Please what would yandere Maul look like?
(Given that a lot happens overall in Maul’s lifetime, I’m going to go for the time he was living on Dathomir, post-Mandalore. You work as a servant for the Crimson Dawn -- most specifically, Maul.)
Yandere!Darth Maul x Reader
From an early age, Maul had been subjected to the ways of the Dark Side. Molded into the perfect sword to strike against enemies of the Sith by Darth Sidious, there is not much of compassion or kindness left in the Zabrak. He does not love in the way one normally would. Rather, his feelings are comprised of desire, of the need to possess and control.
But do not take this lack of compassion for an overall lack of passion in and of itself. Do not be persuaded that his growing obsession is something very dangerous.
During your initial few months working for the Crimson Dawn, you had not even known of Maul’s existence, let alone met him in person. You had always been aware of the what your employers did under the cover of night, but you also knew the danger that came with being aware. As a result, you kept your head down and continued to fulfill your duties with a gentle disposition and a facade of ignorance that served you well.
That is, however, until you were instructed by Qi’ra that you were going to be sent to Dathomir to personally serve one of the higher ranking members of the organization. The command was spun into an offer, with the idea that the position was best suited for someone with your level of “discretion.” While you were aware that you position offered you at least some small level of protection against the notorious members, something about the opportunity rang alarm sirens in the back of your mind. Alas, there was little that you could say in argument.
Very little in the Crimson Dawn made it beyond Maul’s attention without him noticing, and you were no exception. He had been watching your progress in the organization from afar. There was something unsaid about you, a tiny but aloof detail that had garnered his attention in an equally small curiosity. It was this odd curiosity that bloomed, roots digging into the back of his mind with harsh barbs, growing into what some might akin to a fond obsession.
Maul does not want a romantic partner, per se, but rather a pet. Though he civil with you when you first arrive, do not allow yourself to be dissuaded by his well-mannered exterior. While he may not see you as an equal, he does see value in you.
He would 100% kill someone in order to keep you. He would hurt you if you become disobedient, if you somehow become upset by the predicament that you have found yourself in. He feels little regret in that regard. It is through conflict that your bond grows stronger.
It’s not as if you can escape, not even if you tried.
He likes to take his time with you, to slowly tear away at the layers of your facade until you are nothing more than a mewling, writhing mass beneath him. He adores the sound of your voice cracking as you beg -- for more, for less, please my Lord I cannot take any more. Only for him to reply against expanse of your skin with the reprimand of teeth, “You will take all that I give you pet, and you will thank me for it.”
Your pleasure is his. Your pain is his. While his battle with Obi-Wan Kenobi on Naboo had left him without his lower body, this does not mean that he does not experience pleasure.
He enjoys the hunt. The moments in the beginning when you are disgusted, afraid of what your master expects of you. Fast on your heels as you attempt to feel, swift amongst the shadows as your heart pounds in your ears, your breath quick. He is a natural-born predator and you… well, you’re the prey.
There is a palpable amount of sadism when it comes to Maul, both physical and mental. Though he does not want to cause you permanent harm, he finds him captivated by the soft patterns of healing bruises under your tender flesh, hungry for the way your eyes water when you are humiliated.
Blood kink? Mmmmyeah. It isn’t just the milky nectar between your thighs that he finds addictive. The ambrosia of iron and heat against your flesh almost always draws a growl from deep within the cage of his ribs. He is a carnivore, after all.
He likes to take his time with you, to slowly tear away at the layers of your facade until you are nothing more than a mewling, writhing mass beneath him. He adores the sound of your voice cracking as you beg -- for more, for less, please my Lord I cannot take any more. Only for him to reply against expanse of your skin with the reprimand of teeth, “You will take all that I give you pet, and you will thank me for it.”