I saw your requests are open!!! Please can you do a maul x reader where the dynamic is maul being a violent sith but then gets intimate with reader. I love how you explored that in your by the light of the second moon fic and would love a little one shot similar!! Thank you!
hi anon. thanks so much. when i opened requests again i was unsure if i'd even get any. this was a nice dynamic to explore again - i hope you enjoy! ❤️
Rating: Explicit and 18+ (Minors DNI)
Pairing: TPM!Maul x F!Reader
Wordcount: 1.4k
"In the face of such unchecked violence and power, amongst the still warm corpses of his enemies, you allowed him to ravish you."
It was a brutal cacophony of violence.
You had the sense of it upon awakening, a wretched premonition that manifested itself by curling your insides with dread. There was that undeniable ache in your throat, the chill of your skin and the heat in your blood that foretold gore was to be inflicted upon the deserving.
This strange feeling, this prophecy of bloodshed - it was a secret sense between your body and the wider universe, one that you felt compelled to trust. And you were right to believe in it: the assault you had predicted was dealt swiftly, the night after the morning it first struck you.
And so you absconded from your work at the bar when you could no longer deny that the time was near. You stole yourself away into a hidden wall of the cantina, slipping between walls until your body was snuggly lodged into a service vent - you could stand inside of it comfortably if you straightened your spine up and sucked in your breath.
With a hammering heart and the taste of anticipation on your tongue, you watched and waited from behind the metallic grille for the bloody carnage to begin.
When it finally hit, it was not the blaster fire you were expecting. Instead, it was an inexplicable shadow that lay waste to the room. A strong figure cloaked in black, features shrouded beneath a large hood. It was armed with a crimson blade that cut the men of the crowded room to pieces in less than ten heartbeats.
There were smoldering body parts littered across the ground in seconds, and as you heaved in ragged breaths from the shock of it, you could smell the sour, acrid tang of severed limbs and execution.
You were able to discern that the creature committing this violence had a specific target - however, it was murdering en masse not just to identify who he was looking for - but also for the blood-soaked thrill of it.
This was a game for it.
When it found the man that it was after, the monster threw his body, still living, at the wall.
That man became a corpse when he slammed into the grate that hid you.
You flinched. You gasped. You drew the eyes of the beast to your hiding place and it began to stride towards you, alert at your presence. Before you could even process what was happening, strong gloved hands had effortlessly removed the grate, and you were standing before the Hellish thing, cowed and unmoored and overwhelmed by the shock of it all.
The monster tilted its head in acknowledgment of you, and you got the impression that it was amused by your being there. You thought you were going to pass out from the horror and fear of what was to come - but then it lowered its hood, and you realised you were mistaken: that it wasn’t a beast or an animal or a creature at all.
He was a man.
A striking man, at that. What should be the whites of his eyes were a curdled red, bloodshot and severe, but the gleaming irises were of remarkable amber beauty. His hood was hiding the most remarkable crown of horns on his head, and the crimson skin and ink-black patterns of his face were hypnoticly symmetrical.
You found yourself undeniably and strangely drawn to him. Your fear dissipated and your interest blossomed.
It looked as though he was pleasantly surprised, albeit perplexed, that you were standing before him, glazing your eyes across his body - how strange, that an innocent bystander to his brutality was observing him with such awe and desire.
You must admit: you were acting moon-eyed and giddy to be so near to him, as though he was not a strange man you had hidden yourself from, as though he hadn’t just murdered tens of people in front of your eyes.
It seemed that the disbelief of your being there, the juxtaposition of his violence and his curiousity, had given him pause. You were a mere slip of a thing compared to the brutes and grunts he had just swiftly ended, you were distinctly feminine in a masculine space, your scent sweet with fear and intrigue - you watched him notice that your skin glistened with a slight perspiration, that your lips were soft and your heart was hammering hard in your chest.
Neither of you understood what compelled him to reach out his hand and run his index finger down your cheek. Perhaps it was the biochemical mayhem of physical attraction, or the sheer anomaly of this situation, or something else entirely - but soon, his hand was at the nape of your neck so that he could position you closer to him with a harsh tug of his wrist, so that you were out from inside of the wall, and pushed up against it instead. He ran his violent eyes down your bare throat and your entire being shuddered in anticipation.
You did not scream, or panic, or pull away as you probably should have - the only reaction you had was a strong draw toward him. It felt surprisingly right: your eyes hitched upon his own, his fingers holding you still, the discovery of a face unlike that which you had ever laid eyes on before muddying your thoughts with carnal need.
He smelt like metal and death, his breath hot at the column of your throat, his body hard and solid. He was so close he could smell the thudding warmth of your pulse, could scent your slick arousal and feel you tremble in his arms.
He kissed you.
It happened like the electric blast of a lightning strike, colossal and blinding and sudden. Just like that: your lips pressing desperately together, your body settling into his.
His mouth felt remarkably good on yours, his tongue was robust in its seeking of your own. Your teeth clashed in the fervour, your palms found and pressed against his robed chest. You were moaning into his mouth, and you felt him tense in desire at the sensual sounds you made.
You felt his touch gravitate to the soft skin and gentle contours of your body - his hands had slipped down to your waist, his fingers grasping at your clothed flesh, fervid and unyielding in discovering how you felt beneath the layers of fabric.
Something came over you both that night, something utterly cosmic, as though you were being controlled by a power greater than yourselves. You physically could not stop kissing him, touching him, caressing him.
He pulled your legs up around his waist so that he could rub himself against your most private of parts - and you let him.
In the face of such unchecked violence and power, amongst the still warm corpses of his enemies, you allowed him to ravish you.
In fact, you grinded into him too, unable to resist working yourself at his hard erection, the thickness of him that was trapped beneath the black material of his clothing.
It was exquisite.
You never stopped kissing, your lips were moving in tandem with his late into the night, even as his strong arms roughly removed the clothes from the pair of you, so that he could slip his hard, bare cock inside of you and fuck you hard against the wall. And when he had used you for his own pleasure, when you had brought him to the very heights of carnal bliss, he came inside of you, groaning the most delectable growls into your mouth.
As he calmed his breathing and came down from the high of his orgasm, he focused on rubbing his fingers in circles at your clitoris, and you bucked into his hands so that he was moving against you how you needed it, and you grinded against him until the world turned white with heat and you reached your own climax, mewling and moaning into his lips, shaking hands grasping on to him.
Eventually he gently lowered you to your feet, and covered your body with his outer robe. Then he righted himself, fixing his clothes and his composure. He nodded to you with the slickest hint of a smirk. Then he raised his hood and walked away.
You were left flustered and orgasm struck, your skin bruised and your heart aflame, utterly spent. You had been kissing and fucking for so long that hours and hours had passed.
That night was a whirlwind crescendo of intimacy, death, sex and violence. Unforgettable.
And when, six months later the feeling of that initial premonition returned to your body, the weight of violence hanging heavy in the air: you knew that he would return.
You were ready for him.
-
[My requests are open.]
[Read more of my Maul fic on AO3]
