#His pants falling is on purpose because I like him 💅

[nyanimisu]

I fixed it a little before I wanted to post lol

[darthmaulification]

A/N: thinking about sugar daddy maul again, unfortunately. 😔 also, i’ve been meaning to announce two things but kept forgetting skjskasn:

1) i’m having an identity crisis and am testing out neopronouns. a while ago i did change my pronouns from she/her to ze/zer in my bio, but never officially recognized that until now. i’m not sure if it’ll be permanent or for sure, but for now ze/zer is what i’d like to be referred to as. 🥰💕

2) subsequently also a product of my identity crisis (💀) i’m thinking about changing my user to something else. idk when i’m gonna do it, but just a heads up. 👍

kiitos! 💗

content: sugar daddy shenanigans, lolz 💅🤪, suggestive, minor exhibitionism, implied dom/sub dynamic, daddy kink, hopefully gn!reader?, but reader is wearing a dress but tbh society has progressed past the need for gendered clothing

word count: 557

The party is grand, loud, and nearing a level of extravagance that would almost make you believe that Maul is the socialite he’s pretending to be. Of course, he isn’t, and instead he’s sat at his throne, chin in hand, glowering. A part of you wants to join the throes of people you’ve been watching, but the other part is completely content with where you are.

You’re sitting on Maul’s lap, hip pressed against his abdomen, your legs over his thighs sideways. The cool metal that starts at Maul’s mid thigh is cool against your bare skin, Maul having pushed up your dress in favor of having one of his hands beneath it. His palm is firm on your ass, fingers having slid underneath your panties, the pull at the elastic almost enough to make you shiver. It doesn’t help that his black leather gloves add delightful texture, coarse and rough on soft and smooth, the contrast deeply arousing.

He’s not quite doing anything, nothing that would be considered inappropriate for the setting, but that doesn’t mean that hand he has on you is any less tantalizing. For ages you’ve wanted to experimentally roll your hips, grind a little against him, because the growing warmth in your core is starting to cloud your mind. You want to feel that black leather in... deeper places.

But you don’t. When you had first sat down, Maul had leveled you with a molten glare and hissed, “Don’t move, or else you won’t be my good pet.”

And, Maker, did you want to be his good pet. The gold chain choker around your neck and its single ruby gem is tantamount to that.

“May I go get a drink, Daddy?” You ask softly, leaning in to rest your cheek against his shoulder, tenderly kissing the edge of an inky tattoo. Maul glances at you from out the corner of his eye, the indifferent scowl on his face not shifting in the slightest. He lifts his head from his palm and gestures with a nod.

“You may. Nothing with alcohol.” He replies, steely, his hand slipping out from under your underwear and dress-skirt. You swear he purposely drags his fingers over your soft skin, like he wants you to know that you’re losing his touch as you rise from his lap. As you find your footing, Maul grips your wrist.

“Remember this, my pet,” He starts, and that fiery gaze is back, the twin flames of his irises searing, “Go get your drink, then come back immediately. Your business is here on my lap, do you understand?”

Gods, you just want him to take you now. Nodding, you reply with the slightest quiver in your voice, “Yes, Daddy.”

Maul grins then, a wicked smirk that deepens the age lines on his face delectably. His hand releases your wrist, the action making you remember it was there at all. Maul sets his elbow on the armrest, his chin falling back into his palm, his gaze appraising and predatory. He motions to the room with a flick of his gloved hand.

“Well, run along, my dearest pet.” Maul purrs, and you watch as he shifts and spreads his thighs, planting his steel boots wide. The crotch of his pants pulls taut over his manhood. You tremble.

It’s the quickest you’ve ever gotten a drink.