Prefer to be called: Aya (she/her/hers) - it's a shortening of my username for other things
Age: 25
Nationality: Thai-American
College Major: Graduated in 2024. BA in English, no official specialty but most of my classes revolved around fiction
Fun fact: I took classes on comics, fantasy fiction, romance fiction, film, epic poetry, & literary analysis, so my major and my writing hobby are really one and the same
Currently working on: Star Wars fics, main project: Maul x Inquisitor!Reader; Upcoming: The Mandalorian x Senator!Reader
We Live in Shadow (Maul x Inquisitor!Reader) [Pt. 3]
Synopsis: You've been without Maul nearly as long as you were with him. After the first time he came back from the dead and notably did not seek you out, the massage was clear that you weren't a priority of his. One would think growing up together would've earned you a radio transmission at least. Without his finest protege, Darth Sidious spared you - much to your dismay - and put you to work. A year after the birth of the Galactic Empire, you serve as one of the finest agents of the Inquisitorius hunting Jedi and enemies of the Emperor alike. Maul remains a wound that never fully heals. When you are given a mission to hunt and eliminate him and the Jedi he's allied himself with, you have to fight to avoid showing he caused you any pain at all.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, mentions of abuse (by Sidious to Maul & Reader), swearing
Chapters: First | Previous | Next (Coming soon!)
Your body tends to do things other than what your mind wants it to. Darth Sidious was always appalled by your weakness. You spent your youth fighting for any and every opportunity to prove him wrong. Every mocking laugh, every look of disdain drove you to madness. Each mistake was yet another piece of evidence proving his point.
You meant to leave Maul as soon as he woke up. He had other ideas, but was helpless to stop you, injured as he was. His pure, unadulterated despair at his disability pierces you through the chest. The horrific feeling of violation that comes with being robbed of one’s own limbs, never to be seen again. Frustration at his new legs, which are the only reason he can walk at all, yet they require constant, painful maintenance where one would think mechanical legs would be less painful.
The hopelessness of watching someone he’s raced countless times walk away on her own two legs while he cannot even stand to follow.
But then your footsteps came splashing through the light stream at the bottom of the underground tunnel. A shot of genuine joy cuts through Maul’s despair. You tuck your helmet under your arm and you glare down at him as if he were the one who prompted you to come back. In a way, he was.
“Can you stand?” you snap. You shake your head. “Actually, I don’t care. Get up.”
Maul needs no more prompting after you take his arm. He struggles to his feet with quiet groans of pain. A particularly loud wheeze escapes him when he puts weight on his injured leg.
You duck under his arm and let it drape across your shoulders. He is considerably taller than you remember, which you probably should have noticed when you were fighting him, but in your defense, you were preoccupied with not losing a limb to him.
You’re expecting to support most of his weight until his strength returns, and you stumble when Maul brings his other arm around and his hand finds the back of your head. Your arms find themselves pinned between you when crushes you to his chest, face buried in your shoulder.
For a moment you think he’s abandoned his years of training as a duelist in favor of just choking you to death. His grip is surely tight enough. Then your shoulder feels wet and logic tells you what’s going on, but you simply cannot believe it.
“Maul?” His name is barely audible as it leaves your lips. You’re forced to brace against his shaking knees.
Slowly, your arms snake around his middle. Nice and steady, like you’re afraid to spook him. Broad shoulders that once stood tall and proud tremble in your hold. Last you saw them was from behind as he walked up the ramp into the ship that would take him to Naboo. For many years, you believed that would be the last time.
Something muffled sounds from him and you have to gently coax his head up to hear clearly. When prompted, he repeats with a wavering voice, “I am so glad you survived.”
It’s a dangerous sentiment that could get you killed if Sidious were to root through your mind. At this point your self-control unravels by the second. You want to tell him you missed him too. That watching him get on that ship years ago was the hardest thing you’ve ever done. How nothing Sidious ever did to you since ever compared to the pain of hearing that he’d been slain by a Jedi.
How does a person tell someone all that? Where do you even start when you’ve spent the last several years caught between two minds: relief that he survived and bitter resentment that he never once thought of you.
It takes a moment for you to realize you’re just staring at him blankly. With him leaning against you, his scent of incense and something herbal threatens to overtake your mind completely. It’s about time you learned to tell him no for once.
“Come on,” is all you say, nudging him along. “I don’t like being underground.”
“I remember.”
It’s just like him to remember something like that. Even though your mild distaste for it has since evolved to a skin-crawling discomfort after you were assigned a mission in a network of underground caves during the Clone Wars. He knows everything about part of you, and that’s somehow worse than if he’d forgotten everything about all of you.
He stumbles and you put a hand on his broad chest. He’s forgone the old full-body robes he used to wear in lieu of a sleeveless tunic with no undershirt. His skin is blazing hot through your gloved hand, which makes you worry if injuries to mechanical legs can still develop infection.
“When you’re out of here, you need to get your legs fixed before you do anything else,” you lecture, irked by the fond look he gives you as you speak. “You may not be a Sith apprentice anymore, but any idiot knows that your body is your weapon and–”
“--weapons require meticulous maintenance. How could I forget?” Maul’s voice lilts with amusement. “I’ve only heard it a thousand times. Though I never thought I’d see the day you of all people quoted our Master’s teachings.”
“Well,” you grunt. “The old man is an evil bastard, but he’s right every now and again.”
There are so many things you could ask him about what happened on Naboo, what he’s been up to since, what his goals are now. In the end you have so much to ask that you ask nothing at all. You spend most of the trek towards the surface marvelling that he’s really here with you. Hope’s a bastard, but so is Maul, and time and time again he drags hope back to you by its scruff.
The injection you gave Maul does its job more and more as time goes on, and his breathing evens out enough that he relies less on you for support. Exhaustion weighs down his entire body, but you can see he’s trying to muscle through as always. His lack of rest is obvious to you, however, because Maul is relatively quiet on your journey when the Maul you remember refused to ever shut up.
When you glance up, you catch him eying the Imperial crest painted on your shoulder. Rather than open yourself up to a spiel you didn’t ask for, you feign ignorance of his line of sight, even when his stare drifts to your face and lingers there. He’d long since gotten into the habit, you’re just surprised it’s carried over.
“If you’re gonna keep staring, I’m putting my helmet back on,” you grumble. You should be used to it by now, but it still turns your ears hot when he looks at you like that.
When he calls your name, you pause. He takes you by the shoulders and you have to look up to meet his eye.
“Come home with me.” Former Sith Lord, once Darth Maul, does not beg nor plead, but this man sounds dangerously close. If you know anything, it’s that when people get vulnerable, they expect you to get vulnerable with them, which is not something you want to do now or ever.
You look at him like he’s insane. “Home to where? To Malachor? Neither of us have a home to return to. You know that.”
Disappointment floods his features at your words. “I have always– No, that doesn’t matter. You know Darth Sidious cares for nothing but power. I am living proof that once he’s exhausted your use, he will dispose of you. Join me, and we can rid the world of him. Of the Empire. Together, we can build a galaxy where children are not ripped from their homes by Sith nor Jedi. I understand that…” He takes a moment to compose himself. “I understand that we’ve been separated for a long time now, however–.”
“A long time doesn’t even begin to cover it!” You don’t need to be shouting, but you are, for some reason. It’s bubbling out of you independent of your control. “It’s been nearly two decades, Maul! I mourned you for half of that!” You shove him away from you, uncaring if he still needs you to stand. He stumbles back a few steps, but ultimately stays upright. “All this time, it’s been me and the Master, and each of the twisted apprentices he’s had since you, while you’ve been running around the galaxy making deals with crime lords and assassinating duchesses! And now you just waltz back in and say, “Hey! I’m not dead, I’m not sorry I didn’t call, help me fight The Dark Lord?””
Maul shakes his head. “Darth Sidious is but a man. A powerful one, but mortal nonetheless. As for your other point.” He takes a step forward. You move to retreat when his fingers brush your cheekbone featherlight. “Do you truly believe I never thought of you in all the time I’ve been away?”
Once, you might’ve melted at his tenderness. If he thinks you’re as hopeless against him as you were before, he’s sorely mistaken.
You have to bite your cheek to keep from yelling at him again. “I have no reason to think you did.”
“My dear Inquisitor.” Your title sounds foreign in his mouth. When did he get this close? Shift a bit and your foreheads will be touching. “When Kenobi cut me in half, I felt the white hot burn of his blade sever my legs from my body. The fall felt like it went on for days. I felt every lingering moment of it. Through my agony, I could only think of one thing.”
Your chest tightens. You want him to shut his mouth right this moment while at the same time you need to know his next words more than you need air. His gaze lingers, roaming down the slope of your nose, across your cheekbones, along the curve of your lips. He takes his sweet time. It makes you want him to shake him by the shoulders and demand he tell you.
“Step away from Lord Maul!” A feminine voice shouts. You spring away from Maul like his very presence is corrosive. Turning to the voice, you see a Mandalorian in red armor aiming a blaster at you, flanked by others of her kind and a lone zabrak. The mission brief did mention he and his brother are - were - twins, and even with the knowledge the resemblance is uncanny.
“Rook, stand down,” Maul commands.
You may have to thank Rook Kast for breaking you out of the trance Maul had you in. In lieu of thanks, you’ll do her one better by not mauling her on sight - no pun intended. An ugly feeling at the sight of her roils within you, soothed only in part by the fact that Maul hasn’t yet moved towards her. Rather, his feet stay firmly planted right by you, as they should be whenever you’re not trying to kill him. Actually, no, even then.
Rook hesitates for a moment, helmet turning ever so slightly between Maul and you. You look at her unimpressed.
“With your boss injured as he is, do you really want to challenge me right now?” you ask.
Whether it’s your threat or another nod from Maul, she slowly lowers her weapon while the others do the same. Pity. You could’ve used some stress relief.
Maul calls your name, though you only grunt instead of giving him your full attention. “You have yet to give me an answer.”
What part of “we have no home” did he not understand? There is nowhere you can run where Sidious would not find you. The old man singlehandedly manipulated the entire galaxy under his thumb. He’d won. Your own dreams of escaping him faded long ago. It’s a pointless endeavor.
When your lips begin to move, even you aren’t sure what you’re about to say. Your mind is ready to tell him no while some other part of you has other ideas.
Until Marrok’s voice crackles through your comm.
“If you’re dead, I will never forgive you!”
You gasp aloud. “Mar!” You raise your wrist to your lips. “Mar, you’re alright!”
You would love to be the mysterious, highly lethal inquisitor in front of Maul’s crew right now, but hearing from the other inquisitor brings you too much joy.
“It is about time you answered! Are you injured? Can you move?” he asks.
Maul watches you all but outright snarling. You hold his stare and reply, “Yes. A few bruises and a slight concussion, but–”
“There is no such thing! Rendezvous to my location immediately. We will return to base and seek medical attention before returning to the hunt.”
“Are you hurt?” You frown when he doesn’t reply. The lack of response tells you plenty and Maul’s crew flinches at the speed at which you put your helmet back on. It reseals to your armor with a soft hiss. Your answer becomes clear on Maul’s face, the disdain he holds for your partner giving way to a flat, impassive expression.
Back in the helmet comm, you tell Marrok, “I’m on my way.”
Meanwhile, Maul’s stare seems to penetrate through your helmet. Hurt radiates off him before any emotion cuts off completely. He nods once, then makes his way to Rook’s side. You are all puppets being played by the Emperor. You’ve long since resigned to playing your role. If nothing else, you like to think you’re quite good at it.
“Do your best to get some distance, okay?” You inject your voice with as much mocking cheerfulness you can muster. “Missions nowadays get so dull, Mar and I could use the challenge.”
The other zabrak shouts in rage, firing his blaster at you. You draw your blade and deflect the shot into the wall with a flick of your wrist. With a connection back online, you know just where to cut into the metal wall to give you direct access to an escape route. Your blade cuts through the metal like butter. Just before you jump through, you wiggle your fingers at the group.
“Until later.”
And then you’re gone.
No sooner are you out of sight that Rook and some of Maul’s entourage rush over to the hole you’d disappeared through.
“My Lord,” Rook says. “She is alone and injured. We outnumber her by far. If we pursue her, we have the greatest chance of having one less Inquisitor at our backs. We cannot let her go.”
Maul simply turns back the way they came. He limps on until Icarus moves to help him.
We Live in Shadow (Maul x Inquisitor!Reader) [Pt. 2]
Synopsis: You've been without Maul nearly as long as you were with him. After the first time he came back from the dead and notably did not seek you out, the massage was clear that you weren't a priority of his. One would think growing up together would've earned you a radio transmission at least.
Without his finest protege, Darth Sidious spared you - much to your dismay - and put you to work. A year after the birth of the Galactic Empire, you serve as one of the finest agents of the Inquisitorius hunting Jedi and enemies of the Emperor alike. Maul remains a wound that never fully heals. When you are given a mission to hunt and eliminate him and the Jedi he's allied himself with, you have to fight to avoid showing he caused you any pain at all.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, mentions of abuse (by Sidious to Maul & Reader), swearing
Chapters: First | Next
The only redeemable quality of Orsis Academy is that you got a room to yourself, and even that was sheer luck of the draw. Freedom from the old man’s constant yammering only became the constant yammering of other geriatrics who seem to get off on bossing people around. And the food’s not even good. Five years of this nightmare was enough to drive a person mad.
You recline against your headboard, tossing a small handball against the wall and catching it with the same hand. There wasn’t much on offer by way of entertainment if one didn’t find joy in running laps or sparring or meditating or any of the other mind-numbing exercises you do during the school day anyway.
Maul walks straight in without knocking.
“Go away,” you deadpan.
He shoves your legs aside and takes up way more than his fair share of space on your bed. When he snatches your ball out of the air, you don’t retaliate.
“Are you deaf?” you ask with a glare. He returns the expression in kind.
“Since when do you ever skip a meal?” He demands, to which you roll your eyes. “You eat like someone’s going to rip the food out of your mouth.”
Maybe he’s not deaf, but definitely dumb.
“Don’t think too hard or else smoke will come out of your ears.”
You sit up and snatch the ball out of his hand with half a mind to bounce it off his head. What does he care? You’re surprised he even noticed with the way things have been nowadays.
“You’re just upset Kilindi scored a point higher than you on the last exam,” Maul taunts. How brave. Brave but stupid. He’s been on the other side of that scathing look you’re giving him long enough to where it’s lost much of its effect.
“Just for that, next time we spar, I’m going to rip the little Nautolan’s stupid head-danglies off and beat her with them,” you hiss through clenched teeth. “I’ll let her know who to thank.”
No sooner has the threat passed your lips when the girl in question appears in your doorway, her fragile human companion lingering over her shoulder.
“There you are, Maul!” she says cheerfully. You grind your teeth at her ignorance of you despite this being your room.
Gesturing with her hand, she says, “We’re about to go play cards in my room for a bit before lights out. Come with us!” The invite is not extended to you, as expected.
You’re just about to shoo everyone out when Maul replies, “Go without me. I have plans.”
The girls visibly deflate, which you admit is satisfying to see, but they accept his rejection and move on without a word to you. Meanwhile, Maul shoves something into your chest before hopping off the bed to dig around in one of your drawers.
You take the object to find a neatly wrapped sandwich. From a glance, it looks like it has all the ingredients and condiments you would’ve put on it yourself. You stare at it like it’s going to bite you. Maul makes a sound of victory, holding up a pack of cards. He gets back on the bed, makes himself comfortable like he owns it, and starts shuffling the cards.
“Go spend your evening with someone who wants you,” you snap as he deals them out.
Maul doesn’t look up from his task. Picking up his hand, he says, “Do you have any sevens?”
~
You nearly eat shit when someone yanks the emergency stop cord on your treadmill. Your foot doesn’t respond to your command and you stumble just before a lifetime of training kicks in and you catch yourself. Hands clamped down on the side rails, you turn to glare at Marrok.
“Didn’t know you wanted to kill me that bad, Mar,” you greet him with a tense smile. It’s then that you finally register your burning lungs and your heart pumping so hard you taste blood.
“You would be the last to know,” Marrok says dryly. He tosses the cord aside. Leaning back against another machine, he asks, “The patrols found a new lead. We’re on.”
“Fine.” Sweat drips down your temples. It drenches your hand when you swipe it across your forehead. A sideways glance at the machine’s displays reveals you’ve been lost in your memories for over an hour. Your heart rate looks to have been at dangerous levels for the majority of that time. You’ll have to be more careful about that. Your hips are going to punish you severely for this in a few hours.
Marrok’s already battle ready, his armor arguably less imposing under the cheap cool lighting of the workout room. He may have his helmet on, but you can feel his judging stare.
You put a hand up and make it talk alongside your worst Marrok impression.
“Why are you exerting yourself outside the mission? We must be ready at all times! Meh meh meh!” you say with a low-effort imitation of his deep tone.
He crosses his arms, falling in step with you as you gather your things and head for the exit. “I make an excellent point, as usual. If you whine about being tired while we’re hunting Jedi, I’ll leave you behind.”
You rotate your ankle around. The blood vessels in your foot throb uncomfortably. Your own fault for daydreaming about idiotic memories that may as well belong to someone else.
“Fine, but if you can’t keep up with me, I won’t wait for you,” you say with a wink. It’s weak, you’re not even in the mood to plaster on a shit-eating grin and Marrok notices the inconsistency. His sigh comes out funny through the modulator.
“Just go wash up. I can’t sit in a shuttle with you like this.”
You give yourself a compulsory sniff. As you do, he wordlessly turns down the hall in the opposite direction. No doubt no matter how quick you shower, he’ll still have something to say when you regroup. You roll your eyes.
“Rude.”
Same old Maul. Always first to engage, last to retreat. In another life, he’d have made one hell of a hero. Then again, when it was the two of you plus the old man, he always rushed ahead of you because he was a little teacher’s pet with something to prove. You wonder if he’s really a good leader now or if he’s still trying to prove something about himself. To whom, you aren’t sure.
It’s like he’s trying to get himself killed. You watch from the ship as ground forces engage Maul and his group on the underground bridge. He defends their six until the last makes it past a gate before he goes through himself. No sooner does the gate close, separating the group from your forces behind them, that your ship descends to let you and Marrok out.
You land gracefully beside your partner. You cock a hip in wait for what Maul will do next. Maul growls and engages his weapon. The first thing he does is lead you away from the rest of his group. It’s an obvious play. You almost send Marrok along without you for a few minutes so you can give them a beating just on principle. Things as they are, you’re not in a good or bad enough mood for it, and you’d rather be fighting Maul anyway, so you elect to ignore his people for now.
You’re drawn to a lower section of bridge. Maul lets out a pained cry when he lands, his leg spasming and he grips it with his hand to stabilize it. The old man tolerated no signs of weakness. To hear him show any sort of pain makes those days feel light years away.
“Focus!” Marrok snaps through the comm. You push the thoughts aside and align with your partner to rush your opponent. He parries your strike before shoving Marrok away with a harsh force pulse.
“The narrow bridge is to his advantage,” you tell Marrok when he recovers. “Follow me.” Marrok takes off after you down the length of the bridge, Maul hot on your heels. He’s nothing if not consistent. Whip him up into enough of a frenzy and he’ll charge like a stampeding animal anywhere you lead him.
The skill gap is not so obvious with Marrok by your side in a two-on-one, but Maul is a better fighter than anyone has any right to be. He’d get so angry when you were younger whenever you picked up a skill faster than he did. It was infuriating to watch him silently seethe over you when you knew given time he’d surpass whatever natural affinity you had several times over. It took work, but he was always gifted through and through. Besides, he cared infinitely more than you did, which was at all, so it only made sense that he’d turn out to be the better of the two of you.
That fact didn’t ease the sting of how well he was holding up against both you and Marrok, even while injured. His mechanical legs spark and clank and whir wildly as he fends you off. Anyone who didn’t know better wouldn’t notice the momentary flashes of pain that cross his face nor the twitch in the one leg where Marrok kicked him.
Maul takes a slash at your arm so fast your blade has already intercepted it before you register it at all. You catch his blade between the two of yours, forcing them all downwards so Marrok can come around and plant a kick on the underside of Maul’s chin. He stumbles back with a growl.
You’re not fast enough to dodge his leg sweeping out and sending you onto one knee. Then Maul uses the force to slam you face first into the ground. Your teeth clack painfully against the inside of your helmet. You taste blood, vision swimming.
Maul stands over you as you roll onto your back. Half a second before you raise your blade to block his swing, Marrok jumps in and reengages him, pulling his attention off you. You’ll jump over the side of this platform before you let either of those two endure this fight longer than you, so you kick your legs and right yourself before charging back in.
Seeing you close in, Maul retreats through a waterfall that you didn’t even realize was there before now. You jump through first, followed by Marrok.
Water hisses into steam against your hot blades. You scan the caves. No sign of Maul. Marrok nods and the two of you split off, blades at the ready. You’re well-aware you’re not going to find him hiding behind any rocks. If he wanted to hide indefinitely, he could. It’s only a matter of time before he takes his window of opportunity and attacks. Which of you he’ll choose, though, you aren’t quite sure.
A large mass lunges down at you from above. You parry, gritting your teeth when you riposte directly into his waiting counter. You trade blows before Marrok comes out of hiding and lays Maul out flat on his back with a swift kick to the chest. Before he recovers, he forcefully sends him backwards into a rock. His body snaps back so violently even you hurt. When he tries to stand, his mechanical leg sparks and he drops to a knee.
There’s no honor in killing a man while he’s down, but you’re no paragon of morality nor have you ever been. There’s no honor in losing, either. Only death or humiliation.
So what’s wrong with you? Why can’t you move?
There is no force hold over you. No one holding you back. All there is is you, Maul, and the image of his leg giving out beneath him replaying itself in your mind.
Marrok charges ahead and engages, though not before Maul rallies himself. You curse yourself for your moment of hesitation. The old man has his faults, but it’s his harsh, exacting ways that made you strong. A moment of hesitation, a moment of mercy can alter the course of your entire life. Or end it.
The fight has crept closer to you - Marrok being ever the strategist - and you shake your head to drive self-doubt from your mind. When the moment arrives and Maul’s guard is too high, you strike, thrusting your blade into his leg where the metal instantly melts on contact.
A cry of pain so guttural it pulls an audible gasp from you claws its way from Maul’s throat. He falls to the ground, leg spasming against his will, hands clutching his own malfunctioning limb in an ineffective attempt to stifle it.
There is no mercy. Let the hate flow through you.
You take a step towards him.
“You were the old man’s perfect apprentice! No one compared to you!” Your voice wavers under the exertion of keeping it level. “So how is it that you’re here with your own body working against you?” you demand to know. Someone must have these answers. It’s not you, so it must be him.
He remains silent. How ironic when he loves talking as much as he does. You can’t bear to look at him any more. Not when he looks up at you with that pathetic look on his face. The one without a trace of blame or ire at the sight of you. He’s the only one.
The quickest way to get him to stop is to close those golden eyes forever. You cross your blades, ready to separate his head from his shoulders when something bashes into you from the side. You go careening off into a rock, once again smacking your head against the hard surface.
You look to see Marrok about to send an orange zabrak to meet his maker. The man is a good partner and an excellent Inquisitor, but you simply cannot allow him to take this kill from you. No one is allowed to disrespect you and avoid death by your hand.
Connecting your two lightsabers, you order, “Back.” Marrok immediately jumps away from his opponent.
You’d never thrown your lightsabers like Maul had before, but there’s a first time for everything. The dual blades spin in a stunning arc of red light. The force guides it in a perfect elliptical straight through the zabrak at the waist. You’ll have to thank Maul later for that new addition to your repertoire.
The zabrak collapses and you send his body out the way it came with a flick of your wrist. A faint cry of anguish comes from that direction, but it’s his fault for getting involved in the first place. One would think he’d be more skilled when he so readily took on two Inquisitors.
Maul watches his kin’s body be tossed aside like common refuse. His expression completely crumples in pain. You wonder what you looked like when the old man broke the news of Maul’s own “death” to you.
You wait for the buzz of satisfaction to take effect. In his absence, he developed companions on his own while all you had was the old man and the mind games he plays. This loss is not a fraction of what you felt since he’s been gone.
But the feeling never comes.
Maul kneels on the ground, shoulders slumped. Slowly, his hands raise higher and higher. You take an instinctual step back. Surrender? You don’t think Maul knows the word.
“There is no surrender,” Marrok says as he advances on Maul, blades spinning. “The Emperor wants you dead.”
You dash forward. “Marrok, wait!”
“Likewise,” Maul growls. The walls and ceiling begin to crack. As rocks and debris rains down, you use the force to keep the worst of it off Marrok as best you can all while closing the distance between you and Maul. His will to survive is greater than anyone’s you’ve ever encountered. You won’t be crushed so long as you’re near him.
He sees you coming and dashes toward the back of the cave system with you hot on his heels. You hold protection around Marrok as long as you can before the space between you becomes too great.
“You better be alive!” you shout into the mic.
A heavy groan sounds in your ears and you can only count on one hand times you’ve ever been happier.
“Ew,” you mutter to yourself. Did you really just think that?
“What do you mean ‘ew’?” he snaps. “Keep after him! I didn’t get crushed for nothing!”
Ahead of you, Maul jumps off a ledge in an effort to shake you. You smile to yourself knowing the gap is closing. He hasn’t outrun you since you were in your teens.
“Right, I was busy not doing that,” the sarcasm rolls off your tongue. “Don’t worry, I basically have him.” The ledge approaches and you jump, aiming for the next surface.
Except there isn’t one. You find yourself in what must be hundreds of feet worth of freefall. You shriek in terror and Marrok calls your name in a voice with something suspiciously reminiscent of concern.
You tumble through the air head over feet. Below you, Maul braces his lightsaber as the two of you approach a sudden stop. As he breaks the surface, you stick out both hands in an attempt to use the force to slow you down. The wind whistling through your air intake bellows instead of shrieks. You pass through the hole Maul made only to strain under the exertion of keeping your body from impacting the immovable force that is the ground. Every muscle, sinew, ligament, and bone within you screams in pain.
Finally you crash into the ground, tumbling what feels like thirty feet. For what feels like the millionth time today, your head impacts the ground with every bounce. To add insult to injury, you finally come to a stop in what may or may not be sewer water.
You let out a wheezing groan. One wrist protests with impunity when you roll it, but at least it responds. The other dangles numb and useless.
Your wrist joint locks with a faint click and immobilizes your injury. Those Empire engineers definitely earn their keep.
“Hey, Mar? You alive up there?” The only thing that responds is dripping water further down the tunnel you’ve found yourself in. “Mar, if you can hear me, hit comm three times.”
Nothing. You must be too far down.
You gingerly get to your feet and thank your lucky stars - who normally do not tend to earn their keep - that none of your lower extremities seems to be broken beyond use. The fact that you were mostly intact previously was likely a factor.
The same can’t be said for Maul, who was on his last legs when he fell, no pun intended. You whip around to find him facedown not far from where you fell originally. Legs weak, you stumble over to him, letting out a shout of frustration at your blurry vision. You remove your helmet and throw it aside as you kneel at his side.
“Maul?” you say softly as if being too loud will be the thing that knocks him dead.
When you roll him onto his back, you’re relieved to find no massive hemorrhaging. He’s fully unconscious, yet somehow still looks to be in acute pain - brows pinched and expression wavering. His legs glitch and twitch completely separate from the stillness of his organic half. Upon examination, you click your tongue at their abysmal lack of maintenance. They’re a master craftwork with novice-level repairs, complete with shoddy welding and scrap metal that scavengers wouldn’t look twice at. Then there’s the gaping hole in them courtesy of yours truly. You run your fingers along the ragged edge. They spark and you yank your hand back as his whole body spasms.
The pain squeezes a heavy wheeze from his lungs. You can hear his teeth grinding together from where you’re keeling. Watching him when he was once the old man’s perfect apprentice - the one all subsequent followers of Sidious contained aspects of - is too much for you.
You produce a medicated syringe from a compartment in your armor. You feel along his upper thigh to his hip. It, too, is metal and the mechanical lower half turns out to take up much more real estate than you thought. The fact that he survived such an injury is nothing short of a miracle. To have survived, thrived, and competed with agents of the Imperial Inquisition is a feat you have no choice but to give him full credit for.
So that rules out the preferred injection site. No matter. His tunic is mostly open-chested anyhow, so it doesn’t take much to tug at the bottom of the V and expose his well-toned stomach. Looks like prosthetic legs lead a person to focus on other parts of their body instead. You inject the medication and within moments the perpetual scowl melts off his lips. His brows unfurrow, his breath evens out. He looks younger without it, though the years that have passed still show on his mature face. With him this close, he doesn’t feel real. You mourned his loss for years before rumors of a red zabrak terrorizing the intergalactic crime communities surfaced. Even though you never reunited during the Clone Wars, his return made it seem as though the fates’ vendetta against you was not absolute. Until the news of the zabrak’s disappearance came around and you went through losing him a second time. The old man laughed and called you pitiful. Dooku was less antagonistic, but he was no ally of yours.
Dark circles mar his undereyes. Though it pains you to say so, each hit you landed on him today would have been impossible against him in peak condition.
Having nightmares again? I don’t blame you.
You brush the back of your fingers against his jaw, down his nose, along his cheekbones. He’s real. He’s alive.
You can’t kill him here. That much you can admit to yourself. Ten minutes and several stories ago you might have. But to have him die alone down here without even knowing what’s going on is simply too cruel a fate for someone who struggles so valiantly.
Nor can you leave him alone down here. Not unconscious. Who knows what creatures reside in the dark waiting for vulnerable prey? Marrok will be throwing a fit right now, and you’d really rather not face his wrath. You lean over Maul, calling out to him.
“You need to wake up now, Maul,” you say. “Wake up.”
Maul avoids sleep because his nightmares force him to relive the most agonizing moments of his life. One would think living each experience was enough, but no, his own mind seems hell-bent on reminding him how powerless he’s been over the years.
Sometimes he’d have nightmares of the day Savage was slain. The Emperor’s chilling laughter alongside his brother’s final words echoing his ears. The day he was taken from his mother is a less common occurrence, though its rarity only aggravates the wound. Other times he’ll be betrayed by his allies or bisected by Kenobi. His mind wants for nothing when it comes to traumatic events in Maul’s life and starves for memories of peaceful times.
In quiet moments he thinks of you.
Asleep he has no control over his dreams. When he meditates, he lets go of the pain of the past, the present, the inevitable anguish of the future. Instead he can reminisce in memories of happier times. Or happy as they can be given the circumstances, and the majority of such memories just so happen to include you.
You’re not much older than twenty and the scar across your lips has fully healed. You’ve grown calmer with age, more inclined to entertain yourself while you and Maul carry out the Master’s bidding. Maul looks on as you shrug your tunic back on after a lengthy sparring session, leaving it partially undone to allow your sweat to evaporate against your hot skin. His gaze traces along your collarbones and the exposed part of your upper chest. White hairline tracks trace their way in and out of each other in a violent lightning storm. Neither of you make quite so many mistakes any more, though that doesn’t stop the Master from keeping on with your punishments for something or other.
“Yeah, yeah, go on and gloat,” you fake a dramatic sigh. “Add another tally to your win streak.” You turn away to get a drink of water, but he still catches the quirk of your lips.
“A Sith lord does not gloat. Victory is inevitable.” He rests his hands behind his back. “That makes fourteen in a row, by the way.”
You snort. “How humble you are, Lord Maul.” You flop down on your back in the middle of the training circle.
Maul walks over to stand above you. He hopes the flutter in his stomach at your use of his title isn’t too obvious.
“One of us has to be,” he deadpans.
You pat the ground beside you. While Maul would never do such a thing during training, the Master didn’t seem to care what you did after you finished for the day. He obliges you, settling perhaps closer to you than expressly necessary when there was an entire practice ground around you.
Maul waits for a witty retort that never comes. He looks over to see you staring at the night sky streaked with green and purple and red intertwined with the distant cosmos. Your brooding is a rare break from your constant chatter, but the silence proves unpleasant.
“What are you thinking about?” he hazards to ask.
You don’t say anything for a while and he worries he’s upset you somehow. He’s not sure what he possibly could have done in the last five minutes to earn the silent treatment, but he’s no stranger to your moods.
“This is nice,” you finally remark. Maul remains silent in waiting for your follow-up. His patience is awarded soon after. “Life nowadays is just so boring. We do as the old man says day in and day out, we train, we eat and sleep when time allows, and when we’re done, the cycle starts over again. It’s so monotonous I could die.”
“Death seems like it would be the last thing to solve your problem,” Maul replies to which you wave a hand dismissively.
“But then I’d be dead and I wouldn’t have to worry about it,” you respond. You breathe in the night air, letting the breeze caress your face. “When we’re on separate missions, it’s boring, even if I’m getting shot at the entire time. But when we’re training or on the same mission, it’s fun again. Except I never get to see you any more because you’re busy prepping for the grand reveal.”
Maul spares a glance at you. The lights around the training grounds cast a shadow on your face while you purse your lips.
“Anyway, we’ll only get less time together moving forward, so I just wanted to say thank you for the time we got,” you finish without pausing for breath, talking so fast he struggles to decipher what you’re saying. Even though the words are clear, Maul is unnerved by the sentiment. This line of thought is both uncharacteristic and too close to a goodbye for comfort.
Maul struggles to find the right words. “When I return from Naboo–”
His mouth snaps shut when you roll over and prop yourself up above him. The lights around the training ground halo around your face. Your body heat burns him through your tunic. Maul holds his breath as you slowly lean down towards him.
“Maul,” you whisper.
“Yes?” It feels like his chest weighs a million pounds. He can’t get a steady breath and fears he won’t hear your next words over the rapid drumbeat of his hearts.
“You need to wake up now, Maul.” Your voice is now harsher, more tired. Maul rarely gets the pleasure of having this dream, but the moment is seared into his memory. Back then, you’d said–
“Wake up.”
When Maul’s eyes flutter open you let out a sigh of relief. You’re not sure what you would’ve done if he’d ended up in a longer coma. To hand him over to the Empire would be to kill him, but you’d be out of a job and a pulse if you brought him back to his crew.
Golden irises look up at you in wonder. In his weakened state, his thoughts flow through the force with ease.
“So I’ve perished.”
You look at him wondering just how hard he hit his head.
“You’re not dead, idiot!” you inform him with very little patience afforded to someone who fell down a chasm. You have that right considering you fell down that same chasm.
Maul’s wits return to him over the next few moments, but instead of getting up, he lies back down and closes his eyes.
“No!” you yelp. “No, no, don’t go back to sleep! Otherwise you might not wake up. We probably have concussions.”
It takes him some time to rally himself enough to sit up onto his elbows, only to promptly lower himself back down and close his eyes again. He cracks an eye open.
“What do you mean ‘we’? Are you hurt?” This time he actually sits up to take you by the chin, slightly tilting your bruised face back and forth in search of substantial damage. You brush his hand off.
“I’m fine! My vision’s barely blurry!” you huff.
“Blurry?!”
“Anyway!” You stand, brushing invisible dirt off your armor. “Now you’re awake, it would be too easy to try and kill you now, so today’s your lucky day! You have a little head start while I meet back up with Marrok. Try to make finding you a bigger challenge, ok? Mar could use the enrichment.”
Waves of Maul’s irritation and disgust radiate off him. Riling him up is just too easy, as it always has been. Him and that pride of his. While he wrestles with his emotions, you turn with a wave over your shoulder. Once you’re topside, your comms should come back in and you’ll have to convincingly lie to Marrok about why your comms were down for so long.
“Wait!” Maul tries to come after you, but his leg sparks and he drops back down into the stream of water under him. The ensuing splash gets into his open circuits, further damaging the electronics. He lets out a guttural cry of pain, clenching his thigh.
It pains you to see him this way, though it shouldn’t. You’re always coming after him, but after he came back from the dead, he couldn’t even send you a message. Even without that, you and him are no longer on the same side. He’s built multiple enterprises without you and you are a damn fine Inquisitor.
And if you don’t walk away now, who knows if you’ll be able to later.
And so he watches you walk away, physically unable to follow. His despair and sorrow cuts through you long after you’re out of view.
We Live in Shadow (Maul x Inquisitor!Reader) [Pt. 1]
Synopsis: You've been without Maul nearly as long as you were with him. After the first time he came back from the dead and notably did not seek you out, the massage was clear that you weren't a priority of his. One would think growing up together would've earned you a radio transmission at least.
Without his finest protege, Darth Sidious spared you - much to your dismay - and put you to work. A year after the birth of the Galactic Empire, you serve as one of the finest agents of the Inquisitorius hunting Jedi and enemies of the Emperor alike. Maul remains a wound that never fully heals. When you are given a mission to hunt and eliminate him and the Jedi he's allied himself with, you have to fight to avoid showing he caused you any pain at all.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, mentions of abuse (by Sidious to Maul & Reader), swearing
Chapters: Next
Note: Underlying themes compare Maul's experience with Reader's - Maul got away from his abuser (mostly) while Reader didn't, so it's a little character study about that. That said, Reader is NOT a nice person, so be forewarned.
Running is genuinely one of the worst things that ever happened to you and it’s not even close. Pair that with the weight and rigidity of your armor - which, by the way, is not very breathable - and you’ve got a recipe for misery and despair.
You check your comms for your partner’s location. It pings just beyond your current position, less than halfway down the track from the next station. When the headlights appear, you take a running start and jump, landing perfectly on the next train car.
It’s much smoother sailing from there. All you have to do is make some forward progress while the train moves under you. Soon enough, the blinking red dot on your comm gets closer until you hear the distinct sound of lightsabers clashing. You draw your own weapon. The fight is obscured by some taller train cars, which gives you a perfect entrance. You focus on lowering your force signature as much as possible. In doing so, you won’t be able to sense him until you see him, but judging from the breakneck speed of the fight, his presence is definitely within the realm of possibility.
Taking another running start, you jump, using the force against the ceiling of the tunnel to propel you downwards. Bending your knees, you collide directly with the largest target, one knee to the upper chest, the other direct to sternum. As they start to fall, you use your quarry as a launch pad, arching your back so you flip backwards and land side-by-side with your partner.
“Took you long enough,” Marrok’s voice sounds from inside your helmet. You huff through your nose.
“Sorry I can’t always miraculously be in the right place at the right time,” you retort. If he replies, it’s lost on you when you focus back on your quarries.
One is the pink twi’lek you’d been briefed on. She stands battle-ready, though her face reflects the dire situation she’s in now that you’ve joined.
The other is someone you’d have made good money on if you were a betting woman. No one understands that the man’s much too stubborn to die. Or death just refuses to have him. Either works.
You do not afford yourself time to take in your reunion. You’ll be able to get a good long look at him when he’s bleeding out on the floor of this train car. Or not bleeding, you suppose, since your blade would cauterize the wounds.
Maul’s managed to catch himself on a stack of crates instead of being laid flat out by the entire force of your body weight. Impressive, but it gives you the perfect opening. You rush forward, aiming for a downward slash from his shoulder to hip. Typically, you’d make Marrok take the harder fight since you can’t be assed, but you’re curious to see what Maul’s picked up since you last saw each other. He’s been all over the galaxy, he must have something fresh and entertaining for you. That, and the longer Marrok fights the kid without defeating her, the more you can make fun of him for it later.
To no one’s surprise, Maul manages to raise his lightsaber in time. Yours bounces right off. You pull back to prevent the recoil from sending your swing too wide. Not a moment later, you instinctively block a counterattack that would’ve separated your arm from your torso. Maul, that brute, forces your blade down. The motion brings both your bodies closer to where you can smell the ashy smell of incense on him.
His brow furrows and his eyes lock on something beyond the front of your helmet. If you didn’t know any better, you'd think he could see through it. Before he can think too hard, you hop back and shove him back with a swift kick to the chest.
If you were someone else, maybe you’d take a moment to emote. If you had that moment, you’d have more time with your thoughts on seeing Maul again for the first time in what must be nearly two decades. At this point, you’ve lived without him close to as long as you lived with him. But the notion is ridiculous, so you toss it aside like garbage.
Two clicks crackle from your comms. You drop down into a split just as Marrok flips over you. You slash at Maul’s legs on the way down, which he narrowly avoids. On the way back up, you swing a leg around to engage the twi’lek girl, who you think must’ve been holding her own against Marrok pretty well if he’s choosing to switch, which is hilarious, but will be less funny if you don’t do any better.
She just barely manages to get back in time to dodge your upward slash. Behind you, you hear Marrok’s lightsaber’s auto-spinning feature engage and can’t help but chuckle to yourself. You even risk a glance back over your shoulder to see Maul’s look of disgust and disbelief.
Absolutely priceless. You’re going to replay the helmetcam footage of that expression before you go to bed every night. You knew he’d hate that shit.
You block another slash from your opponent. Deflecting the blade down, you sock her in the face with your off-hand. Her head snaps to the side and you wonder if you should feel bad about cold-clocking a child, but then again, you’d have a hard time doing your job if you had a tendency to feel bad about things.
She attacks, you dodge and before she can recover, you backhand her clean across the opposite cheek hard enough to send her careening into the side of the train car. She catches herself while you wait a moment for her to get up. You wouldn’t want the fight to be over before she shows you everything she can do. Something about her must be special to have caught Maul’s attention.
To her credit, she recovers sooner than you’d have guessed and reengages you. As the fight goes on, your individual battles swap places to where you and the twi’lek are towards the back of the train car. You click your comms twice and take a step back until you and Marrok are back to back. He bends at the waist while you propel yourself over him, bringing a foot down over top of Maul’s head. He jumps back. You miss his nose by a hair, which is unfortunate since you’d be glad to crush in that handsome face.
“I should have known,” Maul grits out. “That one day, you’d be haunting me as well.”
Damn, what gave you away?
If he’d taken a swing at you just then, you’d have been a goner. His voice was the one thing that wavered in your memories. It had been so long that you couldn’t remember the exact tone. For a moment, you’re a young teenager again and Maul’s grumbling at you for upsetting the old man for the nth time.
What a pathetic thing to remember.
Then the moment’s over and the heat of a blade threatens to singe your eyebrows off. You drop to the ground just as Maul’s lightsaber sails in a round, horizontal arc right past your face.
You spare a glance back and Marrok’s hopped back a car to avoid that strike. He stalks forward while you turn back to Maul, wondering how to best make him suffer before he meets his end. Then the sound of burning metal fills your nose and you look back to see Marrok and the other car getting smaller in the distance, the jedi girl standing at the connection with hot metal still dripping from it.
Well. Can’t say you would’ve thought of that yourself.
You snort. Thankfully no one can hear you from inside your helmet unless you make it so, though you’re sure Maul sees your shoulders shaking.
“Shut up and focus,” Marrok says over comm.
“Have a fun walk back, Mar!” you say through laughter.
“I hope they run you through.”
“Dream on.”
Now that you don’t have to worry about working in tandem, you can afford to get a little rough. With both of them on you, you engage your other blade, detaching the two from each other. You jump straight up in the air, rotating in place to plant a solid kick to the side of the jedi girl’s head. She impressively manages to duck out of the way. The two of them waste no time rushing you when you intercept both their thrusts with either of your blades.
You’d prefer to duel with just Maul to satisfy your curiosity of what he’s learned during your extended time apart. There was a time when he refused to stray very far from the style the old man taught you. Oh well. You’ll get another shot another time.
You duck to avoid the jedi girl’s swing from behind. Just as you do, Maul plants a solid knee into your chest. Retreating from both of them, you clutch your aching breast.
“Damn it, Maul! Are we serious?” Your shout comes out modulated, but not so much that you don’t confirm his suspicions, judging by his sharp intake of breath.
“So it is you,” he says breathlessly. “You’re alive.” You roll your eyes, straightening up with one fist planted on your hip.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you sass back. “For the record, I never doubted you for a second. Death wouldn’t want you.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“If you need one that bad.”
You glance over at the human boy, who is not too far away, yet is still foolish enough to poke his head out from behind his cover. The twi’lek tenses when she sees your line of sight, but you really can’t be bothered. There will be better opportunities to run them all through. This one lacks aesthetics.
Devon fights to keep from trembling when the Inquisitor leans in close. She’d like to drive her lightsaber straight into her torso at this distance, but she can’t even bring herself to move. The other Inquisitor was a savage opponent and would have killed her if Maul hadn’t intervened, but this one? This one slapped her across the face. Toying with her. Like a loth cat playing with its food.
“Hilarious move against my partner just now.” Her voice is jarringly cheery for someone who was just trying to kill them. “He’s going to be pissed about that for weeks.” Then something in the way she holds herself shifts and she leans in close to Devon’s ear. This time her voice comes out freezing cold. “But if you ever do that shit again, I’ll rip off your stupid head-danglies and beat you to death with them.”
Yes, an Inquisitor is a formidable opponent. But at least the other fought her straight up. He’s one who takes his profession seriously. This one makes it seem like people’s lives are but a game to her. Devon had only felt such fear when she first met Maul.
The Inquisitor straightens back up, loose and playful again.
“Well, this was fun. Let’s do this again sometime!” she cheers and gives a mock salute. “See you soon, Maul. Pinky.” Then she vaults over the side of the moving train and is out of sight.
Devon stares after her in disbelief. Rylee creeps out from his hiding spot in similar shock.
“She let us go?” comes his hushed whisper. The boy is unharmed, though visibly shaken by the sight of the two jedi hunters.
Meanwhile, Maul continues staring at the side rail where the woman had disappeared. Instead of launching into another long-winded lecture, he grips his lightsaber so hard Devon thinks he could crack it.
“You’re shaking.” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. Whatever. He was shaking, even if he stopped the moment she’d said as much.
“Ridicuous,” Maul snaps. His mind seems to stray elsewhere again before he shakes his head like he’s trying to get water out of his ears. “Follow me.”
You and Marrok regroup and have an uneventful return to the ship. The shuttle itself is cramped, bare-bones, not designed for comfort. It has two long benches to sit on either side with no seatbelts. If the thing has to brake, you’ll be careening face-first into the glossy white wall. It’s narrow enough to where you and Marrok have to sit on opposite diagonal ends so your knees don’t clack together.
You remove your helmet while you have the time. As you run a handkerchief over your sweaty neck, you feel Marrok’s gaze on you.
“Can I help you?” you ask without looking over. You crane your neck to the side until you hear the vertebrae crack like a glowstick. That’s what you get for not stretching enough before missions.
“You know Maul. From before,” he states. His unspoken question lingers, though you’d rather he just come out and ask if he really takes issue with it.
Your head lolls over to look at him.
“We’re not really doing this, are we, Mar?” you whine. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about what we were doing before this. That’s, like, the crux of our working relationship.”
Straightening up, you twist your upper body to the side as far as it will go. Your spine popping echoes off the shuttle walls.
“That’s what you get for not stretching enough before missions,” he deadpans, adding insult to injury when he doesn’t deign to dodge the light kick you aim at his ankle.
“Bite me,” you shoot back. You meant what you said when you didn’t want to talk about it. You don’t pry into his past so he doesn’t do the same. But he is your favorite of the other Inquisitors by far and some part of your black heart feels obligated to reassure his, unfortunately, completely valid concern.
Crossing your arms, you sigh and slump a little in your seat.
“He hated me then, I’d be shocked if he didn’t hate me now, and it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other, we’re practically strangers anyway. When the time comes, I’ll kill him no matter our history. Cool?”
Marrok almost imperceptibly tilts his head to the side. He stares in silence long enough that you have to suppress the urge to shift under his scrutiny. Does he not believe you? Does he think you’ll hesitate?
Finally, he says, “I didn’t need your whole life story. I was just wondering if we’d have to swap you out with someone less involved. I think the Eleventh Brother is about to be done with his previous mission.”
You balk. “You’re the one that asked!”
He shrugs. “I just wanted to know if we’re going to have a problem. You knew what I was asking. I didn’t need the extra context.”
You kick him in the ankle again. He lets you.
“I hate you,” you hiss, crossing your arms and turning to face the wall.
“Yeah, yeah. I don’t know why I asked. No one with half a brain would be worried that you of all people wouldn’t be able to kill someone.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
Marrok prefers to give the report when you update your superiors, which is fine by you, especially if a mission goes poorly. He’s very particular about admin. Verbal, written, whatever, and in your opinion, if he’s going to be so stiff about it, it should be his problem.
The two of you always draw stares when you walk down the halls of the spacecraft. You, because you act nothing like the other Inquisitors with your hands laced behind your head and an easy stride. Him, because he’s the First Brother, straight-backed and imposing. And he’s tall with a deep voice, so that’s a factor.
“Canteen after this? Or should we go off-station?” he asks.
You raise a brow. Did someone replace him while you weren’t looking? “You’re letting me pick? You have never let me choose where we eat, not even once! You’d order for me if I let you.”
He rolls his eyes so hard his head moves with it. “Never mind.”
“Wait, no, I wanna pick!”
You’re not a square like Marrok, but you shut up when you turn the corner before the conference room. Even you don’t have a death wish. There’s a hiss of pressure when the double doors slide open for you. The two of you enter and take a knee. When the hologram appears, you bow your head in respect. You stay down while your partner looks back up for the report.
“My lord, we can confirm the presence of Maul,” he says.
Right. That. You sure can confirm Maul’s alive and well. Not that you doubted him. He’s always been stubborn like that. As Marrok gives the report and asks your superior how to proceed, the nausea-adjacent feeling returns to you.
For someone who’s died more than once since you’d last seen him, he was just as he appeared in your memory. Maybe his horns were more developed, his figure filled out, evidence of the last almost twenty years painted across his more mature features, but to you, he was the same little zabrak boy that used to tear up with frustration whenever you’d beat him at petty childhood competitions.
Thinking of Maul again causes phantom pain to ghost along the seams of your mind. The old man had a vicious teaching style with a soft spot for psychic rendings. Whenever you made a mistake, you’d be mentally flayed until you ached for days. Whenever Maul made a mistake, you’d get the same. Not to say he never got his, but the old man had a particular sadism he reserved only for you. After Maul’s death, the practice died down significantly since no subsequent apprentice gave a shit about you.
You’ve been refusing to acknowledge the implications of that.
“By your leave, My Lord.” Marrok’s parting formalities cue you to focus back up. Once dismissed, you can’t get out of there fast enough. Marrok, to his credit, says nothing about your haste.
“So what’s the deal?” you ask so you can focus on something, anything else. “We’ve got this covered. They see that, right?”
Marrok clicks his tongue. “Yes, we have discretion. And you– Were you even listening?”
“No.”
Marrok pinches his helmet where his nose would be. “Sometimes I wonder how you ever learned to fight when you have the shortest attention span in the known galaxy.”
You give him a one-armed shrug. “One of life’s many mysteries. Can we go now? I’m so hungry I’m about to go non-verbal.”
“Promise?”
“You’d be so bored.”
“Not at all.” He gestures for you to lead the way and the two of you make for the ship’s exit. Off-station it is.
Your mind has always been one to wander. What frustrates you is the old habit of your mind wandering back to the same place over and over again.
No matter. Once you kill him, you’ll be able to focus again.
(Note: With the ideas I have for this AU, it will NOT be in the same universe as the Sen / Ex-Husband Gojo universe. And this may be pt. 6 but this is where I actually have an idea of where the overall plot is going. Enjoy!)
Imagine you were merely acquaintances with Hiromi Higuruma until he became your ex's lawyer when you and ex-husband Geto got divorced.
Everyone around you called you a wounded animal. No one could remember seeing you outside your office in months. Even the cleaning staff had muttered among themselves about emptying your small trash can piled high with crumpled coffee cups each and every day. Your caseload was higher than ever and you'd been just shy of outright uncooperative in court.
Yuki would text you every day for signs of life and when you wouldn't reply, she'd taken to having your assistant give her regular updates on your wellbeing. You appreciated her efforts deep down, but every message from her was one more message that wasn't from Suguru.
He hadn't said a word to you since you decided to separate. You don't know why the two of you even bothered with a separation when the writing was clearly on the wall. You were too prideful to suggest marriage counseling, even if he had seemed like he'd be amenable to it.
There'd been a light knock on your office door and only a moment before it opened. Your assistant had grown accustomed to your silence lately and knew not to be offended by it.
When Hiromi Higuruma stepped through the door, your heart sank into your stomach. The hairs on your arms stood up and something inside you just knew what was in that file under his arm.
You'd been running on fumes trying to occupy yourself in order to outrun that ugly feeling of inadequacy Suguru had left you with. Too stressed to even sit down while you worked, your desk chair sitting forgotten in some corner. But like any long run, you were exhausted. Exhausted from going home to an empty penthouse void of any of his belongings as if he were never there. Like you imagined the last several years with him and everything he ever said to you was just hallucinations.
Hiromi Higuruma was a respectable lawyer. You'd always thought so, even back in law school together, even if you never told him as much. Suguru chose well as per usual.
Bracing your hands on your desk, you hung your head between your arms. A dull pain scraped along the length of your heart. With it, though, came the faintest sensation of relief that it was finally over. The definitive moment where hope died brought some comfort that it wasn't suffering any more.
Wordlessly, you held out a hand. To your surprise, Higuruma didn't force you through the formalities of serving divorce papers and quietly gave you the file. He knew you knew what was inside.
When you looked up, he looked about the same as ever. The same calmness in his eyes except a lot more tired than he was when you two were in your early twenties. The sides of his arched nose were red like he'd been rubbing it. Past him, in the glass of your office windows, you looked much worse for wear. Shirt and blazer crisp and not a hair out of place - with your life spinning out of control the least you could do was keep up appearances. Some things, though, like divorcing the love of your life, couldn't be controlled. Eyes haunted with dark circles, skin ashen with lack of sleep, it was obvious to anyone who spared you a second glance that you were nearly at your breaking point.
You gestured to the padded chair in front of your desk, which he took. His relative ease in your presence helped to calm your frazzled nerves. Lately people approached you slowly, carefully. Like you really were a wounded animal who may snap at any moment rather than a grown adult who may be coping poorly, but at least had the faculties to not lash out. Perhaps some people's perceptions could not be changed.
Flipping open the folder, you asked, "What does he want?" Other than your soul, you supposed, since he took it with him.
Higuruma's voice was huskier than you remembered. He likely used a clearer, more professional sort of tone in court. "Not much. Essentially, he wants to leave the marriage with what he went in with," he replied to which you scoffed.
"He needed someone with your talents for something as simple as that?" You skimmed each page, each of which confirmed what Higuruma told you. He sat in polite silence while you scratched your signature on each dotted line. Opening your desk drawer, you fished out your wedding band and engagement ring and put both on the desk.
Hirguruma eyed them warily. "Geto said you'd try to give those back and he said not to accept them."
"I don't care. If he doesn't take them back, I'll--"
"You'll throw them in the river or in a sewer or onto the train tracks?" He gives you a wry smile.
Part of you was ready to be annoyed while another part can't help but crack a weak smile for the first time in what felt like forever. "The sewer's not a bad idea. I didn't think of that. Did Suguru tell you I'd say that?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "No. That's just what I'd do if I were you."
On that note, you wrapped up the bulk of the paperwork in record time. Higuruma took the file back seeming pleased with the ease of the transaction.
"Now that that's out of the way, do you have time for an old classmate?" he asked. At your questioning look, he continued, "A few weeks ago, I sat in on one of your court cases where you cited a precedent from 1971. I wanted to pick your brain about it."
It would be inaccurate to say he was a cold person back in law school, though many interpreted his behavior as such. No-nonsense described him to a tee. Which was why his subtle attempt to comfort you came at such a surprise. Not to mention he kept your focus on your chosen distraction - work - and made no move to remove you from your office - your safe space. It was a grace you didn't realize you needed.
You and Higuruma only saw each other a few times a month, usually in passing. Somehow he understood you and how you needed to operate better than people you'd lived with your whole life. Better than someone you'd promised your whole life to.
Imagine sometimes you flirt with your co-worker Higuruma to get on ex-husband Geto's nerves, but you didn't expect it to backfire.
Higuruma rolls his eyes once Suguru is out of view, having stepped up unnecessarily close behind you to point out a piece of evidence on the board. His cologne engulfs you, the scent of amber and something distinctly masculine. It fades away all too soon with the distance between you.
Before you can say anything, he says, "That one was on the house. You seem stressed and I know how antagonizing your ex-husband brings you joy."
Guilty. There's just something about seeing Suguru's pretty face all tense that lifts your spirits. Then you turn and look up at Higuruma's tired eyes and arched nose and find that you like his face just as it is.
You must really be sleep-deprived to be thinking that.
"You don't have to go out of your way to do that," you tell him. "I don't just hang out with you to upset my ex, you know. I'm a little immature but not that bad."
Higuruma reaches out and fixes the collar of your blazer. You're not sure if there was anything wrong with it.
"You deserve to have your fun sometimes," he replies. "All work and no play, something something whatever." He flicks a hand dismissively to which you raise a brow.
"You're one to talk about overworking," you shoot back with a laugh. The two of you fall into step on the way out of the conference room.
He makes a sound of disapproval. "I don't like working like a dog every day, but that's the life I chose. You seem to like it in a masochistic sort of way."
You shrug. "I like having a task. I'm like one of those working dogs that needs sheep to herd or ducks to hunt or sleds to pull or else I'll get stir crazy."
His low chuckle takes you by surprise. "Sounds about right. I think I like that about you."
In your head, you tell yourself you are way too old to be blushing like you are.
And when your phone buzzes and you see Suguru's name, it's almost frightening how easy it is to slip your phone back into your pocket.
Had to shoot out a quick thing in honor of a very fine man being animated. Also, surprise, I'm still alive!
Read ur au ex husband au on sukuna and y/n. Splendid work btw, a real gem. May i ask about sukuna feelings about y/n? I’ve read about him will not be a love interest but is it a possibility that sukuna maybe have feelings for her? He just hide it from the world about take it to the grave.
This ask is a year old because it sat in my drafts and not my queue for some reason T_T Sorry! Here's what I had:
Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying it!!! Sukuna has no romantic feelings for the MC at all. For three reasons:
1.) Lore-wise, MC was married to Gojo and Sukuna as I write him wouldn't want to open that can of worms.
2.) Writing-wise, I didn't want to get too harem-y with everyone being a possible love interest.
3.) Again writing-wise, I wanted MC to have her own complexity and by extension relationships despite being a reader insert. So I wanted her to have friends that were just friends rather than having romance involved because platonic love is super important too. And then Sukuna is Sukuna so I thought it would be interesting for one of her best platonic bonds to be with him of all people.
Thank you so much for the ask! (I'm sorry it's a year late)
Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]
Imagine you're making out with ex-husband Geto in an empty stairwell 20 minutes before a trial in which you're on opposing sides.
Suguru presses you fully against the wall, the hard planes of his body melding with yours and his heat radiating into you until the feeling engulfs you.
You suppose that jujutsu society is not that big and there's not a lot of options, but the next time the defense calls your ex as an expert witness, you're suing for emotional damages.
"One moment you're about to read me the riot act," he chuckles and it takes all your willpower not to chase his lips with yours. "And the next, you've got absolutely nothing to say. And here I thought you always had a rebuttal, counselor." He holds either side of your face, thumbs gently caressing the apples of your cheeks. Slightly more intimate a gesture for what you're doing, but who's paying attention?
You roll your eyes and check your watch. Once you saw it in Grand Seiko's Evolution 9 collection, you just had to have it. You still have time to make it to the courtroom and your distraction has the added benefit of putting a scowl on your ex-husband's face.
"You can't possibly--"
You cut him off by grabbing him by the lapels and yanking his lips back to yours. He melts into the kiss and almost refuses to let you pull back.
"I have to go." You say unapologetically. "Scratch that, we both have to go. Judge Amasawa hates lateness and he hates me even more," you tell him, fixing your clothing.
"What? Why?" He does his best to tamp down his raven hair that you've mussed out of place.
You produce a compact mirror and check to see if your lips are swollen from the last fifteen minutes with your ex. They are.
"He thinks I'm a nepo baby," you reply.
"You are, though," Suguru scoffs. "The biggest one, as far as jujutsu society is concerned."
You huff. "Maybe I am, but I'm also the best at my job." You look him over and smirk. "And since you said that, now I don't feel bad."
Suguru narrows his eyes at you. He's so handsome when he's suspicious. You'd never have married an ugly man, but maybe you should've so he wouldn't make you so weak in the knees.
"Feel bad about what?" he asks warily.
Picking up your briefcase, you toss the compact mirror to him and make your way up the stairs, making sure to sway your hips with every step.
He quickly flips open the mirror and sees the deep red love bite you left without him knowing. Dark and painfully obvious, right at the front of his throat where it meets his jaw.
"Better find a way to cover that up!" you call cheerfully over your shoulder. "Judge Amasawa hates lateness!"
Suguru swears loudly, but your laughter overpowers it and the sound - along with the clicking of your Louboutins - echoes all around the stairs.
Me: "Yes, but only to tell y'all that I've been sick all week and was planning to stay in, but my friend got an invite to an event (we're the kind of friends where everyone knows an invite for one is an invite for both) where a man who Wronged Me is probably attending and I need to go to serve Revenge Looks. But to keep on theme with my blog, this is a very Geto's Nepo Baby Ex endeavor
You're not even dating, but Gojo Satoru remembers all the little details about you. The artists you like, how dark you like your bedroom when you sleep. Hell, he remembers what drinks you order at restaurants. That boy remembers stuff about you you don't even remember telling him.
So how come you're at this house party that he invited you to, and he's been talking to someone else the whole night?
ik I’ve been MIA but I started playing Love & Deepspace and I’m playing the Sylus chapter where you’re looking for the brooch and this shit is KINKY (no complaints tho)
Imagine your and ex-husband Gojo's son panicking because you'll be home in 10 minutes and he forgot to take the chicken out of the freezer.
Satoru leans against the kitchen counter. "You're so dead, kid."
"You think I don't know that?!" Sen cries, desperately trying to rip the frost-covered packaging off.
It's not often that you got sent off to do missions yourself nowadays. The most you do on a regular basis is consultations, admin work, and the occasional supervising, but this time?
This time, you've been gone for 36 hours and Satoru heard you had to exorcise a curse for the first time in months. Your ex-husband has seen you when you've gone six hours without a snack and sometimes a nap, and while he loves you, hangry you makes the strongest sorcerer of the modern era want to run and hide. He doesn't want to know what you'll do if you come home to frozen chicken when you specifically asked Sen to take it out and you sent a text and you asked Satoru to remind his son.
"Toss it in the microwave!" Satoru suggests. Sen reacts with a speed befitting his training and sets the microwave to HIGH for 10 minutes.
"Will that be good enough?" he asks his father.
"I mean, I never--"
They're interrupted by the front door opening.
"Sen! I'm home!" you call out. Sen and his father share a look of pure fear until you call out again. "I'm gonna go take a quick shower, then I'll be right out to work on dinner!"
Your words turn their twin looks of fear into looks of hope. Satoru smooths his hair back brushes imaginary dirt off his jacket.
His grin makes Sen's eye twitch. "Don't worry, son, you figure this out and I'll go distract your mom-- Ack!"
Sen yanks his father back by the collar. "Nice try," he says with a sneer. "Desperate times call for desperate measures."
Satoru understands immediately. He nods sagely. "If it ain't broke, don't fit it, I always say," he says and takes a step back.
Sen stops the microwave and puts space between him and it once he opens the door. He makes his hand sign with practiced ease and says, "Technique Amplification: Blue."
I've had zero inspiration or time to write or answer asks, so here's a blurb I had sitting in my drafts. Thank y'all for writing to me, and I'll try to find the inspo to post more <3
Click [here] to keep up with ex-husband Gojo and his estranged family | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]
Ive had tumblr for roughly three years now and youre the first person ive ever followed I LOVE YOUR EX HUSBAND GOJO AU SO MUCH 🫶🫶 KEEP FEEDING US!!
Ever!??! I'm so honored omg ik I got this ask a while ago (I've been playing catch up) and I looked and you only follow two people?!?! Including me????? I feel like I need to give you a loyalty card
Your ex husband gojo series is sooooo good and tbh yuta is sooo nice as the boyfriend like idk if I have read it in the nice order but im shipping reader and yuta hardcore keep goingggg💋💋
I have a super cluttered inbox so seeing this ask (my own fault, I took forever to answer) after the most recent installment [link] has me like 🧍♀️ 'oops sorry Yuuta enthusiasts'
I actually would've given him a bit more screentime, but I'm starting to move the Sen AU to the backburner in preparation for a new collab with @harvestingrice! We went to school together and she's one of my favorite writers, I think, ever [Exhibit A]
glad you're alive ! i hope that even though you've posted, you take time to decompress and still process the move n such. leaving a childhood home is hard, but leaving it and moving far entirely is crazier. i understand it, i'm always here to chit chat if you need anything!!
<3
You and several others have sent such sweet messages! Thank you so much for your support, it is very appreciated!
I always knew I'd have to move out eventually, but I was thinking 40 mins max, not 40+ hours smh! The state I moved to is almost the polar opposite state that I moved from and that's been crazy, but taking up writing again has helped with the transition.
