm that’s sending pulses thickly through the floorboards, its deep, distorted vocals vibrating right through your chest like a physical weight. Your limbs grow heavy with a sudden, irresistible urge to surrender. The hypnotic beat tempting you to slip entirely under its spell. You’ve already indulged yourself by coming here and buying a drink; letting go completely is the least you can do after coming this far.
You finish nursing your drink and set the empty glass on the counter, and walk directly into the dense heart of the crowd. Instantly, the rhythm swallows you whole. You close your eyes, letting your head drop back as your body abandons itself to the music. Your shoulders roll in a fluid, continuous loop, and your hips sway in heavy, rolling circles that mirror the deep resonance of the bass. Every movement is deliberate and effortless. You lift your arms slowly, letting your hands track through the warm air, your fingertips tracing invisible currents to the low hum of the electronic vocals. You melt deeper into the track, feeling the music loosen every tight muscle and quiet every loud thought. The dancing bodies surrounding you rub and press against you in a slow-motion blur of heat, but the contact only deepens your trance. You absorb their warmth, using the friction to anchor yourself as you sink into a slow, intoxicating spin. The agonizing magnetic pull you felt before is completely gone, dissolved by the rhythmic, heavy sway of your body and replaced by a quiet, pleasing stillness. The single drink you finished wasn’t nearly enough to hinder your mindset — you were not concerned in the slightest. Nobody here seems to care about you, appearing too preoccupied.
The strobe lights flicker, changing every few seconds into deep shades of different colours. Suddenly, you feel a light tap on your right shoulder. You turn around to see who it is — it’s a female Twi’lek. Her vibrant complexion makes her stand out instantly in the flashing lights.
“Yes?” you inquire, raising your voice over the music.
“There’s someone who can’t take their eyes off you, darling,” she reveals, indicating where to look by pointing her gaze behind you.
You slightly squint your eyes through the strobes, feeling the undeniable truth behind her words echoing in the Force. You turn to look behind you and run a quick scan of the room. There, in the corner, hard to see in the deepest shadows, sits a Zabrak. He is clad in an elegant tunic of midnight-black fabric that seems to swallow the light, tailored precisely to a sharp and imposing silhouette. His tunic wears a short, structured collar framing his sharp jawline, flowing down into a charcoal-grey front panel. Cinching his waist is a complex array of overlapping leather belts, likely holding the heavy layers in place. His cranial horns appear like a crown. His crimson appearance steals your breath entirely, your heartbeat grinding to a sudden halt.
You both hold intense eye contact. His yellow-eyed gaze is incredibly sharp and unyielding, drowning your senses and holding you frozen in place.
How have you not felt his gaze?
“He seems like a fun guy…” the Twi'lek comments lightly, and you force yourself to turn back to her.
“…Do you know him?”
You shake your head slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, not even sure if she heard you. “I…don’t think so.”
Your suspicion begins to rise.
You nod once at her, breaking eye contact, and head back to the bar, navigating through the sea of bodies. Your mind is spinning as you think about the Zabrak’s striking appearance — how terrifyingly familiar it was to the boy in your vision. You never did see the father in those cryptic visions, and for some reason, the omission didn’t concern you at the time. But now — when there’s a Zabrak in front of you who clearly resembles the lineage of your future son — the scattered dots are beginning to connect.
You lean against the bar counter, your fingers trembling slightly against the cool durasteel as you try to ground yourself. You had never seen the father’s face in those cryptic premonitions. The omission had never troubled you before, but now, the undeniable traits of the Zabrak across the room were violently piecing the puzzle together — the phantom image of those two children, a boy and a girl you had envisioned countless times — flash vividly behind your eyelids.
"A striking color on you. Though it belongs in a much higher tier of this city."
A smooth, low voice slices through the thumping electronic bass, instantly cutting off your spiraling thoughts.
You gasp softly, your head snapping up. The Zabrak had moved with a silent, predatory grace that defied the crowded nature of the room. He was suddenly standing right beside your barstool, completely invading your space. Up close, his presence was overwhelming, intoxicating.
An electric charge ripples across your skin, and your breath hitches. This wasn't merely a physical pull; the Force itself was violently twisting and coiling around the two of you, screaming at you to close the distance. The intense gravitational pull that had dragged you out of the Jedi Temple and into this neon-soaked hive was no longer a vague siren call. It was anchored entirely to the man standing before you.
"I could say the same for you," you managed to reply, your voice remarkably steady despite the chaotic hammering of your heart. You force yourself to maintain eye contact, drowning in the unyielding yellow of his gaze. "Your attire doesn't exactly scream Uscru District."
A faint, dangerous smirk tugs at the corner of his sharp jawline. He doesn’t order a drink. Instead, he simply leans one hand on the counter, trapping you within his shadow.
"Perhaps we both came looking for something outside of our usual territory," he murmurs, his tone deep.
As he spoke, a profound wave of intuition washes over you. The intense magnetism, the undeniable physical attraction, and the sheer cosmic weight of this encounter wasn’t a coincidence. The Force was practically binding your threads together. Your mind flashes back to a few of the recurring visions — not just of the boy who shared his striking features, but of the little girl who usually held his hand in the safety of your dreams; the father a blur, you could not even remember the shape and silhouette of him. But you know, this man was the missing piece. He was the father of the two children from your visions.
Looking at him…was like looking at Savage.
Fear and curiosity warred fiercely in your chest. Loving anyone was strictly forbidden by the Jedi Order, let alone a mysterious stranger in a lower-level club. Yet, looking into his piercing golden eyes, you knew the trajectory of your life had just been permanently altered.
"The noise here is quite tedious," he murmurs, his low voice vibrating beneath the thudding bass of the club. He leans a fraction closer, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes the rest of the room fade into a colourful blur. "Come with me. Somewhere we can actually hear each other speak."
He extends out a gloved hand.
For a single, fleeting second, the disciplined voice of Master Windu echoes in the back of your mind, warning you of danger, of attachment, of the unknown. But the magnetic pull in your chest was too violent to ignore. You place your smaller hand in his. An immediate, electric shock traveled up your arm.
A physical manifestation of the Force binding your destinies together, unbeknownst to you.
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you stare at him. You wonder if he feels the same shattering connection. He must feel the pull, too. You hope he does, you’re starting to feel a little insane.
With a slow, predatory grace, he guides you through the sweaty, shifting sea of bodies, leading you toward the back of the establishment. He bypasses a heavy velvet curtain, nodding curtly to a guard who immediately steps aside. The chaotic, grungy electronic music instantly dulled, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum as you enter a private, dimly lit lounge alcove.
"Much better," you breathe, smoothing down the front of your scarlet satin dress as you sit on a sleek, curved leather booth.
He slides in beside you, close enough that the fabric of his tailored tunic brushes against your bare shoulder. "What is a… stunning lady like you doing here?" he asks.
"A woman should keep some secrets in a place like this," you reply, a playful, selective cleverness slipping into your tone. You had to protect your identity; if he discovered you were a Jedi Padawan, then what? the consequences could be catastrophic. "Let's just say I am someone who desperately needed an escape tonight. And you? What brings a man of your... stature to the Uscru district?"
"Business," he answered smoothly, his lips curling into a sharp, enigmatic smile. "Though I find myself entirely distracted from it now."
—
The conversation flowed with a dangerous, intoxicating ease. You spoke in riddles, flirting on the edge of a knife, both of you carefully dancing around the truth of who you were. He spoke of traveling the outer rim and the burdens of a demanding boss, while you spoke of strict expectations in your life. Every word was laced with double meanings, a heavy undercurrent of attraction thickening the air between you. The Force was practically humming in the small room, amplifying the profound, cosmic connection you shared.
—
He leans in, his breath warm against your neck as his fingers gently trail down the exposed skin of your plunging neckline, stopping just short of the satin fabric. Your breath hitches, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The tension in the small alcove was suffocating, thick with a mutual, undeniable hunger.
His golden eyes darken, completely swallowed by desire. "I have no wish to share you with the rest of this establishment," he whispers, his voice thick with a sudden, unyielding gravity. "Leave with me. Tonight."
A cold spike of fear pierces through the heat of your desire. Leaving the safety of a public club with a stranger was a direct violation of every survival instinct you had been taught. You knew you were stepping off a cliff into the dark. Yet, the gravitational pull was absolute; your soul screamed that you belonged by his side.
"Alright," you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.
—
He stands, keeping his hand firmly wrapped around yours as he guides you toward a private rear exit of the club. Your heart pounds with fear of the unknown, but as you look at his imposing silhouette leading you into the Coruscant night, you follow him into the dark.
The rear exit of the Outlander Club hisses open, spilling you both out into a secluded, upper-level landing bay tucked away from the chaotic main strip of the Uscru District. The air out here is cooler, slicing through the heavy heat of your desire and sending a sudden shiver down your spine. Without a word, he guides you toward a sleek, matte-black airspeeder waiting in the shadows. The vehicle bears no markings, its tinted transparisteel completely opaque, hiding its interior from the world.
He opens the passenger side door for you with a silent, courtly grace that contrasts sharply with the mysterious aura rolling off him. As you slide into the rich leather seat, you feel the cold, reassuring weight of your lightsaber still securely strapped to your thigh beneath the satin of your dress. It is a stark reminder of the massive lie you are living tonight.
The Zabrak slips into the driver’s seat beside you. With a low, powerful purr, the speeder lifts off the platform and surges into the glittering traffic lanes of Coruscant. The silence between you inside the cockpit isn't awkward; it is charged, thick with an unspoken anticipation that makes it hard to breathe.
Your eyes trace the line of his hand resting on his thigh. A desperate, aching yearning claws at your chest, pulling you to reach out, to bridge the small distance between you, and lock your fingers tightly with his. But the heavy weight of your duty crashes down on you.
This is unbecoming. Hold his hand?
Denying the urge, you fiercely clutch the fabric of your dress, forcing your hands to stay trapped in your own lap as you fight down the longing.
—
Without a word, he shifts his hand from his thigh. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches across the console, his gloved-hand covering yours, gently coaxing your tightly clenched fingers to loosen against his palm.
—
For a heartbeat, you freeze. Every ounce of your Jedi discipline screams at you to pull away, to guard your heart against the dangerous warmth radiating through his glove. But the fierce resistance in your chest fractures, entirely giving way under the weight of your own longing. You yield. Your white-knuckled grip on your dress loosens, and you completely melt into his touch, your palm flattening against his as your shoulders finally drop in total surrender.
Instead of lingering in the neon-soaked, chaotic depths of the Uscru District, he guides the speeder upward. The nose of the vehicle tilts toward the sky, ascending through the misty cloud layers of Coruscant. The seedy, subterranean underworld shrinks beneath you, replaced by the towering, lavish architect of the surface level. The speeder glides onto a private landing pad attached to a sleek, minimalist tower. The architecture is clean, understated, and quietly secure. Your hyper-vigilant instincts don't trigger a single alarm. For the first time all night, you feel safe enough to let your guard down completely.
He kills the engine, and the low purr of the speeder dies, leaving only the distant, muted hum of the upper-city traffic.
—
The accommodation was breathtaking, yet oddly cold. The floors were a polished, ivory stone that reflected the moonlight pouring through a massive floor-to-ceiling panoramic window. There were no personal trinkets, no holoframes, no signs of a lived-in life. It was a sanctuary designed for absolute privacy.
"Nice view," you say, walking toward the glass to look out over the endless sea of Coruscant metal.
"It serves its purpose," his low voice murmurs from right behind you.
Before you can turn, his hands find your waist, his strong grip anchoring you back against his chest. The heavy, dark fabric of his tailored tunic presses flat against the smooth, delicate satin of your dress. He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your warm skin. A sharp gasp escapes you. Your eyes flutter shut as your desire flares wildly.
Giving in to the overwhelming rush, you turn around in his arms, your hands sliding up his broad chest to cup his sharp, tattooed jawline. He meets you with a fierce, consuming hunger. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that steals the remaining air from your lungs. It is utterly intoxicating — a chaotic, breathless dance of passion that makes you forget who you were, where you are, and the sacred Jedi vows you are actively breaking.
His hands move down your back, tracing the elegant curve of your spine before gripping your waist, backing you up toward a sleek, low-profile lounge couch, trapping you. But as his hands slide further down to pull your hips flush against his, his palm nearly brushes against the upper part of your right thigh — right where your lightsaber is currently resting.
You don't let the panic break your rhythm. Instead, you channel the spike of adrenaline of almost getting caught into a bold, teasing move. You grab his arm and switch positions, lightly pushing against his broad chest to tilt him backward onto the sleek lounge couch. He falls back into the cushions with a low, surprised exhale, his dark eyes tracking you with intense curiosity.
Before he can question the sudden shift, you sink to your knees on the floor between his parted legs, keeping your gaze locked onto his to hold his undivided attention. While your left hand slides up his thigh to distract him, your right hand slips discreetly down the satin of your dress to the upper part of your own thigh.
Your fingers wrap around the cold, familiar metal hilt of your lightsaber. Operating entirely on feel, you slide the weapon smoothly off its hidden mount and push it deep beneath the low-profile frame of the couch, silencing the danger of discovery.
With the evidence hidden, you raise your right hand back up, sliding both of your palms up his chest to wrap around the back of his neck, now sitting on his lap. You lean in close, your breath brushing against his lips, completely pulling him back into the intoxicating web of the moment.
He lunges forward with a fierce, desperate hunger, his strong hands tangling into your loose, wavy hair to tilt your head back. His lips crash against yours with a bruising, unyielding intensity that steals the remaining breath from your lungs. There was no gentleness in him — only a raw, possessive desperation that perfectly matches the chaotic storm raging in your own soul. You wrap your arms tightly around his neck.
Your dress bunching against the dark fabric of his tunic as the gravity of the moment took hold. Every touch lit a deeper desire within you, a feeling of want curling in your gut. He moves with a fierce focus, the proximity between you leaving you with no break.
—
For this single night, the identities of Jedi and Sith were stripped away, leaving only two individuals caught in a cosmic tide that neither had the power to stop.
As the glowing moonlight was peering through the panoramic window, washing over the room, the weight of the Jedi Code felt worlds away. You remain locked in that embrace, choosing to accept the consequences of this path, even if it meant the eventual ruin of everything you had ever known.
i'm having trouble with dialogue and trying to capture maul's personality. so please, if you have any tips for me....i would deeply appreciate it!! BUT writing is suppose to be fun so i left it the way it is. (i'm tempted to write maul's pov for this blurb. i might try typing it out to see if i like it or not...)
next part will be smut, which im excited about! are yall moving fast? is this out of canon maul's personality? of course! if anakin can have a secret relationship, so can you!! anyways, despite the timeline — i hope you enjoyed reading
brb, gonna read smut for inspiration, i want it FILTHY...and let me know if you'd like to be tagged on the next update!
It’s gonna be interesting to see how they continue to write Maul and his dynamic with Devon because we know that fundamentally Maul cannot change. Because this is technically a prequel (since we know what becomes of Maul in Rebels), we know that he is still doomed to be lonely, motivated by vengeance against the same people that wronged him years ago, and is seeking out a master apprentice relationship. We know he still follows the sith philosophy despite denouncing the sith title.
Shadow Lord does a good job of showing how he is a victim of the sith and has moments where he breaks from sith stereotype (goes out of his way to help Devon, offers tea) but in the end he is still manipulating Devon to fulfill a role as an apprentice, largely because that is the only relationship dynamic he knows.
He says he’ll never let Sidious do what he did to him to anyone else, as if he’s going to try and break the sith cycle, but we know that is absolutely not the case because Maul never unlearns sith teachings (again, his fate in Rebels). So Shadow Lord is gonna have to navigate Maul changing but not changing as he trains Devon.
He seems like he’s going to try and train her but slightly differently than Sidious did (ig with less force lightning) but without him getting a full character arc. or he will maybe start to break away from sith philosophy (unlikely) only for more tragedy to strike (ex. Devon dies) and he’s back where he started, still doomed to be Sisyphus pushing up that boulder.
The first rule of fandom is have fun. The second rule of fandom is find an enabler and become an enabler. Yes you should write that fic. What if it was even hornier? What if it was angstier? What if you wrote it just for me?
johnny and simon both eat like dogs. like you could actually feed their meals to a dog. sweet potato, ground beef, and whatever veg was about to turn rotten. and no seasoning. time can’t be wasted on seasoning in their household.
dinner is a fleeting affair. both of them hunched over their bowls and inhaling. you’re staring at them in shock as they devour their flavorless, meaningless slop.
then to the couch for tv time. you feel a bit like a zookeeper that’s just thrown a limb of mean into a lions enclosure. the beasts fed, and now they lick their paws and relax.
they don’t even like the two teams playing on the television right now.
“why don’t you two come to my place tomorrow for a change?”
“wot? something wrong with our flat, dove?”
“no, no! of course not!”
they may look like lions but they frighten easily. the last thing you mean to do is scare them off.
“course not, just thought a change of pace might be nice?”
they share a weary look. change isn’t their favorite thing, not after years of strict military routine. they agree nonetheless. and they show up right on time, no surprise there.
they share another weary look when you ask them to take off their shoes before coming in.
“i made dinner. just something light,” you smile despite knowing dinner was far more effort than you care to let on.
johnny barrels towards the kitchen. “what’s the occasion, lass? you did all this for us?” and you shrug.
“just thought i’d thank the two of you, y’know. you’re always around to lend a hand.”
they just gape at you like there’s no brain activity happening within their thick skulls.
“well, have a seat then.” you gesture towards the set table with proper cutlery and a vase of flowers in the center.
you bring them both their plates of food, no ground beef, or sweet potatoes, or cottage cheese. and they hunch themselves over, ready to inhale as per usual.
“hasn’t anyone taught you how two to take your time?”
they stare at you again. just as stupidly as they did moments ago. this time they’ve gone silent because both of them are half hard beneath the table.
“going slowly makes it better, you know. not everything is a race.”
and that’s how you end up with simon between your thighs and your back pressed against johnny’s chest as he rubs your shoulders.
“slow, right? that makes it all better?”
simon is rolling his hips agonizingly slowly, dragging his cock against your warm walls.
“simon, faster please,” you beg him. he’s been going at this for the better part of an hour.
he tuts at you. “none of that. you wanted slow, you’re getting slow.
“that’s not—not what i meant,” you pant. you roll your head back to look at johnny, hoping he might help you out. he just brushes your hair from your sticky face instead.
“dinner was nice, sweetheart. now enjoy your dessert.”
Ever since Maul: Shadow Lord came out, I've had some serious Maul brain rot happening. So here's some doodles of my self-insert oc x Maul (who would absolutely NEVER be this cute and cuddly, but shhhhh!) In most Maul x reader stuff, it's pretty obvious that the reader is supposed to be human-- but I found that idea to be pretty boring so that's why I came up with this character design.
Did I base this character's features off of Samara from Mass Effect.... why yes, yes I did.
I've also noticed a trend of the reader in Maul fics either being an ex-Jedi or a mechanic-- personally, I prefer the fics of the reader being a Jedi as I think it challenges some of Maul's previous beliefs regarding the Jedi; but there are some pretty good non-force sensitive reader x Maul fics out there.
Anyhow, onto my Maul x Reader recommendations!
#1
💬 24 🔁 40 ❤️ 583 · KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED - Part I. · 2.7k words | M rated | Alcohol, mention of trauma, sexual themes (sfw)
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Summary
Status: Completed.
This story takes place right before season 1 of Shadow Lord, so no worries about any spoilers for the series. This is actually the first Maul fic that I ever read that wasn't a one-short and HOLY HELL IS IS BEAUTIFUL.
What I love most about this story is the bitter-sweet moments that Maul and the reader shares. The reader is a former Jedi who is in possession of a Holocron that Maul is in dire need of and thus the two join forces. Even though this fanfic isn't too long, the romance in the story isn't something that's right-out-of-the-gates.
Instead, the bond the two end up having is something that develops more as the story progresses. Which is perfect if you're like me and you prefer slow-burns. There is sexual themes within this fic for all you whores out there lmaoooooo <3
Story on AO3, but I believe the author does also have a Tumblr page.
This story takes place before the Phantom Menace, so we're really seeing Maul in his Sith prime here. Although this story does play a lot on the whole "innocent naive reader" trope, the author does it in a way that actually makes sense and isn't at all cringy.
Set on a basically unknown planet in the outer rim, Maul travels to the only town to inhabit it with the intention of carrying out his Master's orders. While there, Maul meets the reader and the two descend into lustful madness lol
Seriously though, I don't think I've ever read a fanfic that has more sex scenes than this one lmao it's basically porn with plot, but the plot is actually very interesting.
Status: Ongoing, but I believe the author updates weekly(?)
Story on AO3. Funny enough, this is actually the same author from the previous fic on this list.
Set sometime around the events of season 1 of Shadow Lord. The reader is an ex-Jedi who has fully pledged herself to the dark side in order to enact her revenge upon all of the men who have sexually abused her, including her own former Master.
Okay, this fic is very dark and plays a lot on some very heavy topics. I don't normally read these sorts of things because it makes me pretty queasy-- but once more, the author writes it in a way that is bearable unless you're very easily triggered by this kind of topic.
NO, MAUL IS NOT A RAPIST IN THIS FIC. I would genuinely never recommend any fics that fetishize or romanticize sexual assault. There are some Maul fics that I've come across in the past where he straight up rapes the reader, and I'm absolutely appalled by those fics-- not only because of the narrative that those authors betray, but also because likes.... Maul would never do that.
I mean, he's literally from a planet that is run by women. Dubious consent, I can kind of see depending on how it's written, but straight up rape is 100% out of character.
Status: Ongoing, but the author updates fairly regularly.
For #4, I'm tagging technically two different fics, but they both go hand-in-hand with one another, so you'll want to read both. These stories are on AO3, but just like the other authors, I think they're also available here on Tumblr.
The first story takes place sometime during season 1 of Shadow Lord, but contains no spoilers. The 2nd fic, takes place directly after season 1 in what the author predicts with kind-of-sort-of happen for season 2. The reader is a mechanic that Maul falls completely head over heels for. Because these fics are technically one-shots that turned into a mini-series, the relationship is pretty established (though no labels are really used currently).
Maul is super fluffy in this mini-series, especially with the latest chapter. I do feel that it is a little ooc for him to be as affectionate as he is in this story, but once more-- I'm making an exception for this because the author is just so damn good at writing. The latest chapter also has a spicy scene.... It's hot. Probably one of the hottest ones I've read for Maul as of yet lmao XD
Anyhow, this is my recommendation list! There are a lot of other Maul fics that I've read that could also go on this, but these were just the ones that came to my mind first. If you all have any Maul stories that you think are worth a read, then let me know down below!
Repost so this list gets seen by a larger audience, and bookmark this post so you all can come back to it later!
Stick around as I will be working on my very own Maul x reader one-shot here soon.
for those who are interested in my 'in this darkness' drabble, i am currently working on the second part. though i am not sure how many parts there will be, i've been writing non-stop since publishing (the word count is already at 4k, idk when to stop lololol).
if anyone would like to be tagged in the second part, let me know! <3
And they both came around to the same politics in the end, the two people who came closest to understanding what the Clone Wars really were while they were still being fought.
Have you ever considered that we may be on the wrong side?
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