A quick, easy guide for you all as I begin to write again. (I blame Pedro.) I LOVE taking requests and urge all of you to send me in a prompt, request, word, anything. And I’ll make something up for you all. I’ll always tag you in something that you’ve inspired.
Taking Requests for: Din Djarin, Ezra (Prospect), Max Phillips, Marcus Moreno, Pedro Pascal
Pedro Pascal (Actor)
After-Shoot 18+
Reassurance Part 1
Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)
-Requests-
It Took a Splinter 18+ - Requested by @almost-golden-again
“Maul can endure unimaginable pain but he can’t endure unimaginable pleasure. He cries.”
A/n Inspired by @limousinecatblog’s headcanon! Thank you so much for allowing me to write this! I hope you enjoy my little drabble <3
Word count: 273
Category: smut//fluff
There’s a certain vulnerability maul feels while making love to you. A different kind of vulnerability exposed not through torture, but tenderness. A feeling so powerful and unfamiliar that floods his senses while he slowly rocks his body above yours. Fingers graze across scars and bruises, lips passionately wrap around one another, soft echoes of pleasure escape through breathless kisses. Maul has never known gentleness, only suffering. To know and feel its opposite, carnal pleasure bundled in promises of devotion and love, overwhelms him like none other. Maul’s dick rhythymically pushes past your walls while your hips roll in tandem, a coordinated dance of passion. You sit atop his lap, watching his face contort in pleasure while tears roll down his cheeks. His fingers grip your hips in a hold sure to leave a bruise later.
“My darling- fuck, I love you so much. P-please, don’t stop.”
Whispered love confessions and skin slapping against skin fill the steamy room. You coo gentle affirmations in his ear as you bring him to his peak. Maul gasps and chokes on his sobs for breath, feeling so loved and cherished by his darling, still so unfamiliar to him. Your fingers graze his cheek to wipe away his tears tenderly. With a sharp moan and panted breaths, he bucks his hips up and pumps his load into you, shuddering with its forceful impact.
“Oh you did so well, my love.”
You whisper in his ear. Arms wrapped around his waist and his back pressed to your chest, you hold him gently through the night, massaging his scalp with plenty of reassurances to swiftly bring him to slumber.
One thing I think the fandom sometimes forgets is that Maul is canonically disabled. He is an amputee. Not just missing a limb or a few fingers, but his ENTIRE lower half. There are definitely some fics out there that really do this characterization well though.
Yeah, he's incredibly capable in combat, and his cybernetic legs let him do things that seem almost impossible. But that doesn't change the fact that he lost the entire lower half of his body. It’s one of the defining aspects of his character, physically and mentally. Maul: Shadow Lord also reminds us that his prosthetics come with limitations and aren't a perfect replacement for a biological body.
Which got me thinking about something I can't stop wondering:
How does Maul actually eat, digest and pass food?
Do you think his cybernetics include something like a stoma or an artificial waste-processing system? Has there ever been any lore that addresses this, or is it just one of those questions we're not supposed to think too hard about? I have yet to see anyone talk about this.
ive written about this before, but there's a procedure called hemicorporectomy. its extremely rare, i think there's maybe 60-70 recorded cases in the world?
but essentially, its a total amputation of the legs, pelvis, genitalia, lower gastro intestines, and bladder. the aorta, vena cava, lumbar spine, and spinal cord are transected.
before surgeons start the amputation, theyll create a colostomy for fecal waste and a ileal conduit for urine waste. i think its plausible that within the context of the star wars universe, maul would have artificial organ transplants, or his belt likely serves as a device to collect waste discreetly to keep it out of the way during combat.
however, maul would have to be mindful of what he eats because the likelihood of developing a blockage is high. he'd have to cater his diet to easily digestible foods, and foods that are less likely to cause gas. electrolytes are a problem as well, since the large intestine absorbs the majority of our water and sodium intake
because of the removal of almost half of the circulatory system, maul would have blood pressure issues. additionally, doctors couldn't correctly gauge his renal function, because its calculated by body weight of a patient with an intact circulatory system.
he'd also struggle with edema, sores from the stomas, thermoregulation, and weight. HRT is non-negotiable as well, because because the testicles are responsible for 95% of testosterone production.
now its the star wars universe, so i assume there's remedies for the majority of what he'd struggle with, but they wouldn't be able to account for everything. hell, he doesn't have a pelvic girdle anymore, so those cybernetics are directly sealed to his spine. i cant imagine the level of back pain he has. not to mention the skin irritation around the graft collar
to top it all off, the phantom limb syndrome would be brutal :/
I've also written some about this, because I think disability is something so rarely handled well in fic, but the psychological fall out of Maul performing surgery on himself would be immense. I head canon that some of his madness comes from heavy metal poisoning sustained on Lotho Minor, and but the lion's share of his psychosis triggers are complex post traumatic stress based. His flashbacks have outsized neurological and physical fall out because his neurological function is altered by brain damage. He's probably already sustained TBI's by the time of his bisection, but landing like he did? Surgery as he bled out? Toxins creeping into his body from every orifice and more? He's a walking miracle, but treating his body as though it is whole and functioning with no daily care regimen is a disservice to every disabled reader out there.
Maul can never doubt your loyalty to him again, and it just so happens, that now you can never doubt his own either.
cw. Darth Maul speaks Mando’a, for REAL this time, minor character death, unnamed inquisitors, bc I don’t gaf about them, that’s not how the force works, competent reader insert, kidnapping, matching nicknames, Darth Maul is bad at communicating, miscommunication, Jealous Darth Maul, decapitation, self-amputation, blood and gore, angst with a hopeful ending, force healing, Jedi!Reader, GN!Reader, post order 66
wc. 5.9k
an. Hello NEW YORK !!! No ao3 curse has claimed me but I fear Elden Ring has. Fear not as my pc EXPLODED the other day and I had to buy a new one so more time for fanfiction again, yay! Tags have been updated but just in case MASSIVE trigger warning for graphic depictions of violence and descriptions of personal bodily harm. If you would like a spoiler for what happens in this fic I will leave it in the end note at this chapter, just in case <3
brief Mando'a translations at the end of the work !
Chapter 2: Love Me To Death
You twist your body to block the inquisitor's oncoming attack.
"I really don't have time for this." You grumble through gritted teeth. Pressing your back to the door, you allow for their blade to nearly cut into your body. Before it reaches you, you slip your hand from your lightsaber and grab the hilt of their own.
Your grip startles them and you use the surprise to push them back, tossing your own lightsaber to the floor. Both of you now struggle for the dual blade, but you have the advantage over them like this. Using the Force, you cement yourself to the ground. Each step you take towards them further pins them into a corner and they quickly realize that pushing back against you is like fighting a brick wall. Smartly, they yield and drop the weapon
Jumping back, they summon your lightsaber to their hands and ready themself in a defensive stance. You glance over at them, hold the dual blade in both your hands, and squeeze. The sound of shattering crystal and warping metal echoes throughout the small enclosed room. You toss the now destroyed lightsaber to the ground without ever taking your eyes off them.
A simple flick of your hand calls your lightsaber back to you. You toss it aside with such a force, that it embeds itself inside one of the walls.
"You could leave now. Look what I've done to your weapon. You think you won't suffer a similar fate?" Your voice is the coldest you've ever heard it.
"Big talk for a disgraced Jedi." Their voice is clearly modulated by the mask, but it does little to hide the sound of their uneven breathing from you. Your body sinks into a striking stance comfortably and you offer them a small, forbearing smile.
"You misunderstand the Jedi code. In no doctrine does it say I must lie down and let you kill me simply because of your refusal to surrender. No, that is not why I am about to be disgraceful." Without so much as a warning, you pull them towards you via the Force and land two consecutive punches on their mask. It dazes them enough for you to spin backwards and land a kick directly against their throat.
They sputter and collapse to the ground. You waste no time raising and slamming your leg down where they've fallen. Fortunately for them, they manage to roll out of the way in time. You right yourself back into your previous stance, now being mindful of the dent you'd made in the steel floor.
"I'm going to be disgraceful," you continue quietly, "because it is very frowned upon in any doctrine, to make your enemy eat their still beating heart while you check their stomach to make sure they've swallowed."
You lunge at them with a scream and wrap your arms around their torso, pulling you both to the floor. Holding them down by the throat with one arm, you use the other to pry off their chest plate, intending to make good on your threat. You're only interrupted by the searing pain in your left forearm as they dig their fingers into the burnt flesh. With a yowl, you lift them by the throat and slam their head into the floor.
It disorients them, but not before they get a particularly good jab at your ribs. It has you doubling over in pain. They use this as a chance to kick you off of them. You fall to the floor in a heap but reach out your hand and feel the phantom touch of their armor through the Force. You throw them against the wall hard and hear the sound of plastiod cracking.
You push of the ground and nearly collapse again with your arm. It was bleeding profusely now, but the adrenaline in your system allowed you to pay no mind to it. Gritting your teeth, you make your way to the inquisitor and grab at their sides. With very little effort, you pick them up and swing them into the door headfirst. This time, you hear bone crack.
"How long would you like to keep going?!" You yell, lumbering over to them again. You pick them up by the throat and can hear inarticulate little gasps of breath over the broken modulator and the bottom half of their jaw now hangs slack. Your eyes catch on a certain set of buttons built into their vambrace and you reach for it with a twitching hand. Ripping it off, something darker than the Force alone guides you to the correct dial.
The door slides open only slightly and you shove their legs through. You see nothing but red as you shut the door. It slices right through their armor, their flesh, and their bone, without stopping. A cry of agony rings through the room but that wasn't good enough. If they could still scream, they could still feel. You shove more of them through.
"You believed yourself to be infallible. That my kindness is what made me weaker than you and because of this you underestimated just what I would be willing to do. Know that when you die, it is because of your own cowardice, not my cruelty which you forced me to use." You feel utterly empty as they writhe in your arms.
You go to shut the door. At the very last second—in an honestly impressive final display of strength—the inquisitor grips your left arm and pulls it against their chest. Again, the door cuts through their armor, their flesh, and bone all before it reaches you and begins to do the same. Instinctively, you reach out and try to stop the door but it's too late.
The noise ripped from you is not one that you could ever replicate, nor could you even begin to describe the pain. Your vision switches between burst of blinding white and oppressive blackness. You gag and choke on your spit, only managing to get a glimpse of your now mangled arm still stuck in the door. Your other hand slams down on the vambrace but to no avail; the door is jammed.
Tears roll down your face even if you aren't aware of yourself crying. There's no way to calm yourself but you have to try. With each intake of breath, you feel yourself grow more nauseated. There was no saving your arm, you knew that. Glancing over at what you can see, the rended muscle and glistening white of your bone tells you there's no other option. It still didn't make it any easier.
You place your right hand on the crook of your left elbow and stare directly down at the floor, watching tears, sweat, and spit all collect there. Then, with a deep breath, you slam down.
Luckily, you can barely heard the sickening noise of tendons and bones being torn and broken alike, because the scream that leaves your throat blocks out all other noise. You vomit immediately after and despite telling yourself to repeatedly, you can't breathe. Your whole body shakes with the shock and blood loss. It takes everything in you to reach up and call your lightsaber to you.
The metal hilt touches your hand and without looking, you activate it and slam it down on your arm. The smell of burning flesh has you heaving over the floor again.
You can't tell if the blaring noise in your head is the sound of an alarm or your own pulse battering against your skull. You stare up at the ceiling with glassy eyes and can barely feel yourself in your own body. There was too much and too little all happening at once. You wanted to fall asleep, you just wanted all of this to be over now.
Your leg twitches involuntarily and you whine as you feel metal poke into the side of it. Sliding your right hand down, you try to pry the offending piece away from you but only succeed in tugging on your belt. With shaking fingers, you run them along the hilt of Maul's lightsaber and feel the exhaustion in you momentarily dissipate.
It's hard to get up and every part of your body now screeches in protest, but you do anyways. You feel more off balance than usual, something that probably had to do with your missing forearm rather than a head injury. Hopefully.
You glare down at the vambrace and slam your foot atop it. The doors on both sides open simultaneously. The one containing the inquisitor's body and your arm struggles a bit, but after a horrible squelching noise you hope your brain will forget for you, it manages.
"Now you open. Of course." Despite your bitterness, you trudge forward through the hallway. Unable to read any cell numbers like this, you go purely off of the light of the talisman. When it's glow hurts to look at with your eyes, you lean against the wall and press the buttons on the panel outside of it. The door opens with a pressurized hiss.
"Maul?" You call out weakly. The sound of footsteps rushing towards you has you activating your lightsaber on principle.
"Laandur'ad!" You nearly sob in relief at the stupid nickname. "Laandur'ad it's me."
Your blade clatters to the floor as you collapse into the Zabrak and he catches you. Instantly, his hand is on your throat and checking for your pulse.
"I thought you were dead." He admits in a hushed voice, holding you tighter now. "Your Force signature snapped and I feared—"
"Did they hurt you?" You ask, unable to lift your head and check him for injuries. Maul stills.
"You're worried about me?"
"Well I didn't stage a whole rescue mission for anyone else did I?" You snap. "Now are you alright—"
"I'm fine! You're the one who looks like they've been to the Sith Hells and back! How did you even get in?" He pushes you away only slightly, just so that he can cradle your face.
"Speederbike. Came in through the window. I don't know which one it was. Up high." You mumble into his hands, not caring enough to use full sentences. The warmth of his palms nearly puts you to sleep.
"You crashed a speederbike through a window?" He asks aghast. You frown.
"I crashed nothing. It was completely intentional." He looks at you with clear doubt in his eyes and you smile. "What can I say? Living with you has made me partial to theatrical entrances."
"My entrances are not theatrical." You roll your eyes at his claim and immediately regret it, the pain in your head doubling at the movement.
"You once woke me up to spar by standing in the hallway of our ship and igniting your lightsaber while saying nothing. Let me have this you bastard." You lift your hand now to feel his pulse and slide them over the bite mark on his neck. He lets you with no complaint.
"I've got your lightsaber. Kept it beside me the whole time." You tell him and you watch as his eyes soften a fraction. "I'd hand it to you but then I'd have to let go."
Maul's brow furrows and he glances down towards your hip where the blade rests. His eyes immediately widen in horror at the sight.
"Where is your arm?!" You shut your eyes when he yells, the noise nearly too much for your fried senses.
"Lost it in a bad game of sabbac. Imperials are the sore loser type." Maul's gaze is still horrified even after your poor attempt at humor. "Listen, don't worry I feel—"
A wave of dizziness crashes over you in a way you've never felt before. You'd gotten your ass handed to you plenty of times before in the past and you'd pushed past your limit more times than you could count, but this was new. And new in this regard, terrified you.
You feel yourself grow heavier and have to lean on Maul for more support. Dread fills you but you push it back down before he can sense it. Frantically, you grab at his face and look at him.
"Maul, I…I'm…" You stare into his eyes, filled with worry and fear, and trace the tattoo that crosses his cheek. You try to drink in every detail of him, like it's the last time you'll ever see him. You lean in closer and your lips nearly brush his own. "Maul I'm in…so much pain right now. We have to leave. I know a way out."
"Right." He straightens up, unclipping his lightsaber from your belt and summoning your dropped one into his hand. "Right, you lead, I'll follow."
Then, without warning, he scoops you into his arms and begins running. It's so jarring you nearly go into shock again.
"Maul? What are you doing?" You ask, plainly confused and staring up at him now.
"You cannot have seriously thought you were able to move in that state, or at least believed you could move fast enough to outrun a group of stormtroopers. You will direct me where to go and I will get us both there. Do not think me carrying you is an excuse to rest. You need to stay awake until we are back at the ship. Understood?"
For a moment you feel scolded by Maul, like you'd done something wrong in saving his life. Then, as you find yourself resting against him, watching the endless twisting hallways of the prison blur any sense of direction you have, you realize the merit in his words. The relief you had felt from getting him back had slowed the adrenaline in your system and you were beginning to crash now. It wasn't an outcome you could afford.
"We have to go up." The worlds slur out of your mouth and you feel an unbidden panic rise in your chest at your lack of control in the situation.
"By how much?" If Maul notices your slip, he doesn't say anything, choosing instead to keep running.
"Just two floors. They have a hanger bay. We can leave through there." Your plan relied heavily on Maul being able to hot wire whatever they had available in said hanger but most of this plan was already lucked based, so what was one more variable?
Maul nods and then presses his fingers harshly into your side, jolting you back into awareness.
"None of that." He places on your feet and helps you rest against the wall while he activates his lightsaber and begins to cut into the metal beside you.
"What are you doing?" You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek. The dull pain does little to keep you focused.
"This isn't the first prison I've escaped." Alright, odd, but not a topic to worry about now. Maul continues, "Taking the elevator makes it too easy for them to find us. However, this doesn't mean using the elevator shaft is entirely out of the question."
The partially melted hunk of wall collapses by your feet and you look inside to see the vertical drop into nothingness.
"Maul, I can't climb." You were loathe to admit it, but it was true and also now glaringly obvious with your missing forearm. Maul didn't even acknowledge you with a response, he just picked you up again.
"You'll need to wrap your legs around my hips." As he spoke he helped move you into place. Suddenly you were grateful for the blood loss because otherwise the new position would have caused a more aware you to short circuit. "I need you to also wrap your arm around my neck. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. With the two of you now secured chest to chest, Maul moved inside the hole he created and began to climb up.
It was a slow going process but you could hardly blame him. Resting your chin on his shoulder you gave out a little huff of breath, trying to focus on anything else besides the warmth of his body pressed against your own.
"Stay awake." He reminds you, straining slightly as he brings you both up past the first floor.
"I'm trying!" You whinge. Despite carrying both you and himself, Maul still seemingly has the energy to roll his eyes at you.
"Recite something to me. It will keep your mind busy." He orders.
"Fine, but you won't like it." You take another breath and watch the words fall into place in your mind, as if they'd never abandoned you in the first place.
"There is no emotion—"
"You're joking." Maul cuts you off and you have the very misplaced urge to bite him in retaliation.
"I am not. Now, would you like me to recite something or would you like to have dragged my dead body up here for nothing?" Maul goes quiet and you feel his grip falter on the next handhold. Well, that hadn't been the reaction you were hoping for, but clearly Maul was not in the mood to banter. You accepted this and continued.
"There is no emotion, there is peace."
Well, you'd failed that one today. This entire excursion was motivated today purely on emotion. If you knew what was good for you, you would have left with Quinlan. You didn't even consider it an option.
"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."
What had you learned today? That if left to your own devices you would be willing to go to unspeakable depths to retrieve the one you were loyal to? That you were more loyal to him than that of the code you had sworn to follow your entire life? There may be no ignorance, but you felt pretty fucking stupid.
"There is no passion, there is serenity."
There was only passion! That's the only reason you acted! You hadn't known a single moments serenity since you met Maul and that blame was equally shared.
"There is no chaos, there is harmony."
Another one wrong! It seemed like your life had been an unending catastrophe of chaotic events that were handcrafted and chosen by the Force just to see how much you could take. The only harmony that existed was the collaboration in the events that had all lead you to this moment.
You pause, hesitating at the last line of the Jedi code.
"There is no death, there is the Force."
It was the only line of the code that had ever made sense to you growing up. If the Force surrounded us all, gave life to us and guided us, then it would make sense for someone to exist even after the death of the body. But now, here in this moment you weren't sure.
It wasn't the first time you had been close to death. It wasn't even the first time that you had wished to die. But somehow this was different from every other time you'd experienced it. You realize with horror why it's so different this time. For once, your life mattered to someone.
The sound of Maul's lightsaber shearing through the metal of the wall does little to suppress your newfound terror, but it does keep you awake. In some ways he'd been right after all, reciting the code had helped. Not that you'd ever tell him, his ego was fine as it was.
"There's a speederbike off in that corner." He tells you, while gently setting you down on the stone floor of the hanger.
"Oh lovely, my favorite." You give a half grin and try to stand up. His hand on your shoulder stalls you.
"I'll get it. You stay put."
"What if there's stormtroopers? Actually not what if, there's bound to be. You'll need help." Maul eyes you incredulously and you glare right back at him.
"Once again, you cannot seriously believe yourself to be in a proper state to consider fighting. We do not have time for me to humor your altruistic nature. You will remain here as I have instructed you." He hands you your lightsaber and spins on his heel as soon as you take it from him. The second you had both arms again you were absolutely going to attack that man.
You debate reciting the Jedi Code once more while he's separated from you, but you'd rather avoid anymore unfortunate realizations. Calming your unease you seek out his Force signature and feel yourself fall into step with each of his movements. You hear the familiar sound of shots being fired and the deflection of plasma but force yourself to remain seated.
Maul would be fine. He'd survived without you and he could handle this. In fact, you could even argue he was more in his element than ever now. Still, you kept a tight grip on your saber and wait for any indication in his heart rate that would tell you to move. It never even peaked above that of his regular resting one.
At the sound of an engine revving, you forced yourself to stand. Maul came around the corner and gave you a very displeased look, hopping off before the bike was even fully parked to be by your side.
"I told you—" You wave him off with a hand and limp your way to the speeder. He walks uncomfortably close beside you, standing ready to catch you if anything should happen. You really hoped this overbearing nature of his was temporary.
"I'm alright Maul. Let's just go home please. Together."
His eyes soften and any retort he had dies on his lips.
"Of course."
Your hand touches the seat of the bike and you feel the room shift around you. In a moment, all ambient noise is silenced and any sense of life disappears. You sputter and instinctively clutch at your throat, which would have caused you to topple over the bike had it not been for someone lifting you up with the Force. It's too much at once for your mind to handle and you feel your vision completely black out.
Then there's screaming. It's animalistic but you don't know where it's coming from. It seems to surround you. You can't breathe. Maker, you can't breathe. You feel your fingers weakly claw at your throat and you try to cry out but you can't make a single noise. With no warning, your body is slammed to the floor and pain spreads out to consume your torso. With what little awareness you have left, you realize that the ache now stems from the vibroblade, your vibroblade, lodged securely in your waist.
Each wave of pain lulled you in and out of consciousness as color seemed to fade from the world around you. It takes everything in you to remember where you are and what you had been doing. Maul was here, you realized. He was fighting someone—no not someone, he was fighting another inquisitor. In your pain addled mind you remembered with a hiss that there had been two of them originally. You had to do something, he'd need your help. But you couldn't move, no matter how much you willed it.
A voice speaks and it's one you're not sure you've ever heard. The tone is cruel and unforgiving in a way that makes you wince and back away from it, even if you aren't fully aware enough to understand what they're saying. You press your ear into the stone and cover your other with your hand, trying to drown it out, but it's no use. It fills every part of you now, instilling you with a fear that would have paralyzed you had you not already been unable to move.
Your mind screams at you to run. Whoever owned that voice, whoever was capable of making such a noise, was going to kill you. They were going to kill you and they were getting nearer. You can't move, you can't blink, you can hardly feel anything but terror anymore. Each thought seems to be solely dedicated to the impending doom coming your way now.
Metal scrapes against the ground and the sound makes your body jolt, your eyes being forced to focus on the masked face of the inquisitor beside you now. They don't speak, they don't even seem alive. But if they were silent, then why was this noise still persisting? With what little energy you could muster, you turned your eyes to the figure above you.
Maul.
But it was not the man you had come to know. This was not the man you had pledged yourself to, this was not the man you shared your bed with. Over you now stood an evil you had only ever heard tale of.
His face was obscured by shadow, the only indication of his existence behind it was two crimson glowing eyes that managed to make themselves known from behind the mist. The way his body moved was unnatural and uncanny, each joint seeming to work against each other. It forced his body to exist in what seemed like constant agony. You could barely comprehend what you were seeing. Then you heard it.
The sound of the inquisitor's head being torn from their body. Each vertebrae of their spine popped one by one, as it was separated and ripped from inside them. Blood pooled from their neck and flooded the ground, offering you a comfortless warmth as it spilled onto you.
It felt as if you were being puppeted as you were lifted up and cradled against something. You couldn't take your eyes off of the now lifeless body below you.
"—aandu…"
"—ok at me…"
"Please! Look at me!" A voice cries out beside you and it feels like you've been dredged up from water after nearly drowning. You feel yourself hyperventilating now and the pain in your side is near unbearable. You cry out and clutch at the spot where it's emanating from, only to find a hand already there.
"Maul!" You gasp in short breaths, looking up into the terrified eyes of the Zabrak. "Maul. You're okay. It hurts Maul, oh Maker, it hurts so bad!"
You can't even be sure what is causing your predicament anymore, each nerve of yours is so expended at this point that the ache seems to echo from within your soul.
"I'm so sorry. It's alright, it's alright. We're leaving now. I promise. We're going." Wind whips past your face and you aren't sure when or how he'd gotten you both onto the speeder. You try to muffle your cries by hiding against his chest but you can do nothing to stop the whimpers that keep escaping your throat.
You were scared. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been so afraid. But seeing Maul like that had terrified you, even if you were ashamed to admit it to yourself. Had he always been like that? Had you just not noticed? Or, you think to yourself with a sinking feeling in your chest, had you made him like this?
"Maul…" you whisper weakly and he shushes you immediately.
"Quiet. It's alright, you'll be okay. We'll be okay. Almost there. Just a little while longer." The strain in his voice was obvious and you felt a wave of nausea wash over you when the speeder made a particularly sharp turn. Another whine spilled from your throat, unbidden.
"Maul…" You repeat quietly. You say his name over and over again, clinging to it as a means to keep you awake. A constant reminder of just who you needed to stay alive for, if just a little while longer.
-------------------------------------------
The ships floor is cold and you lament when he rests you on top of it. Your clothes are stuck to you and you understand now that your blood is what's binding it against you. Maul has the first aid kit in hand in record time, but as he begins to cut away the fabric of your shirt, you know it's too late for you.
"Maul." You try again and he shushes you harsher this time. You ignore him.
"Maul, listen to me please." You plead with him gently and feel his hands shake, but they never stop their busy work. "I'm going to die."
"No!" He slams a fist onto the floor of the ship but you're too drained to even flinch at the noise. "Stop talking. You don't get to die here!"
And despite everything, you smile.
"It's okay. It's okay. Listen, you'll be okay." Lifting your arm, you reach up to cradle his face. Both his hands leave your stomach to clutch at your own and he presses your fingers to his lips.
"You're going to be alright. You're so much stronger than you think you are. You shouldn't have to be, I'm sorry." Maul stares at you with a vacant expression, unblinking and despondent. "You deserve every softness and kindness given to you. They'll try to tell you that you don't. They'll try to rip away your person hood and make you into a weapon and you can't let them. You can't. You have to be more than what they want you to be."
You gently tug him down towards you and he lets you guide him to rest his head right above your heart. It's an uncomfortable position to say the least. He's bent down at an awkward angle and his horns press into the exposed skin of your chest, but neither of you complain. The closeness it offers you two far makes up for any inconvenience.
"I don't regret a single choice that I made when I was with you and I refuse to let you regret them for me. If my loyalty has lead me here, to die beside my closest companion, my partner in all of this, then I should be so lucky. Maul, you can't avenge me. Do not avenge me."
"You can't ask that of me." He murmurs, his hand sliding back down to the wound on your stomach. You know that he's applying pressure there but all it does is spread a chill throughout your body. Even besides Maul, who ran hotter than the twin suns of Tatooine themselves, you still felt so cold.
"Which is exactly why I am." You tell him, wrapping your arm around him, trying futility to tuck him closer to you.
"You are cruel." You laugh and feel Maul's grip tighten on you when you do.
"Only because I care."
-------------------------------------------
You don't remember falling asleep. Nor do you remember really waking up. You lie there for a moment and try to gain a sense of your surroundings.
With a flash the entire last day of your life spills into your mind and it sends you reeling. You're thankful that you aren't upright or surely you would have fallen due to the shock alone.
It was odd. You knew you had been in pain, so much so that you could hardly even begin to go about describing just how you felt, but now there was a complete absence of it. No, now you were warm and safe.
What puzzled you the most however, was that death didn't feel much different from living.
"Kua?" You call out meekly and are shocked by the raspy quality of your own voice. If you had been dead, surely you old master would have come to collect you, right?
The sound of fast approaching footsteps hardly gives you time to prepare for the body that launches itself on top of you. You know who it is before they even touch you.
"Maul!? Why are you—"
"You are awake. How are your wounds?" He cuts you off, straddling your waist and pawing at the blankets laid atop you to check your torso. Your completely healed torso at that.
"Uh, fine? I'm alright." Maul wastes no time in grabbing your face with both of his hands and rubbing his forehead against your own. Instantly, like your body expected the action, your hand flies up to hold the back of his head and press him closer to you still. You can't help but hum in baffled amusement.
"I'm alright, I'm alright. It's okay. Maul, why is it okay? Why—How am I alive?" You try to reassure the Zabrak, who now has his face buried in the crook of your neck. One hand slides under you to press you tighter to him while the other slinks down to your torso. Had you not been so adamant on getting an answer for your current condition you gladly would have went along with the distraction. Instead you're forced to pry him away from you, which you learn is much harder to do with on one hand.
"I healed you." He snaps, grabbing at your face and pressing your forehead to his again. You don't think you'd ever seen a man look so angry and so peaceful all at once.
"Yes, I get that. But how? I should be very dead by now and we didn't have nearly enough on board to save me. In fact, I'm not sure it should have even been possible by standard medical means to save me." You stroke his cheek thoughtfully and watch as his brow furrows in annoyance.
"The Force, obviously kar'nau." He rolls his eyes at you but you hardly take offense at the action. If anything, you're overjoyed with his admission.
"You used the Force to heal me?"
"Yes."
"As in, you used Force healing?"
"Yes…"
"As in, you used a light side technique to save my life and it worked?"
"I do not know how many more times I have it in me to agree with you."
Laughing you press a chaste kiss to the side of his face and he chases after your mouth, hardly content with just the one. You oblige him, of course.
"Wow," You whisper against his lips, unable to stop yourself from grinning, "I can't believe you like me."
"I am loathe to admit there are some aspects of you I find agreeable." He concedes, moving his affections to the underside of your jaw now.
"You like me and want to keep me around!" You tease, leaning your head back and making it all the more easy for him to mark the column of your throat.
"It is more efficient to have you around than to lose you." He runs his tongue over the indented bite mark on your neck and a barely repressed shiver wracks your body.
"You thought about not having me around and did everything to keep me." Your voice is breathy now and a tinge more desperate than you intend it but you can't bring yourself to care. Maul however, cares very much, as is evident by him groaning and hiding his face in your neck once more.
You hum and hold him contentedly, pressing a kiss to his head.
"Thank you, Maul." You tell him as earnestly as you can. He shifts to lie beside you now and tucks you under his chin.
"It's only what was to be expected of me, kar'nau."
There are many things you note in this moment. One, that the Empire was going to be after you two now in bigger numbers. You couldn't do what you two had done today and get off with just a slapped wrist. Two, that he has to be using another nickname for you now and you still haven't even figured out the first two he'd given you. And three, that despite almost dying and being on the run for what was most likely the rest of your life, you'd never felt safer than you did now held in both his arms.
an. this work includes:
-descriptions of cutting someone in half repeatedly
-loss of the reader's left forearm, in which they are forced to amputate it themselves
-atlanto-occipital dislocation aka removing someone's head and taking their spinal cord with it
wow. rough way to start an end of work note huh. ANYWAYS AWEEE SO CUTE THEY'RE IN LOVE AWEEEEE. Maul and the reader are constantly just "I could fix him." vs "I could make them so much worse" they kill me I love them so much. I can't even lie to you I've been planning on removing the reader's arm for such a long time now and when I told @tarnishedheart she was like. Cool! Make THEM rip it off themselves. And I was like, OH. So everyone say thank you @tarnishedheart for giving us the world's gnarliest thing I've ever written CHRIST...no but I had so much fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed <3 Very big turning point in this chapter and an EVEN bigger one in the next !! See you then !
kar'nau = starlight/sunlight (kar can either be a word used for star or sun, which is why you see both options displayed here! I think it's very fitting because no matter what time it is, you are always the light in Maul's life <3)
dividers by @angeliicide and @somebitchprobably-graphicdump !!!
tag list: @bexeris @ashes-136667 @aninnai @maulsdear @thelittlebats @the-reas0n-is-y0u @moldy-bread-slice @stormfire6
cw: nsfw, some medical gore, hurt/comfort, mild and brief panic attack
tropes: switch!maul, virgin!maul, virgin!reader
word count: 7,422
summary: Maul doesn't appreciate your avoidance while you're patching up an injury you indirectly caused.
a/n: here it is! the winner of my 300 follower celebration poll! idk how this ended up so long. ive written plenty of smutty stuff in this past, but i feel like this is my first full on smut fic. full on smut is a little hard for me to write. a lot of my writing is very subtle, emotions expressed through gestures and reading in between the dialogue. smut forces me to write characters that are fully present in their bodies which is. Difficult for my brain. my girlfriend doesnt have a tumblr, but her constant encouragement helped me write this fic <3 i could not have finished this beast without her. i hope yall enjoy!
The laceration runs eleven centimeters along Maul's ribs, deep enough that yellow knobs of fat pearl from the opening like spoiled cream. Not immediately fatal, but ugly nonetheless. With no droids available, you are the one tasked with suturing him up.
Maul denied the local anesthetic. You gave it to him anyway. He also objected to his tunic being cut off of him, which you also ignored.
"Have you no regard for patient consent?" he asked, mildly.
"I haven't renewed my license. So, no."
That was the last thing you said to him maybe twenty, thirty minutes ago. The hemostats oversized in your grip, the nylon thread sawing into your middle finger with every sutured knot . You squint under the harsh light to separate his crimson skin from the darker coil of exposed muscle.
Maul watches you. He's always watching you. You feel that he wants to say something before his mouth opens.
"Is this truly necessary? I have recovered from far worse with no medical intervention."
"My degree says otherwise."
Maul hums. "I know my body best and what it can handle. You are wasting your degree on me."
Loop, loop, pull, snip. Sixth stitch. You don't answer him, and he lets the silence sit for exactly as long as it takes you to thread the next pass.
"You drugged me," he says, conversationally. "Against my word."
"It's lidocaine. You can buy it over the counter."
"Mm." Maul tilts his head against the cot. "Curious how a doctor would decide what a body endures without consulting the one who lives in it." He pauses, then says softly, "Was your disregard for my lack of consent for my benefit? Or for yours?"
You tie off another knot and snip the excess. Maul rolls his head back up to the ceiling.
"You are very quiet tonight."
The needle slides in at a forty-five degree angle. "I'm focused."
"You are usually quite talkative when you work," he says. "That is why your silence is noted."
You want to retort— not give him the satisfaction, but you fear what would happen if you met his gaze. Loop, loop, pull, snip. Seventh stitch and you're finally done. The tools clang against the sterile tray when you drop them. You pull a bacta patch out of its wrapping, the acrid stench stinging your eyes. It's wet and sticky when you secure it over Maul's skin.
"I should install a mechnosuture capability on Spybot once I get the chance," Maul muses. "And program him to have proper bedside manner."
"I'm a surgeon, not a nurse."
An abrasion runs across Maul's right pectoral. Medically unremarkable, but needs to be irrigated of grit all the same. You switch out your gloves and prep a syringe, drawing saline until it's filled.
"This may burn a little," you say, still unable to look him in the eye.
He's silent, and gives no indication of pain when you press the plunger. Pink-brown runoff threads down his side. You refill the syringe and repeat the process until the fluid finally runs clear. The room is quiet except for the creak of your gloves as you dab away the excess fluid with gauze.
"You know," Maul says to the ceiling, "if you weren't so weak, neither one of us would be in this position."
You kept your feelings packed beneath layers of suture, saline, and gauze. It's easier to focus on the wound than the man underneath it. But this is what Maul does; burrow his claws into your skin and shred until there's nothing left but the ugly parts of you. He finally gets what he's been digging for.
"Then next time I'll let you rot."
One glove rips with a sharp snap as you yank them off. You don't look at Maul. Forceps and hemostats clatter into the basin— no autoclave, no proper sharps container, just the overflowing trash and disinfectant. The syringe is capped and thrown into the trash along with the gauze and suture packaging. Even with the gloves gone, Maul's dark and tacky blood stains your skin. Your hands won't stop trembling, so you keep moving, rattling drawers and slamming cupboard doors.
"You are angry," Maul says as if he's recalling the weather.
"Astute."
"At me."
"Obviously." You turn on the faucet and spray the tools. The water runs hot and pink down the drain, cooking the proteins in Maul's blood, filling the room with the stench of iron. "I'm not holding you hostage anymore. You can leave."
You close the drain on the other side of the sink and let it fill with water.
"You wish for me to walk after stitching me up?" Maul says. "I did not take you for someone who'd so readily undermine their handiwork, doctor."
"Didn't take you for someone who'd be concerned about ripping their stitches." You find the enzymatic cleaner in one of the cupboards and pretend to read the dilution ratio.
"I am not."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Because you'd be displeased if I left."
You uncap the cleaner without looking up, knuckles white around the bottle. You won't take the bait. "That's presumptuous."
"No. It is obvious."
You don't respond. You're not doing this. He can go jump out the airlock for all you care. The water ripples as you pour the cleaner in.
"Look at me."
You blink away tears threatening to spill. Maul won't get to you. Your fingers brush against an empty counter where you meant to find the scrubbing brush. You frown and look— it's just a few inches from where it normally sits. Just as you reach for it, the brush moves away from you, again. Your jaw clenches, and you bend down to pull another one from underneath the sink.
Maul says your name, sharp and commanding. Your lower lip trembles and you bite down until it hurts. The hemostats jerk away just as you reach for them.
"Look at me." His voice is harsher.
You reach for them again, and suddenly they're floating in the air, along with the forceps. They rise another inch, taunting you.
"You're running out of instruments."
The tools fly across the room with a flick of his wrist, slamming against the wall with a deafening clang that rings in your ears.
You whirl on him, and he looks…unimpressed? Tired? His expression swims behind your tears. The sink continues to fill. The room smells like iron and the sharp tang of cleaner. Above, the air recycler kicks on with a mechanical rattle.
"There you are," Maul says. "Avoidance does not suit you."
You bare your teeth. "You threw my shit across the room."
"You were ignoring me like a belligerent teenager."
Hot tears spill down your cheeks, and you furiously wipe them away. "You were nearly impaled."
Maul tilts his head. "I survived."
"Yeah, barely." You place the back of your hand over your mouth to hide the tremble of your lips. "I couldn't tell the difference between— between your muscle and skin!"
Maul is quiet for a moment, then says, softer, "So you elect to ignore me."
You laugh mirthlessly. "I hate you, actually." You turn back to the sink to turn the water off. "You are the most irritating person I've ever met."
Behind you, the cot creaks. You spin and shove at Maul's shoulders perhaps a bit harder than what was considered professionally responsible. His skin is warm, muscles solid under your palms. He lets you push him down without resistance, which infuriates you more. Maul watches you with that smug, satisfied tilt to his mouth.
You jam a finger into his chest.
"Sit. Down," you say through gritted teeth.
Maul blinks slowly. "Your commands contradict each other."
You inhale. You want to strangle him. There are words for this— curses at the tip of your tongue that would impress a Hutt. But nothing comes. The anger burned you mute and dumb. The only response you can conjure is to grab Maul's jaw and yank him forward into a kiss.
It's not gentle or sweet. Your lips are dry; his still against yours. He smells faintly of sweat and cassius tea. His lips are thin but lovely, and completely still against yours.
What did you do? What did you just do?
You pull back just enough to break the seal, manage to say the words "I'm—" before his hand locks behind your neck and yanks you down. You brace yourself against the cot with a hand next to Maul's head. He kisses you like he's afraid someone will steal you away— messy, desperate, bumping noses, and clashing teeth.. Neither of you knows what to do with your tongues, but you suck his taste into your mouth anyway.
You part again, breath fanning across his lips.
"I…" your voice comes out wrecked. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't—"
"My patience for your apologies wears thin." His hand tightens on the back of your neck and pulls you down again.
The kiss is slower this time, but still too hard. Your hand on the cot moves to Maul's chest, memorizing the faint ridges of scars hidden beneath ink. His teeth catch your lower lip and the whine that comes out of you is high and pathetic. He swallows it, answering with a groan that goes straight to your clit.
Warmth vibrates between your legs. Before you think better of it, you throw a leg over Maul's waist and settle astride him. The cot creaks under your weight, flimsi sheet ripping beneath your knees. Your core strains to keep from falling off the edges of the mattress. You're painfully careful not to press against his stitches, but stars, the rest of him—
The edge of his belt bites into your soft inner thighs, metal and leather dragging right against your pussy. It's filthy and perfect. Maul's a vision; gaze molten, lips parted and swollen, glistening from spit. His hands find your hips, while you rest yours on either side of his head.
"I'm tired of seeing you hurt."
Maul's eyes flick between yours. "Then you're in the wrong line of business."
Just a few hours ago, Maul clung to the railing as the space station tilted on its axis, sucked into a gravity well from a neighboring planet. You watched helplessly while he was bombarded with crumbled scaffolding, praying to whatever god was listening that Maul wouldn't be impaled.
"I know what line of business I'm in," you lower your face to his. "I just want you to feel something other than pain."
He pulls you forward by your hips. You brace yourself to hold above him, inches away, close enough that your breaths mingle. Confusion crosses Maul's face.
"No," you say. "I need you to tell me if this is something you want."
He huffs, jaw locked so tight that the tattoos on his face seem to shift. You wonder, briefly, if this is the first time someone has asked him what he wants. Maul tries to pull you again, fingers digging into your hips, almost angry. Your arms burn as you resist.
"Words, Maul."
"I have pulled you down twice," he says through gritted teeth. "What further testimony do you require?"
"Words."
"If I recall the night's events correctly, your regard for my consent, doctor, has been flexible."
"I know." You swallow, and watch mild surprise cross Maul's features. "You're right, I did that. That's why I'm asking now."
Something shifts behind his eyes— hunger, uncertainty, maybe even a trace of fear. You feel his nerves through the wavering grip, the way his inhale catches in his chest.
"It would not be…" he pauses, then tries again. "This is not unwelcome."
You tilt your head to the side and wait.
Maul's lip twitches, grip on your hips so tight you're sure it'll leave bruises.
"I am not opposed."
"Maul."
"What would you have of me—" it cracks out of him, harsh, too loud for the space between your bodies. Maul closes his eyes and inhales slowly. You think for one horrified second that you pushed him too far. Then Maul's hand moves from your hip. It rises slowly, pauses in your peripheral vision, before gently grazing your jaw. You lean into the touch, savoring the feeling of his rough and calloused skin against yours. When Maul speaks again, it's without armor, low and sincere.
"I want you."
Your heart jolts in your chest. He feels the same, maybe for as long as you have, and neither of you said a word. Maul, a man whose life is defined by violence wanted something that would not end in a river of blood. Heat gathers on your cheeks. You lean forward and press your foreheads together.
"Me too."
The words barely leave your mouth before Maul surges up just enough to kiss you again. It's still clumsy, too much tongue and desperation, but there's something different in it now— almost reverent. His hand stays at your jaw like he's afraid you'll leave.
You let your weight settle fully on him, careful of the bacta patch. Maul shifts slightly, just enough to push himself higher on the cot. You roll your hips and a broken sound escapes you as the ridges of his belt drag against your clit. Something warm and definitely not part of his belt presses against your thigh. Both of you pause to look at each other— Maul's so close you can count the threads of blood vessels in his golden eyes.
"I have not…" Maul sighs, frustrated. "This is foreign to me."
You huff, not without mirth. "Yeah, me too."
You watch him as you roll your hips. Maul's eyes flutter closed, brow ridges pinched as low whimpers leave his parted lips. How long have you imagined this? Nights spent building fantasies from lingering touches and too long looks, desperate to finally make Maul fall apart. Now you have him, and you left your brain somewhere on that space station.
You rock down again, slower, watching him. Maul's hisses— the friction of your panties dragging against your puffy clit. He guides your hips with effortless strength, eyes heavy and composure failing with each pass of your hips.
When the belt scrapes your inner thigh again, you pause and sit back on your haunches. You trace down his torso, cataloguing the ridges of scars hidden underneath ink. His skin is thin, rolling underneath your fingers; you have to remind him to drink more water later. Your touch stops just above his belt and Maul's gaze flicks from your hand, then back to you.
"That has to stay," he says, jaw working.
"I know."
In all your years of residency and practice, you've seen many patients more cyborg than flesh. That belt, his control module, is his life line. You've only seen it in rads; the way his torso gnarls into the graft collar, actuators and durasteel fused into the vertebrae of his spine to support his legs. Soft tubing replicating the functions of his missing organs— aorta severed, yet somehow Maul lives.
He maintains his legs in private, either by himself or with Icarus and Scorn. In two years, the closest he's come to acknowledging what Kenobi left of him is a blunt "it functions" at the end of exams. You never pressed. The line of his shoulders when you pressed him about it told you enough about his relationship with his body. You see that tension now.
"We can stop here…" you say softly. "If you don't—"
"Do not patronize me," Maul spits. "Had I not wanted this, you'd be dead."
You lean over him again, placing a gentle kiss on Maul's cheek. It catches him off guard.
"I know. I also know how you love to push yourself," you place a finger over his lips before he can speak. "I'll take your word for it, okay? I trust you."
Maul stares at you, the tension easing in his shoulders by a few degrees. You lean back and adjust yourself to hover over his thighs. Without his tabard and tunic, the button to his pants is just visible underneath the belt. You bite your lip as you unfasten the pants, watching Maul's face as you drag them down. It takes some awkward finagling to untuck the fabric from his knees, but the garment is eventually tossed to the floor, leaving Maul in his black boxers.
The Mandalorians spared no expense, it seems. Metal plating carved into the shapes of his thighs, his lower abdomen a weave of carbon fiber that dipped underneath the hem of his boxers. Underneath, his cock bulges through, the subtle ridges visible through the folds of the fabric.
Just as you run your hands up his thighs, Maul grabs your wrist.
"We are outmatched," he gestures to your shirt. "Off."
You could make him ask properly. The idea of Maul begging has crossed your mind from time to time, but you file it away for another night. Instead, you settle between his thighs, cross your arms, and pull your shirt over your head. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you reach behind you, struggling to unclasp your bra. You toss it across the room like ripping a bandaid off.
The cold room bites at your flushed skin, and Maul's hands make you jump— large and calloused in the pattern of his saber hilt. They trail up your sides with a touch that's not timid, but uncertain, like you're uncharted land. You squirm under his gaze, quietly grateful for the pressure of your heel against your pussy. Anything to alleviate the throb as Maul's fingers trail higher on your ribs, pausing just below the bottoms of your breasts.
"Does all human skin do this?" he asks, fingers ghosting along your goosebumps, causing you to shiver.
"It's um…" you swallow as a thumb brushes the side of your breast. "an autonomic response of hair follicle muscles. Usually due to cold, fear, or some strong emotions…"
"Mm. Fascinating," Maul says sarcastically.
Your little laugh chokes into a whine when he finally, finally, engulfs your breasts, nipples hardening underneath his palms. Maul takes his time, cataloguing all your little whimpers and whines as he massages your breasts.
His voice breaks the trance, low and rough on the edges. "Come here."
Before you can process the words, Maul pulls you forward by the waist until you're hovering over him again. He maintains eye contact as he draws a nipple into his mouth, tongue warm and a little rough against the sensitive bud.
"Maul…" you moan, head dropping forward and right onto the tip of one of his horns. You yelp as it pokes you, and Maul immediately draws his mouth away.
"Be mindful—"
"I forgot they were there," you giggle.
"How could you forget?"
"'Cause you were distracting me…"
Maul, stars above, growls and mouths at your breast again. You sigh and drop your head again, careful of his horns. You start moving again, the girth and ridges of his cock divine against the seam of your pussy. His mouth loses its purchase on your breast as you two lose yourselves in the rhythm. The cot creaks as you rock. Your foreheads meet, and you kiss each other when the angle is right, licking and biting at each other's lips. There's no urgency in it, only indulgence as you learn the curve of your bodies.
Maul's hands eventually leave your waist to grip your ass, hard. He pulls you forward, hips rising to meet yours. You moan into his mouth, letting him have this, have you. Until you grind down harder, off the beat he set, and Maul whines. It sends fire through your veins. You want to bottle that sound, engrave it into your memory. He is yours. You are the only one that could get that sound out of him, the only one that ever will.
You trail sloppy, wet kisses down his jaw to his neck. Maul's hips stutter, and you grab onto his jaw and gently pull it to the side, granting more access to his skin. You nip and lick then fasten your mouth over one spot and suck. Maul hisses, his cock twitching between your thighs.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Giving you a hickey," you mouth at his skin. "'s a bruise."
"…You know that will not be visible."
"Yeah." You drag your lips to a new spot at the junction of his neck and collarbone. "So I can leave more of them."
Maul has no answer for that. He allows you to work at his neck, occasionally meeting your lips for sloppy kisses when you drag your tongue along his jaw. Eventually you kiss your way down over his collarbone, down his sternum, mapping each tattoo and scar with your lips and teeth. You cast a quick glance to the bacta patch as you bypass it, just to make sure nothing has ripped and he isn't bleeding.
The carbon fiber weave of his lower abdomen is smooth and faintly warm under your lips. Maul tenses when you move there, but you kiss him no different, because it doesn't matter to you. What matters is his comfort, and he has yet to tell you to stop.
You sit up just as you reach the hem of his boxers, settling back over his thighs. Maul's muscles strain when you finally cup his cock through the fabric. It's hot and thick under your palm, and his hips twitch as you trace every throbbing ridge with your thumb. Maul's hand suddenly snaps to your wrist and you stop, looking up at him with worry.
"Okay?" you ask quietly.
Maul's chest heaves as he tries to control his breath. "You do not have to…touch it."
You blink. "But I want to."
He inhales and slowly unfurls his fingers from your wrist. Before he pulls away, you lean down and kiss his knuckles and look at him through your lashes. You hook your fingers under the hem of his boxers and pull them down. Maul plants his heels and lifts his hips, hissing as the movement slightly tugs on his stitches.
"Easy," you coo, sliding the boxers off.
"I am indifferent to pain," he says to the ceiling.
"Hmm, but I think you'd be really grumpy if I stopped to fix your sutures if you ripped them."
Maul doesn't respond because you got his boxers off, and he's very pointedly not looking at you. While you, on the other hand, marvel at the sight of him. His cock is thicker than you felt, like a human's mostly, except for the lines of ridges that ran along the underside. The synth-skin was the same shade of ruby red skin, even engorged with faux veins that threaded along his shaft. The skin stretched to the seams of his inner thighs, cut off by the edges of plating that made up his legs.
"You're beautiful…"
Maul looks at you skeptically. "Most would disagree with you. I am meant to frighten."
"Not me," you replied. "You should know that by now."
Whatever retort Maul planned died on his tongue when you traced your thumb along the underside of his cock. With no precum, the synth-skin is dry. You'll have to remedy that later. He grits his teeth, hands curled at his sides.
You look at him through your eyelashes. "I want you to show me how to make you feel good."
"I don't know," Maul says a little too quickly. Then, through gritted teeth, "I only ever…relieved myself when I couldn't ignore it."
"Maul…"
"Do not," he snaps, and props himself on his elbows. "My body is a tool. I've had no need for indulging in hedonistic habits."
"Mmm…yet here you are."
Maul has no retort for you, and you relish in the fact that you've rendered this man speechless.
"If you're immune to pain and unfamiliar with pleasure…" you spit into your hand. "Then this should feel really good, Maul."
You stroke him slowly from base to tip. A broken moan tears out of him, hips jerking into your fist.
"Tell me," you keep your pace slow, partly because you're unsure, mostly to watch Maul squirm. "Tell me what feels good."
He does, not gracefully, but it comes out of him in fragments. Lower, tighter, there, twist your hand on the head, don't stop. A man, who'd once been stripped of all dignity, narrating his own pleasure. You give it all to him the instant that he asks. Your panties damp and ruined watching Maul release control and fall apart all from your hand. Your clit ached, desperate for friction, and you almost reached between your legs just for some pressure.
Maul's head drops back, a hand finding your thigh, just to hold onto something. He's very noisy, you discover. His cock is perfect and pretty, but without lube or precum, your spit from before begins to dry. You can't have that.
You lick a slow, wet stripe up the underside. The synth-skin is almost tasteless, but the wrecked sound he makes more than makes up for it. He stares down at you, lips parted, lids heavy, and covered in hickeys that no one can see but you know are there. This was all you wanted; the man that you've loved for years just to feel good.
You take him into your mouth. It's clumsy, you have to open your jaw wider to avoid your teeth, but Maul doesn't seem to care either way. You flatten your tongue against his shaft, covering what you couldn't take with your hands. Maul's hand tightens in your hair with a gasp.
You feel the exact moment pleasure fractures into panic— his breath turning sharp and shallow. You lift your head.
"Maul?"
His eyes screw shut, head shaking, like he's at war with himself. You release him completely and crawl back up his waist, careful not to accidentally rub his cock with your knee.
"Hey," you gently cup his face. "It's okay. Talk to me."
Maul opens his eyes when his breathing evens out; he looks uncertain, frightened.
"I have only known pain…" he says. You watch him struggle to come up with the words. "This…I do not know what to do with this." Maul looks at you. "You undo me. I do not— I have no—"
He shakes his head again, then a second later pulls you down into a fierce kiss. It's desperate, like if he pressed hard enough, slotted his lips against yours quick enough, that your souls would merge into one. Maul's touch slides down your back until they find the waistband of your pants and pull. It's graceless, urgent, and he rambles against your lips like he's unraveling.
"You have tortured me long enough, you will let me—" He growls against your mouth, fingers fumbling with the buttons before he rips them open. "Let me have you. You've torn me apart for an hour, it is your turn. Sit up, take these off."
You almost let him, but you know Maul. He treated every scar as proof of prowess, every inch of himself as something to be measured by whether it could kill. He's not reaching for you out of appetite. He's fleeing into you because giving is where he can hide. Giving means he's in control.
You catch his wrists, gently, and make Maul look at you.
"Are you back? Okay?"
His jaw tightens, his lower lip twitching, then something gives, and he answers honestly. "Yes."
"Okay."
You let his wrists go, and he doesn't hesitate pulling your pants down. You let him, because if retreating to your body is where he needs to go, then you let him. The pants come off along with your underwear, and you are suddenly, painfully aware that you're bare above him. He drinks you in like a starved predator.
"Come here," he says.
"But your ribs—"
"Are intact. Do not make me repeat myself."
"I—"
Maul's voice drops, rough and certain. "Come. Here." A gentle tug of the Force pulls you forward until your knees bracket his head.
"You think me so weak," both his thumbs rest on the seams of your inner thighs, "that you would crush me?"
"That's not—" your face burns. "I have a medical degree, Maul. I don't want your—"
"Then trust it," Maul says, flatly. "Let me see you."
It's your turn for your composure to dissolve. His thumbs stroke down your outer folds, then gently part you. You're dripping, arousal sticky on your inner thighs. No one has seen you like this, and your hands fly up to cover your face.
"No." Maul, damn him, sounds amused. "It is your turn. You will not hide from me."
"It's different," you whine and hate yourself for it.
"It's identical." His eyes flick back to your pussy. "You are very wet."
"Maul."
"I am merely making an observation."
His thumb drags through your inner folds. You're so swollen and sensitive that the lightest touch forces you to brace yourself against the wall. Maul does it again, and now you can hear how slick you are.
"What feels good?" His exhale warms your cunt, fingertip teasing your tight entrance. "Here?" He traces back up to rub your clit with slow, deliberate pressure. "Or here?"
Your hips jerk, the pleasure both relief and agony simultaneously. "I—shit."
Maul circles your clit again then removes his thumb. You whine and nearly crumble towards the wall in frustration.
"Words, doctor." His voice is low, commanding, and goes straight to your clit. You worry your lower lip between your teeth, thighs already trembling around his head.
"There…on my clit," you manage. "If— if you pull the hood back, it's more sensitive."
"Mm. Noted."
Maul touches you like he fights: with precision and no mercy. He discovers the flat of his thumb makes your gasp and quiver. He learns that your clit likes the heavy, unhurried circles. He's a fast study, this man, he always has been. And you're melting on top of him, crying out into the medbay, one hand splayed against the wall, the other curled uselessly on your thigh.
Then Maul moves his hand, palm up, his index finger presses against your entrance, pushing into the first knuckle.
"No one has ever…" you swallow. "I haven't even used toys. I—I barely use my fingers.."
He pauses for a moment, then chuckles, and stars, you hate him. You love him, and you hate him. He works his finger to the second knuckle— and it glides in easy. Like you're sucking him in.
"No one?" His voice is low, almost a growl, and you feel it against your thigh. "You are a surgeon for the underworld. Shot as many people as you have saved, and no one?"
"Maul—"
He smiles against your thigh, wicked and possessive. "I find that extraordinarily satisfying."
Heat floods your face and between your legs. "You're insufferable—"
"I am honored," he corrects with faux hurt, then all the amusement bleeds out of him. His finger is still inside you. "Tell me if you wish to stop."
"Okay." You exhale and adjust yourself so he has better access, one knee stretched out so your legs form an "L" shape. "Don't stop."
Maul's finger works into you. His finger is thick, rough from years of gripping a lightsaber, and reaches deeper than you could ever achieve.
"Stars, Maul," you babble. "It's— right there. Yes."
"I am a wonderful student," he says, not smug but certain, and it makes you laugh.
Maul curls his finger and finds something spongy inside you that makes your hips jolt. Pressure builds deep inside you, and you let him know how good that feels. Half-finished words leave on broken sighs, good and please, and his name.
"Maul, you're—" you gasp as his palm rubs your swollen clit. "You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect."
Breath punches out of him against you. He pulls his finger out of you and yanks you down onto his mouth with zero warning. There's no finesse, just the sudden, scalding heat of his tongue dragging across the seam of your cunt. You try to lift off his mouth, overwhelmed and oversensitive, but Maul hooks his arms around the back of your thighs like durasteel chains. The thick bands of muscle in his forearms flex as he pulls you back down, forcing your cunt against his mouth. He sucks your folds between his lips, groaning into the sensitive flesh.
"M-Maul," you mewl, "I— I can't—I—"
Your thighs clamp around his head, horns pricking the soft flesh of your thighs, but you don't care. Maul slows, licking broad strokes over your clit. The sound is filthy— the slick of your pussy and his spit, your whines, and Maul's satisfied groans as you twitch and come apart on his tongue.
He grabs your ass, guiding your hips into a slow roll on his face. He flattens his tongue, and he forces your hips far enough that your clit catches against his nose with every movement. You're saying things; you don't know what, but some of it makes Maul chuckle, and even earns a slap on your ass.
Pleasure coils so viciously tight that you feel it in your toes. Your rapid pants leave you dizzy, forcing you to lean against the wall for support. The noises you make sound foreign to your ears, desperate, wrecked, and completely mindless.
Maul locks you in place again, his tongue now working circles around your clit. Your thighs tremble, you can't decide to either hold onto the wall or thread your fingers between his horns. Maul growls like he's angry, and the vibration, the heat, how wound up you've been for the past hour crashes together all at once.
Your orgasm rips through you so violently your back bows and you nearly collapse over his face. Wave after brutal wave hits you while he keeps licking, greedy and merciless, until you're shaking and tapping desperately at his arm.
Maul lets you ease back just enough to remove the pressure. His chin and mouth shine with your slick, eyes black with hunger and something almost reverent. He drags one last slow lick up your slit just to hear you squeak and try to squirm away.
"I would like to do that again."
You smile and shake your head, still catching your breath. "Give me a second. I don't have two hearts like you do."
Maul's fingers idly trace your thighs. "I have noticed no shortage of stamina complaints from you tonight."
"Keep it up and I'll leave you like this." You don't mean it and Maul knows that. You lift off him on unsteady arms and slide down until you're settled over his hips. His cock rests heavy against his thigh, flushed dark, ridges visibly more swollen than they were before. For a second you just stare, heart hammering in your chest. His bravado from earlier frays the longer you look, replaced with something wanting, almost desperate.
You lean back and gently trace your fingers over his cock, savoring the way he tenses underneath you.
"I want this," you say. "But only if you do too…"
Maul swallows thickly, hips twitching underneath your hand. For a brief second, the flicker of the same panic from your mouth earlier flashes across his face. It leaves him just as quickly, and he looks up at you, conveying such sincerity it almost shocks you.
"I do."
His hold settles loosely on your waist, watching you with fixed intensity. You wet your lips and spread your legs wider, moving his cock so you can slide it through your dripping cunt. Each ridge is heaven against your engorged clit, both of your moans mixing together as you slather his shaft with slick.
Your gaze meets his as you line up his cock with your entrance and sink down. The stretch from his blunt head burns as it eases inside of you. You hiss through your teeth, and Maul's nails dig crescents into the soft skin of your waist.
"Easy," he growls. "Do not— do not rush it."
"I know how this works—" you mutter, cheeks burning. "My body will adjust."
"Then you should be patient." Your gazes lock. "Breathe."
You bite your lip as you ease down another inch, stuffed too full already, even though Maul wasn't fully inside you yet. He holds perfectly still while you work his cock inside you, lower lip caught between his teeth. Your head lolls to the side, brows pinched as Maul's pelvis finally presses flush against yours.
One fist curls against his hip, the other gripping onto his hand. Your cunt twitches around him as you try to relax your muscles, Maul's head tipping back against the cot.
"You are…" his voice cracks. "You are exquisite…I have never known want like this."
You lean forward to press your foreheads together, whimpering as his cock shifts inside you. For a long moment you just lay there, breathing each other in. You lower your mouth to meet his, tongues brushing as your lips slotted together. Then you start to move, more grinding than bouncing, a slow careful roll of your hips. It's awkward at first as you try to find your rhythm, but it gradually becomes good and you're entranced from how deep his cock is inside you.
Maul's eyes glaze over, his lips parted, soft and wrecked noises leaving him with every breath, completely undone by you. The man forged into a weapon, only a servant to the dark side, whining because of you. Because of your soft, tight pussy clenching around his cock.
Pleasure surges through you as your puffy clit rubs the ridges at the base. His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you pick up the pace, sitting back up and placing your hands on his chest to brace yourself.
"Maul," you mewl. "'s so big. You feel so good."
He answers by yanking you back down, engulfing you in his arms, panting against your temple. One hand grips your ass, assisting you as you rock your hips together. It's so good until your thighs begin to burn, your muscles trembling with each movement. You try to fight through it, but inevitably slow and tremble in Maul's arms.
He notices immediately, grip on your ass tightening to steady you. "Tired?" he teases, but looks at you softly, almost fond.
"Yeah…this is harder than it looks," you grin, forehead dropping to his shoulder, idly kissing the skin there.
Maul presses a kiss to your temple, and something in your chest tightens. "Then allow me."
He plants his heels and thrusts into you slow and deep, careful not to jostle his stitches. Each smooth stroke drags his ridges along your walls, pulling a broken moan from your throat. He picks up more heat, each snap of his hips eliciting a wet slap of skin in the quiet medbay. The angle hits unexplored spots in you, and you grip onto Maul's shoulders for dear life, nails digging into his skin. Unfortunately, your hamstrings still scream at you.
"Maul, wait," you try and shift your legs, but the muscles seize tighter. "Ah, my hamstrings are really sore. It's getting uncomfortable…"
He stills inside of you, breathing out, the huff of almost-laughter against your hair. "Humans are so fragile."
"Shut up," you whine, nuzzling his neck. "It's not my fault we start falling apart at thirty."
"Hm. Truly a pity."
You laugh, trembling and impaled on his cock. Maul's lips curl into a smile against your scalp. Then, his arms lock around you, voice dropping.
"Hold onto me."
"What—"
Maul sits up with you in his lap and pulls out with a slick and obscene sound that makes you both groan. In one fluid motion, he stands, keeping you anchored with his hands under your ass. He hisses when the movement tugs on his stitches, but he ignores your protests. The room tilts, and Maul sets you back down on the bed, grabbing your knees and dragging you forward until your ass is at the very edge of the mattress.
"Maul, your stitches—"
"A problem for later." He stands between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and guiding himself back in with the other.
"There," he exhales when he's fully seated inside you. "That's better."
The new angle is devastating, cock head right against that sensitive spot inside you. Maul fucks you slow and deep, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. He's panting, nearly incoherent from the sensation of your cunt hugging his cock. You close your eyes, head dropping to the side.
"No," Maul says suddenly, voice a rasp. "Look at me."
You obediently turn your head back to him. He's beautiful, his gaze wide and unguarded as it stare into yours. He mumbles your name, and you respond by hooking your ankles around his waist and tugging Maul forward. He hooks his arms under your knees, and folds you until there's no space between your sweaty, slick bodies. His thrusts turn shallow, every movement dragging your puffy clit against his pelvis.
"Fuck me—" you whine, cupping Maul's face. "Please. You're so good, so good to me."
Something in him cracks open at your words. He shudders, ridges of his cock swelling inside you. His rhythm falters, jaw slack, voice climbing to a broken pitch he swallowed down an hour ago. You brace for Maul to go rigid, and disassociate from his body, but he stays, and presses your foreheads together.
"That's it," you whisper, cupping his face. "Stay with me. It's okay, come for me."
Maul's thrusts grow erratic. He buries his face in your neck while you cling to him, nails clawing down his back. Maul comes with a cry of your name, a broken, choked sound. His hips stutter, cock pulsing inside you as his entire body trembles. You don't feel him spill inside you, which is okay, less clean up and no need for condoms.
"Oh, Maul," you mouth at his temple. "You did so good."
His breath fans against your neck, but he doesn't slow. Maul plants one knee on the bed and thrusts into you again, thumb reaching between your bodies to find your clit.
"Oh shit," you jolt. "You don't have to—"
"You will finish," Maul says, voice raspy and ruined. "I want you to come on me. Let me feel it."
He hisses, thrusts sloppy, cock twitching as he overstimulates himself. It's filthy, desperate, your voice climbing higher as he works your clit in circles. The pleasure coils tight, and you squirm on the bed, babbling nonsense as your body draws up.
"That's it," Maul snarls, possessive and greedy. "There she is. Let go."
You shatter, the orgasm racing through you in devastating waves. Your cunt squeezes his cock, and Maul groans like it hurts, but works you through every pulse of it anyway. Your hips twist away when it becomes too much. Maul finally stills, hand leaving your pussy to brace next to your head.
Neither of you moves for a long time. The air is thick and humid with the smell of sex. Your breaths mingle together, Maul still buried inside you and slowly going soft.
You reach up and thread your fingers through his horns, stroking the base with your thumb. Maul groans softly, eyes fluttering shut. Eventually he shifts and carefully slips out of you, lowering himself next to you on the cot.
You turn to your side and check his bacta patch for any blood. Maul watches you with a raised brow, something between exasperation and wonder on his face.
"No blood," you sigh, voice hoarse. "Any pain?"
Maul scoffs but not without mirth. "You can't help yourself, can you?"
"Nope," you smile. His hand comes up to cover yours, thumb idly rolling over your knuckles.
The quiet settles back in. You're exhausted and sticky, arousal going cool between your thighs.
"I'm sorry for earlier…" you mumble. "I froze when that scaffolding fell. You got hurt because of me and you were right. I was weak."
Maul is quiet for a long moment. Then his hand rests on your cheek, forcing you to look at him.
"You froze because it matters to you that I live. That itself is not weakness. And I am not that easy to kill." His thumb brushes over your cheek. "Besides, your outburst led us to a desirable outcome, did it not?"
You laugh softly, and turn into the touch, placing a kiss on his palm.
Last year I did my first concept of mando Maul so for the next prompt of @maul-appreciation-week I wanted to share more about this concept.
Day 3: "Mandalore"
Last three months ago I was working on the design of this Maul. I did a few more concepts but at the end I decided to use this design (thanks for the votes on IG in that time).
For this AU where Maul adopts the mandalorian way after the comic "Son of Dathomir", Maul becomes more cruel in his attacks and tactics. He wears this mandalorian armor after meditating and thinking in everything he has lost after arriving on the planet. He still wants to destroy the sith but instead of the help of criminal syndicates completly, he decides to focus in the tools that he has in his hands: The darksaber and mandalorians who blindly follows the one who has it. "Tools" that's what he reduces this culture at first. "Maybe if I pretend to be the ruler they want for some time, until I get what I want, they will be usefull" he thinks and at the end he will dispose them...that's what he thought it would be.
At the end he will grow and his perspective will change. Revenge is still a goal but after spending some time with his mandos, learning more about the culture, seeing the honor, the courage that most of them had, he slowly change his perspective of live.
He still has a grudge of mandos, but I believe that with help he will understand that not every mando that are under his command follows him blindly, they trully believe that he is the ruler that everyone deserve. So I think he slowly will remember his names, their faces, they won't be their tools anymore.
The weight of being a ruler is in his shoulders and he'll realize that sacrificing everyone will be his doom. (He learn that to well after order 66. ) So he will take care of his mandos, being more counscious about his desitions, the sith ways will be vanish in years, not completly but in a lower opacity than before.
Speaking of order 66, his duel with Ahsoka is more harder and goes different, but that is something I want to show in a comic.
So what is doing Maul as mandalorian? His goal is to eliminate the clan of Bo-Katan completly, destroying the empire, growing his clan and survive. Killing Sidious is his goal at first, but soon he will recognize that it will be imposible and that his power will not be enough, still he doesn't throw everything he build, he stays.
