Maul week: wounded + rainstorm.
Injured Maul x Reader
A/n: a little too late and a little too early. I really liked both of those ideas so decided to post a fic today with both of them combined. A special thank you to @maul-appreciation-week for arranging such event. Warnings: SFW, mentions of wounds, angst, fluff, Maul being slightly pathetic, pre-PTM Maul, strangers to lovers? W/c: 1888
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Boots thudded against the wet ground, muddy puddles underneath painted in red. Wet fabric clung to crimson, cold shiver ran across his skin. Hiss slipped his lips whenever hand pressed against his stomach. A stinging pain penetrated his torso, rage flaring on the inside. He grit his teeth.
No, I won’t die here. Mual thought to himself, clutching the gashing wound. Not like this. Not on this planet!
He called on the Dark Side, stirred that flame, yet the fire was being extinguished little by little. His legs ached, to the point that he could howl. His eyelids threatened to close at any moment. Recent days consisted of nothing but a constant fight. The last time Zabrak slept was before he embarked on this mission. Sure he succeeded, success was the only option his Master would have allowed, but at what cost?
“Sidious” the name felt like a curse, a poison being spat out, leaving a bitter aftertaste. So irritant.
Pathetic - that what he probably would say of his apprentice now. Dissatisfaction stroked the flames.
Fingers coiled around the edge as he jerked himself forward.
Just get to the spaceship.
His legs were wobbly, putting one foot in front of the other felt like a challenge of its own.
A trip, his legs bent.
“Get up.” Sith grumbled under his breath, summoning his last bits of anger. His limbs trembled, hand gripping the wall. Slip. His knees bucked.
The puddle splashed.
“Agh”
His back hunched, the whining pain throbbed through his spine. A flash of a memory, large hand crushing his neck. Next moment his figure plummeted through air, back hitting the stone.
Again. The voice rang in his head. That same cadence that caused the pit of his stomach to go cold. With an ache shooting through his body, Maul rose, taking a step. He could already feel his teeth grinding against each other, his body convulsing, that all familiar agony of electricity tearing through cells.
“No, hurry.” Apprentice commanded, yet his limbs turned to cotton.
His boots skidded. Fall. Splash. His face submerged into the cold stream. Air got kicked out of his lungs.
Nails scarped against concrete, hand turning numb, falling into the water. His body snailed forward, only to stop a few seconds later.
Black dots formed in corners of his eyes, spilling out, staining his vision. The sting pulsed. Lead filled his legs, going further up his waist. His strength bled out from the same wound. The scorching grip on his hearts faded. Maul could hear their beating in his ears, silence stretching between every thud. The dark spread like puddles. The hand - the only thing left visible, now blurred. The flamelet dwarfed.
A faint voice cut through. It was young, soft, from such a distant past Maul thought it had died out already.
Please stop. A juvenile voice begged. I’m so tired.
“Tired.” It croaked out of his mouth.
There was no outrage against the plea, no scream that would deafen it. Maul could feel it - this exhaustion settled in his bones, remaining there so long it became a part of a structure now. This old, rotten structure, like the framing of an abandoned house. The bars creaked and groaned under pressure, some creaking from the gusts. One sway, one crack and it all collapsed, falling into the stream.
There was only a stream, the remains lifted by the currents. There were no praises, no punishments, no demands, just the water carrying what was left of him.
A sting fished him out of the tide. An iron grip snaked over someone’s wrist, pulse increasing under the pads of his fingers. His muscles were coiled, his back arched like of a predator. His teeth were bared in a snarl, air leaving through flared nostrils.
His vision swam, still murky. His eyes set on your face. An elusive figure basked in the light that fell from above. The warmth of your skin contrasted with the chill of his own.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Your voice trembled slightly as if you were the one shivering from the chill. “I’m trying to help you. Please let me go.”
His gaze fell on your hand in his grasp. The cloth now coloured in maroon pressed to the tearing.
“I hope you know what you are doing.” Young Zabrak hissed, his voice coming off hoarse. Each word felt like an ordeal of its own, stretching his vocal cords.
The spring trap weakened, hold faded. Yet even then his eyes stayed wide open, keeping watch on you, as you stitched up the cut. You worked with precision, your fluid movements, making his concentration falter.
“Who did this to you?” You spoke softly.
The Sith didn’t hurry to give you an answer. He could barely remember them, their faces, let alone their roles. Just another group of nonames getting in the way of the grander plan. Not worth his time, but they managed to get a number on him.
Corners of his mouth pulled downwards. Dissatisfaction was crawling up on the inside.
“They were..” Your patient rasped. “Of no great importance.”
A sweep, alcohol grazed tender flesh. Low growl left his throat.
“I’m sorry.” Your said, your voice echoed. His focus becoming dull with each second.
He laid his head to the side, forcing his eyes to stay open.
“You didn’t deserve it.” You stated. The string tightened, divided sides of flesh coming together.
Warmth spilled in Maul’s chest. It wasn’t just the feeling of having a conversation while someone was tearing him. Usually the droids would stay quiet, giving him pills and an instruction, each word calculated. It was the acknowledgement that struck the cord. Your words, so simple, so seemingly obvious to him, yet so rare.
A silent moment set between both of you. Zabrak once again caught himself watching you, your figure, your face. It was comely, not striking or anything, but it was charming in its own way. His mouth went dry, his hearts beating against his ribs.
“May I ask what your name is?” You murmured.
“Maul.”
You repeated his name, rolling it on your tongue.
“Just Maul?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.. a nice name, for a nice-looking guy.” You replied.
If only you knew, of all the violence, the pain, the filth hidden beneath. Yet at that moment he didn’t think too deeply on your comment. His mind felt sluggish.
“And yours?” He requested.
Your name left, bringing an unfamiliar sense of warmth which kept spreading through him as time went on. Blood rushed to his face whenever your hands slid against his abs, putting on patches, wrapping bandages on him. Your touch was feather-light, the feel of it made his muscles relax. The tepidness of your body, positioned so close to his, seeped into his skin, wrapping around him.
Whenever your gazes met, the sensation burned hotter in his chest, coming down to his stomach.
“Alright, it’s going to hurt.” You warned, but the stranger didn’t tense. When the liquid skimmed his skin, there was no burn, no bite. Maul didn’t question it at this moment. His eyes were glued on yours. Those eyes, they called for him, pulled him in.
The last patch was put on, your thumb brushing against his skin.
“I guess, I should leave you.” You stated, taking a step away from the bed. “I suggest you rest now.”
No, please, don’t leave so soon. A thought slithered. Maul sat up.
His hand found yours, pulling you back slightly. You turned, sitting back down on the bed. Meanwhile his fingers brushed higher, going up your arm, your shoulder, cupping your cheek. His hand moved further up, his fingers running through your hair as Maul leaned in. His body moved on his own, as if it was tugged by strings, his mind foggy. He wanted to feel your pulse once again, craved the feel of your warmth, the texture of your skin. He breathed in your scent, that heady aroma that couldn't be described with words. Was it sweet? Was it salty? Musky? Whatever it was it tasted good on his tongue. His breath ghosted your face, his eyes falling to your lips, snapping back at your eyes. He swallowed hard, his hearts thumping in his chest. A lopsided smirk played on your lips, your eyes lowered. You closed the distance. His breath hitched once your lips were a hair bead away from his. Your eyes closed, a permission given. One dip of a head and the distance got closed. Your lips, so soft, moved against his. His hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you in. The taste of you washed on his tongue. It was unfamiliar, yet pleasant. His free hand snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He drank in on you, his movements becoming fast, erratic. The fire in the lower pit burned hotter. Suddenly your hand fell to the side. You pulled away. Your breath ghosted the shell of his ear as you chuckled. A mist spread through his head when he looked you in the eyes. His body felt weak as if he was drunk.
“That’s it.” You whispered, lowering yourself.
A smile spread on his lips as he lied back down.
“Go to sleep.” You cooed.
The mist thickened, darkened, his eyelids closed on their own, hand falling off your face. Your serene voice accompanied him through the dark.
Warm rays of the sun hit against his face, his eyes slowly opening. His vision cleared as he looked around the empty room. Slowly he rose from the bed. For some reason he was still in his robes, but the clothes had dried out. Confusion sparked, because from what he could remember, he was shirtless. His hand slipped underneath, finding its way to his torso. Except instead of feeling cotton or a bandage, his fingers found a jagged line of flesh.
Questions began to arise. They multiplied as he went from one empty room to another. There was no sign of you, no medkit lying around, not even a sticky note. What was left was a faint scent in the air. Once again no words came to mind when he tried to name it. Was it sweet? No, not really. Salty or musky, no neither. It was definitely not pungent.
“Strange.” He muttered to himself.
Buzz.
A holoprojector got fished out of a pocket. One unread message from Master.
I should hurry. Maul thought, putting the gadget back in and stepping out of the house.
The more he distanced himself, the more the events of the night began to fade. More blinds spots burned through, the more he attempted to remember. Your name slipped away like water through fingers. Recollection of your face only resulted in a blur. But Maul still felt the heat and his two hearts hammering against the cage of his ribs.
No matter. Zabrak thought, making his way back to the spaceship. After all, he was alive. The mission was coming to an end and he got what was needed of him. The cooling sensation from the artifact hidden under his cloak, made his side feel numb.
By the time he stepped back on Coruscant what remained of you was the feeling of warmth on his lips.
One question left him restless. Were you even real?
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a/n: big thank you of you have read up until this point. Hope you enjoyed it. I know I said I wouldn't be active until 11th of July, but here I am. Please don't be mad at me. Sorry if it's a bit too rushed. There was supposed to be a gif of him rising from the puddle, but I didn't find it.
