#tcw darth maul x reader

[candyfloss5000]

just gonna leave this here

[kaminokatie]

Horns || Darth Maul

Synopsis - You wash Maul's horns in the shower.

Warnings - NSFW.

Word Count - 1.8k

[Caffeinate Me]

It was night by the time he finally came to visit you. The hinges of your door creaked ever so faintly as Maul slowly pushed it open, revealing your sleeping form on the couch. Your holopad lay screen side down on your chest indicating to him that you had been reading before eventually falling asleep. Quietly Maul made his way over to your unconscious body, admiring you as he did. He was as careful as he could be in an attempt to not wake you, but unfortunately he wasn’t quiet enough. His foot stepped on a floorboard that happened to creak particularly loudly, forcing you to shoot up from your lying position now sitting up. The Sith was as still as he could be as your head snapped towards him, but he just grinned at you. After a few seconds of pure panic that someone had broken into your home, you jumped off the couch and ran over to him. “Maul!” You gasped, throwing your body against his and wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, reciprocating the hug. His own arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too,” you replied, pulling away from the hug and separating your bodies. When your touching reunion had ended, you slapped him across the face. “That was for scaring me! I thought someone broke into my apartment! You should have knocked!” 

“I thought you left it open for me,” he shrugged, pulling you back against him. Maul couldn’t help but grin down at you as you rested your head against his chest, listening to the way his heart beat against his ribcage. 

“I missed you,” you whispered again. Maul replied by tilting your head up to look at him and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. He might have been the big bad Sith, Darth Maul, but to you he was just a sweetheart. He bit your bottom lip playfully as you pulled away, gazing into his yellow eyes. “I need to shower,” you said suddenly, stepping away from him once more. “Care to join me?” 

“How could one resist such a tempting invitation,” Maul grinned teasingly, following as you made your way to the bathroom. 

You stepped into the cool bathroom and immediately turned the water on, the cold water that was spewing from the shower head heated up almost instantaneously. You stripped off your clothing and stepped under the hot water, allowing it to fall all over your skin. You welcomed the heat, especially since the weather outside was so cold, and welcomed the man behind you even more. Maul himself was now naked and stepping into the shower behind you, wrapping his arms around your hips. He continued to press his body close to yours in an attempt to have some of the hot water trickle down his tattooed body. 

Maul leaned to the side to pick up the scented body wash you loved so much and began to lather up his hands before placing them on your hips once more. His hands absentmindedly began to wash your body, trailing up your hips and to your breasts as he massaged them softly. You couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as his fingers tweaked your nipples, rubbing the sensitive nubs between his fingertips. “Do you like that princess?” Maul asked huskily in your ear, his fingers still toying with your nipples. You nodded your head, mouth hung open slightly and head thrown back. Then Maul moved his hands to your shoulders, lathering the rest of your body in the sweet smelling soap. Letting out a content sigh, you smiled as Maul continued to massage your shoulders, letting the stress of the day be washed away. 

“I needed that,” you mumbled as Maul finished washing your body. You turned to him and grabbed the soap, a wide smile on your face. “Your turn!” Maul just grunted in approval as you began to wash his legs, hands then tracing the tattoos on his stomach before leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “Have you had a good day?” You asked him as you washed his back. 

“Would have been better if you were there,” he replied with a shrug. “But you’re here now.” You moved your hands to the top of his head and began to wash his horns, earning a gasp from the Zabrak in front of you. “What are you doing?” 

“Washing your horns,” you said. “They’re in desperate need of a wash.” 

You knew his horns were a soft spot for him so you were being as gentle as you possibly could be. Your fingers glided across the roughness, making their way to the base and massaging the soap around them. Maul let out a soft moan as you continued moving your fingers around his horns softly. Despite being as careful as you could, you felt his cock hardening against your stomach which caused you to let out a satisfactory laugh. 

“Are you getting excited there?” You asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, a low growl emitted from his throat. 

In an instant, Maul moved you from the water stream and dunked his head under, rinsing off the remaining soap on his head before scooping you up as if you weighed nothing and carrying you to the bedroom. “Maul! We’re both soaked!” You shrieked, giggling slightly as he threw you down onto the bed. 

“Yes you are,” he grinned as he positioned himself between your thighs, staring at your glistening cunt. Within a second, Maul had already licked a stripe up your folds forcing you to shiver at the coolness of his tongue against your heat. His tongue circled your clit before returning back to your tight little hole, his nose bumping against your sensitive bundle of nerves with each thrust of his tongue inside of you. You let out a loud moan as your hands went to grasp at his horns in a desperate attempt to keep his mouth on you. As soon as your hands grasped around two of his horns, Maul let out an animalistic growl, surprising you. 

“I’m sorry!” You cried out, throwing your head back against the pillows. 

“Don’t be,” he groaned, mouth still on your pussy. He was lapping and slurping greedily at everything he could get his mouth on, like a man starved for generations. Maul’s teeth nibbled at your clit, earning a gasp of surprise to fall from your mouth. 

“Stars, Maul. I’m going to cum if you keep doing that,” came your whimpered voice, shaky from the pleasure he was giving you. 

“Cum for me, my star,” he ordered, voice gruff against your cunt, sending vibrations up your body. You tightened your legs around his head, ignoring the searing pain of his sharp horns digging into your thighs and cutting them as you came over his tongue. Blood trickled down his horns and Maul immediately trailed his tongue up to the cuts, licking up the blood. “Every part of you tastes absolutely divine.” 

“Don’t say that,” you whispered breathlessly, body going limp as he climbed on top of you, positioning his cock against your hole. With one swift movement, Maul slammed himself inside of you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, ridges stretching you open just for him. A loud moan left both of your lips as you adjusted to the length now inside of you. Eventually, you tapped Maul on the shoulder and whimpered, “I’m ready.”

Maul wasted no time, immediately pulling out of you before spearing you back onto him viciously. He loved you, yes, but he wasn’t gentle with you. Not when you teased him in the shower the way you did, even if you didn’t mean to. Your legs wrapped around Maul’s waist, pulling his bottom half flush against you as his hips continued to smash against your own. His head dipped to your neck, teeth biting at your throat without mercy. “You feel so good,” he groaned shamelessly against your neck. “Only you can make me feel like this, my star.” 

“Maul please,” you begged. You wanted more. Anything. Just more of him. 

“Please what?” He asked, a grin covering his lips. 

“I need more!” You cried out, nails raking down his back. 

“Of course, anything for you,” he whispered, his hips moving as fast as he possibly could. 

Sounds of skin-slapping-skin filled the room followed by both of your pants and moans of pleasure. It was like something out of those erotic holo-movies you watched when Maul wasn’t around. Just as you were about to cum, Maul pulled out of you. Before you could protest and whine, he flipped you over onto all fours and slammed himself back inside of you. Maul’s hands gripped your wet hair, pulling your head back so you could look at him and exposing your neck to him so he could once again bite down on your sensitive flesh. Your hands grasped at the sheets below as you held on for dear life and let out a silent scream as Maul bit your neck, drawing slight drops of blood. “Oh kriff Maul please don’t stop I’m going to cum again,” you managed to gasp out. 

With a grunt and a nod of his head, Maul let go of your hair and pushed your head down so you were squished against the covers, his hands forcefully grabbing at your hips as he continued to pound against you relentlessly. “Going to fill you up my star,” he growled as he reached his own peak.  Poetically, you both came together and a mixture of your moans and Maul’s growls echoed across the room. He fucked his cum deep inside of you as your body spasmed below, not bothering to stop until he was satisfied that it had fully penetrated you. Then, he rolled off of you, breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“That was…”

“Incredible? Amazing? Mind blowing?” Maul asked, a smile on his lips. 

“All of the above,” you giggled breathlessly. “I love you, Maul.”

“I love you too, Y/N,” he replied, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to your cheek as you settled down next to him. 

You curled your body up, knees pressing against your chest as you settled down for the night. You knew you’d probably have to shower again in the morning, washing the sweat and dried blood from your body, but that was something that could wait. For now, you were content in Maul’s arms as he wrapped them around you bringing you as close to him as you possibly could be without laying on top of him. Darth Maul might have been a scary Sith, but to you, he was everything you could ever ask for.

[catnipaddictt]

Ink and Oil masterlist

Series between me and the lovely @memoiich, this was originally posted on ao3 but we have decided to put it here as well. Ao3 linked if you prefer to read that way!

summary: You find yourself in a brand new city where you get to work along-side a very attractive colleague as well as having to put up with a equally good-looking mechanic.

pinterest ⭑ ao3 link ⭑ anakin playlist

one ⭑ two ⭑ three ⭑ four ⭑ five ⭑ six ⭑ seven

masterlist ⭑ navigation

[helpinghanikan]

Domestic December: Day 21

Maul: Sleeping

An: This was super rushed and admittedly sucks.

Maul doesn’t say much when he crawls into bed. Simply moving the covers and sliding up behind you.

He doesn’t stay like that for very long. Not liking his arms to be contained while asleep. Pulling his arms out and rolling over. His back now towards you; a perfect opportunity for you to take the big spoon position.

“You’re warm.” You mumble into the back of his neck.

“Funny,” He says, muscles relaxing. “As I’ve been absolutely freezing the entire day.”

Your leg slides up over his. Wrapping around his waist and pulling him close, as if he wouldn’t be able to escape from your strength alone.

Although he could easily get you off Maul doesn’t bother. Instead he relaxes into your body and the bed. Sighing contently when you nuzzle into his neck.

An interesting part of Zabrak anatomy is their ability to purr. It seems they don’t have complete control over it. The same way you may not control a laugh or eyebrow raise at a situation. It takes time to learn how to control it.

This is why so few know about Maul’s ability to purr. You were of the special few who got to hear it. You were also part of the maybe three people who have had the privilege of causing it.

[a-dorin]

requests + blurbs 💌

my asks are open, which means my requests are open!

since i am finishing up my last spring semester, and then starting an internship, i may take some time finishing them!

all i ask if that if you request a fic, you specify:

characters involved

word count

not an overly detailed description of your vision, but a good sentence or several sentences describing what you would like to read <3

smut, fluff, angst (just the general overall vibe)

or if a song inspires your idea!

i am pretty open to most ideas, characters, and length of fics! ☁️

[zoeykallus]

How do you think the Batchers and also ( self indulgent yay ! ) Wolffe, Hardcase, Boil and let`s go for .... Maul! be with reader immersed in a book as they relax?

Oh some sweet relaxed HC's, sounds nice! Thank you! :)

The Bad Batch x Reader – Book And Relax HC's

Mostly Fluffy / Partly Suggestive

Hunter

He is more of an active type, sitting back and reading is not his thing, but for your sake he will join in from time to time. His favorite thing to read is adventure stories or stories about explorers. When he reads something with you, it's preferably about faraway places that he would like to explore with you one day.

He likes to cuddle with you and play with your hair while you read together. That he will seduce you sooner or later should also be clear to you, Hunter can't sit around for long and your closeness always sparks him up a bit.

Echo

He likes to read with you, basically almost anything, but his favorite are fascinating life stories of people who have overcome crazy and dangerous life situations. He really devours these kinds of books whenever he can.

He'll have snacks and drinks provided and a snuggle blanket ready. Sometimes you'll fall asleep snuggled up against him while he's still reading.

Wrecker

The big guy likes lively adventure stories, exciting stories that are heading for a happy ending. He likes brave heroes and exciting love stories. He likes it best when he can snuggle up with you in a corner and you read to him. Of course he can read by himself, too, but he doesn't like it that much, he prefers to listen to you while he sees the story developing in his mind's eye.

As long as you read to him, he has the patience of an angel, he doesn't just fall asleep, he listens to you spellbound.

Tech

You will most likely read different things, unless you are into non-fiction. Basically, Tech loves to read, even in your presence, snuggled up together. However, he tends to read non-fiction 99% of the time, books from which he can take information, of any kind, but mostly technical stuff.

To get him to read a novel with you and really stick with it, you'll have to bring him a real masterpiece. One of the very few fictional novels he has enjoyed reading in his life is "The Swarm" by Frank Schätzing.

He's not a big cuddler when he reads, it distracts him, he says, but you're very welcome to lean on him.

Crosshair

Actually prefers to read alone. Actually. It takes him a while to give in to your suggestion to sit and read together.

He reacts quite surprised when you snuggle up to him.

"What's this going to be when it's done?"

"Well, I'll snuggle up to you."

Crosshair rolls his eyes, but lets you do what you were going to do. It doesn't take long, though, for his hand to slip between your legs under the covers and start rubbing you.

"Cross!"

"Let's make this a little more interesting okay?"

He will eventually enjoy these hours and actually read, but quite often he will just seduce you and get his stubborn way.

Maul

I don't know how you even managed that, but you and Maul seem to be a couple. Maul reads mostly about Sith and Jedi history and he loves to read to you from it, incorporating his own experiences.

He is very hands on, he will pet you while doing it, play with your hair or tug on your clothes. He is a surprisingly sensual person, it is not unusual that he seduces you in such hours one or the other time.

Wolffe

Stubborn as can be, but an alert, receptive mind. He actually owns a lot of books, much of it war-related reading, but hiding among them are a few fictional adventure books, the latter of which he enjoys reading with you. If you ask him to, he'll even read to you.

He makes you herbal tea and puts his arm around your shoulders while he reads, every now and then he steals a kiss from you and you discuss some of the protagonists' decisions, you can actually occupy yourselves with that for hours. Wolffe is a bit old-fashioned and especially likes the heroes and the woman in distress acts, he likes to imagine himself to be your hero, but of course he doesn't say it out loud.

Hardcase

He is so sweet and lively and attentive. He makes sure that your feet don't freeze when you read in bed, he always adjusts your blanket, he has lively discussions with you about the content of your books and moves a lot, he likes to gesticulate.

He will read almost anything as long as it contains some suspense, even romances if they are peppered with exciting backstories. He is adorable when he talks so enthusiastically and often you can just listen to him dreamy and affectionate while he excitedly tells you what just happened in his book.

_____________

Boil

He is very fascinated and strongly connected with his Mandalorian origin. He uses the language with you very often, he reads a lot about the culture also with you. His helmet has the Death Watch logo on it for a reason.

The more you are interested in Mandalorian culture as well, the better. He reads with you about it learns the language with you until eventually you can talk properly in Mandoa'. He likes to have your legs on his lap when you read together and a hand on your knees. The number one topic of conversation during your reading sessions is definitely Mandalorian culture.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

[terriblyrenderedenigma]

Fuck it. Woe, Darth Maul be upon ye-

Rant about loving maul hours, taken from a sexy man tourney between friends. I got a little deep with it but the man deserves so much, he's seen so much shit bro. Anyways. Eat up fellow maul stans. Part 1 of 2 (I wrote a lot) Warnings: None. (I think)

''I find you as transfixing as the stars and as alluring as a song and oh how sad it is that I cannot bring myself to feel worthy of ever being in such a presence that is so perfectly yours. I'm not worthy of it, not worthy of you. Not worthy of your gaze. Not worthy of your time, or heart, or to exist near you. You are too perfect for someone like me. Too perfect for my pathetic breath to be wasted upon you and yet I cannot help but mourn what could be. What could be if I was yours. If I were good enough, if I could please you. It's all I want, but I know I'm not enough. I never would be, never will. But still I think about your grin, in all its malicious intent and all meanings between. I can only hope on day you will smile at me, endearingly as if I've spoken something amusing, or done something that entertains you. I think about the touch of your palm within mine and dream of its warmth and the chance to trace the beautiful darkened lines that adorn your flesh. I imagine the chance of you loving me. And as soon as I catch myself I reel. There's no way you would take someone like me to be at your side. So insignificant and imperfect. I watch you from afar and daydream guiltily. How foolish of someone like me to admire someone like you so strongly...'' -Part of a love letter to Maul I have been unexpectedly caught in a snare. Fallen into a trap so intricately woven that even the most genius of men and hunters elite would never have seen coming. Love. Love, my enemy. Love, my friend. I cannot tell between the two which this may be. Perhaps both. Darth Maul is a dangerous man. A slave to the darkness, a servant to a faithless master. He could tear my heart from my chest without a second thought and yet I feel like deep in his own being he would feel regret for it. Survival in the universe is harsh. The dark and the light fight for dominance, for victory, every second among the stars. He has lived and breathed hatred. Survived on rage alone for years and years. It's the only thing he knows It's the only thing he has been allowed to know. The universe has not been kind to him, and every step of progress he takes is eventually uprooted. For every one of his wins, he faces a loss far more extreme. Truly, I feel like he is a man with a hidden gentleness that must be nurtured back to life. What family he did have, he loved until they were ripped away from him by the cruelty of fate. Though he is harsh and such a thing seems foreign or trivial to him, his affections manifest through loyalty and trust. He is careful to guard himself, so maybe he just needs someone to break down his walls, help his heart heal from the transgressions of fate against him, show him that there's more to life than the darkness he drowns himself in. He needs someone he knows won't turn their back to him, someone he can trust with his life. I don't want to change him, I just want to be someone he can be vulnerable with because goddamn does he deserve it. There's no way you can be strong and hardened for your entire life without needing some kind of a break. Regardless of all that, Maul Is a man who's loyal. Cunning, almost genius. Yeah. He's mean, rough around the edges, but he's capable and gets things done. When he has a vision he sticks to it and takes charge. He never ever lets his anger take ahold of him, he doesn't let it ruin his plans. He will execute every step of his life with deadly precision, and quickly deals with anything in his supervision that may be running astray. He's snarky and speaks his mind with no fear of consequence. Even then, every move he makes is calculated perfection. He has a respect for women even if they're an enemy to him. Anyways, say we get this man a little therapy, say we do get him to be gentle and vulnerable around a close friend, or at the very most, a lover...What next? To Be Continued... -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Damn you tumblr text limit.

Part two will be shorter, a short description of the kind of lover maul is, at least romantically. If spice is demanded, I shall produce results.

See yall in like ten minutes with the last little bit.

Ciao~ -Enigma

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

Oh Wishmonger, is it too late to ask for some good old predator/prey drabbles? Maybe you’re joking around with the bros. Or maybe you’re going up against them for reasons, but things get hot and heavy 😌

Never too late for primal anything. Though I regret that we failed to meet your suggestion of a "drabble," as this is significantly bigger.

Title: No Quarter Pairing: Opress Brothers x Reader (🥪) Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,924 Summary: Tickle the rancor's teeth and you're sure to get bitten. Warnings: Predator/prey chase, primal kink, CNC, knife play, bondage, entrapment, some violence typical of primal play, some blood typical of primal play, creampie, anal play, spitroasting, throat fucking, gang bang, over sensitization, forced orgasm, implied aftercare, mating marks

Splashed up to mid-thigh in swamp-reek, mud-smeared, gloves caked with something unidentifiable from the gravethorns, you throw yourself into the bog at full-force. Forget the sanctity of your weapon — you brought a blaster to a knife fight. Stupid girl.

The shock of tepid, brackish water doesn’t slow you, though the pull of the silted bottom does. You gasp, falling forward, but like everything else involving tonight’s challenge, it’s not your first mistake: this is just one more reason why you shouldn’t make foolhardy boasts in front of the Opress brothers:

That you were faster than any bounty.

That you were stealthier. 

That you were better at escaping them than they were at catching you.

Blame the spicewine at dinner for forgetting so easily that teasing the rancor only makes him hungrier, and that Zabrak don’t suffer the challenges of their prey lightly.

Two trained Nightbrothers, and one former Sith Lord knew better: this is a lesson in humility. Yours? Absent. You reap what you sow, and that involves your pulse in your ears, and the too-certain surety that you’re not alone out here?

Well.

Best keep running, then.

Your boots stick. Your lungs burn. Your limbs tire. 

Running for hours in aimless circles will do that to you, and only the promise of what’s to come slows you up. 

And worse? You can see the citadel in the distance — an end destination that’s still too far away to save you when all that’s left is your shredded ego and soaking clothes, the harsh Dathomiri landscape only part of the problem: 

There are three apex predators on your heels, and what they’ll do when they catch you is only part of what gets your heart racing.

You’re making too much noise. 

Startled, you shriek as your ankle catches and you pitch forward, face-first into the water. It rattles the nightghasts. Several take to the sky as you hit, the water stinging, burbling over your head for just a second. You gasp, wrenched up to your knees and dripping, crawling in your haste to get away from the eyes that watch you from along the edges of the treeline:

Three pairs of them: bright in the gloom. 

There’s laughter too. 

They scatter, and when they do: darkness falls, turning the flanking gravethorn groves impenetrable, save for the understanding that every ragged breath you manage to steal is a guttering metronome that speaks to the failures of overconfidence and your pathetic, tiring  human body.

“I can still hear you!” you shout, because in spite of it all, it takes nerve to call them out.

They don’t want you to tire.

They don’t want you worn and pliant and desperate.

But if you ruin yourself in the effort to escape them, if you stop fighting the urge to give in for just one second —

You’ve lost.

Maul promised as much.

And if they catch you before you reach the citadel steps, far off through the swamp on the other side of the trees, you only have the assurance that what they’ll do to your body will leave you helpless; destroyed utterly. No mercy offered. Not good for anything else. A plaything, promised to three siblings who’ll take what they want and lock you up in one of the citadel chambers.

Such was the weight of the wager: ownership.

Silence descends as you haul yourself upward, marching forward towards the nearest outcropping of rocks: sheltered beneath the sprawling network of branches that blot out the red sky and its sun.

You breach the shore. You drag yourself up. Listening intently for some indicator as to which direction they’ve gone: 

Three against one.

One step forward, legs shaking, you duck under the trees, uncertain of your steps across mossy rocks and boulders, each footfall leaving impressions.

Not good. 

Not good at all.

“The water wasn’t a bad idea, exactly.”

The whisper falls from overhead, wrapping you in its velvet-rough embrace: soft enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck when Feral speaks again:

“It should have covered your tracks. It ought to have concealed your scent.”

You turn, seeking out his figure, turning on the spot as you stagger deeper into the gravethorns, haunted by the bulbous pods dangling in the distance. He’s nowhere. You can’t see him.

“The problem is that we would know you anywhere… when you’re that wet.” 

You shiver, the sound right beside your ear, ripping you around as if he’s only just behind you; as if he’s playing with his dinner. 

Staggering backward, you still can’t see him: the youngest of them, the most skilled hunter because Feral spent the most time on Dathomir.

Your heel catches, and the world overturns: your legs snapping out in front of you as you soar upwards, lifted, leaves and branches falling away from a net. Your legs poke through the harder you struggle, dangling not six feet off the ground in a trap meant for a larger creature.

Overhead, perched on a limb, Feral studies you: his golden gaze slitted. Shrewd. Patient as ever — as if he expected nothing more from the clumsy human who thought she might best him. 

“Do you know how I know that?” he asks you as he rises from his crouch: bare to the waist and perfectly balanced in supple boots. When he steps off, falling the distance and landing so softly on nimble feet, he approaches with leisurely interest, keeping your spread-eagled struggle at eye-level. 

A hint of a smile lingers: like he’s known the whole time how he’d best you, but he’s been saving those confessions for a demonstration… the smug bastard.

Feral’s gaze descends, past your heaving chest, down to your writhing, struggling hips — seated in a web of thick cords, knees spread and vulnerable. The trap is so large that it swallows you, pressing in with its rough fibres and too-large knotting so that the bonds rub and chafe and press in uncomfortably. 

He eyes your crotch, a small smirk curving his mouth at the corners.

“You’re dripping.”

Somehow, you don’t think he means the bath you took in the swamp. 

“Yeah?” You lean forward, face pressed into the bars of your prison, tits mashed into the cords, the weave prohibiting movement. “Who was sniffing at my crotch to start with?” 

His grin fits his namesake as he leans in. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

A vibroblade sputters to life in his grip, pulled from a hip sheathe and bright in the gloom. You suck in a little breath, not sure yet if he means to threaten or free you yet.

“Beg me for it,” you bite back.

“I won’t be the one begging for anything,” Feral promises. “Of that I’ve never been more certain.”

The crackle of his knife sings along your inner thigh. You stop moving, breathing hard. Watching.

“W-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t cut the cords, but rather, a sizzle, and the heat of the weapon sings through you — slivering the weave of your trousers so quickly you barely realize what’s happening. 

“Don’t move, love,” he warns you, the tips of his fingers touching yours where you grip the cording. It’s your only reassurance, but you barely notice:

You’re not on the same side anymore. 

He is not your friend. Not with that hungry gleam in his gaze. 

You’re barely even breathing when he stands back to admire the slit he’s created, straight through your cottons. A skilled hunter can also skin and trim their prey, you think, and Feral is good with a blade. Too good, maybe.

“See?” Feral says, but you barely hear him over the roar in your ears, your body practically pulsing.

It can’t be over so soon, you think: dazed as his fingertips hover just shy of your panties — admiring the little sodden, transparent mark of your lie.

“You like this,” he tells you.

His thumb brushes the plush flesh of your mons, leaving you clenching on nothing, your cunt flooding as his knife makes quick work of your trousers as he slits open the leg fully, and then the other.

You whimper.

Feral leans in — so close now you can taste the heat of him. “Don’t you?”

There’s no way out of this, you think, but you know what he wants of you — it’s that particular something that appeals to their dominant natures: the allure of power; of victory, of besting someone into submission.

Feral smiles at you through the bars of your prison, the plush mouth of his close enough to kiss — to breathe the air that whispers across your cheeks and collar, as if considering how he intends to devour you.

But here’s the thing:

You’re going to put up more of a struggle.

You’re going to claw at his pretty face.

It’s expected.

It’s invited.

This is the game.

He’s not at all surprised when you lunge at him. 

There’s only the bright glitter of his laughter and your snarling, thrashing, tearing at him — 

The ripple of crimson overhead whips by so fast you miss it as the cords sever, sliced through beneath the branch to dump you in a heap to the forest floor, kicking off the weight of rope and leaves. You pitch backwards, scrabbling to freedom as the lightsaber extinguishes, secure once more in Savage’s palm from having thrown it, and summoned it back to his palm with a snap.

He’s freed you, but for no good purpose: you can feel it.

The Force thrums. The swamp burbles. Your trousers are in tatters. But two Zabrak look down on your heaving, crumpled figure.

“You walked right into this, little one.” The rumble of amusement is hard to miss, but if Savage wants to mock you, he can do it from a distance.

“That’s a you problem,” you breathe, getting to your feet. “You think you’ve won.”

“You did free her, brother,” Feral agrees, and his nonchalance grates.

It’s Savage who drops forward, falling with a thud that shakes the soft floor with the fall of his heavy boots. He rises, the tips of his horns raking the low-hanging branches, the gleam of his gaze in the gloom burning forever — like the thought of you sprawled at his feet is something that’s consumed him.

“We taught you better.”

You press your knees together, everything winding tighter at the purposeful way he looks at you: like he’ll pull you apart. 

There’s only the one path out. They’ve corralled you.

“Please —“ you whimper, knowing that it means little, but praying to gods that never belonged to you has little effect.

“I do wish you would beg,“ Savage murmurs, and the crush of foliage is deliberate: two steps as his shadowy figure rises even higher over you. “Beg me to stop when I pin you down and pry you open: spread-legged and open-mouthed and yielding.”

The image strikes low and hard, and without breath enough to whimper, you know what he wants.

“Try it, Savage. See what happens,” you manage.

Feral chuckles, the sound rolling up your spine. “I like that she’s got some fight left in her.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

You feel the raze of claws slivering upwards, plucking your clothes away from your skin as the heat and hardness and scent of Savage envelopes you —

The promise of teeth on the back of your neck and your face in the mud such a visceral, hungry surety that you shiver.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. 

But you feel the change in his breathing.

Savage cuts a sharp grin.

“I will fuck you into submission, little one — your wrists held over your head and your cunt stretched around me while I bruise your hips, but you will give me what I crave first.”

A memory of claws raking over the front of your panties lingers, your soft spots sodden; your stomach jumping. 

Everything trembles.

He could have you right here. He could spread you over him while he pushes your mouth onto his brother’s cock, directing you to suck like your life depends on it, making sure you don’t spill a drop, but Savage isn’t done yet.

Your mouth is dry, but you ask him, “What’s missing?”

“Get up.”

The command in his voice is lower than the promise of rain after thunder: Savage is a marcheon of Maul’s growing kingdom and his right hand, through and through, and whatever traditions linger from his early years on Dathomir, they are not forgotten:

His fingernails are gritty from dirt, his chest broad and smeared with red soil, but there’s strength in the way that he tenses: all that power bunched down into muscles that are as hard as the heavy length between his legs, visible beneath his trousers and beginning to strain.

“Do as I say, little one.” There’s amusement in his warning, like you’re being stubborn at the prospect of crawling before royalty. 

“Why?” you ask, petulant and wanting to provoke a reaction from the stoic prince, but you already know the answer.

“I want to taste your fear like I can taste your cunt when I put my lips to your skin.”

It furls in your belly, twisting into tension that smears your inner thighs and kicks your heartbeat into a gallop: fear edging into your peripheral vision, darkening the world around you so for a moment, all that sits between you are a few, shivering breaths as Savage falls to perfect stillness.

All of Dathomir is quiet, but not as quiet as Savage’s whisper:

“I want you to run.”

Further to the original point: Dathomir is an inhospitable wretch of a world — overgrown, unchecked, and intent on cutting you down as your stumbling, ragged run pitches you into the veiled mists that creep between the gravethorns as the dead leer from their burial pods. You bark your shins, the branches slash at your bare legs and sensitive palms, and everything endeavours to bring you to your knees. 

They even gave you a head start — 

But there’s hardly a point to that when the dark opens its toothy maw and insists on drawing blood.

Small cuts and slivers leave you smeared and dotting a trail, but if you let the pain drive you forward you find yourself less addled by the prospect of being hurt. There’s clarity in it: a little wisdom imparted on you by Maul once upon a time.

A little pain whets you so that you hear every glug of the Dreaming river, every snapped branch, and every footfall that broils up the ripe scent of decay as you tear through the miasma that wisps from little inlets, making the shadows breathe.

Fear smothers.

But pain? Pain offers clarity: heightened sensitivity, better spatial awareness, the too-reality of the world around you lifting you above the adrenaline that jams your senses. 

Pity this trajectory has given them a leisurely path to follow —

You notice as much when you stagger to a full stop, your lungs burning as you sag into a tree. Knees uncertain and muscles spent, you leave a smear — dark against black bark. It’s not noticeable to the naked eye, but to a predator’s nose it’s a marker painting your location in neon.

“Spent already, love?”

Feral’s laughter rings, spiralling downwards into your resting place, and exhausted, you whimper. He’s not even breathing hard. You never even heard him.

You can practically feel his lips against your ear when he whispers, “Are your legs shaking yet? Because I think we can do better.”

You shove forward, limbs coltish and uncertain after tearing through the wood.

“Climbing might’ve been easier,” Savage agrees from up ahead where the shadows shift. “There’s refuge in the trees; caves in the mountains too to hide in, if you don’t mind the bane back lairs.”

They’re practically on top of you, their voices echoing as you stagger forwards, making pathetic little noises the betray your exhaustion: whimpers and nonsensical pleas without form. 

You double-backward, cutting a line sideways to the stream where the silted depths burble up marshy gasses and your feet sink and stick. 

And as you look behind you, wanting to see for yourself how close they are, you stagger at the wink of gold eyes shining too brightly: two pairs of them haunting your footsteps.

Your ankle catches, but your gasp is a half-hearted thing, the trees that have been reaching for you scraping past every sensitive piece as you strike hard enough to leave you winded.

The ground thumps with that particular, hollow resonance that leaves you crumpled and breathing hard, the urge to cry threatening. Your clothes are shredded, your body is bruised, but you make claws of your fists into the mulch and rake furrows as a frustrated howl builds in your throat.

Forehead to Dathomir’s soil, you bellow.

You scream.

You howl like an animal —

Summoning the last of your will to snarl and spit and wail your throat raw. 

When you rip around, the path is empty. The trees are dark. Stars absent. Not even a nightghast dares venture nearer to you, a wounded creature ready to tear off the fingers of anyone who dare approaches. 

The gravethorn grove slumbers, silent.

Only the creak of branches in a dead wind lingers, but it’s no comfort. You pull yourself to your knees with scraped palms, and you look up.

There’s no one.

No one at all.

They’ve left you, you think — and why that’s so much worse, you don’t realize at first though it creeps towards you with a certainty: all is not as it seems. 

It feels…

Cold.

“Get up, love.” Feral again, but there’s an edge to him now. 

You don’t dare dismiss it, because you realize now why they’ve been toying with you this whole time: they’ve been waiting for him to join in the fun. 

And just like that, the shadows part:

Fifty yards away and closing in.

A moving slip of darkness — a true hunter; the heir apparent of Dathomir.

Forty five.

Forty.

Your heart slams against your ribcage, your vision tunnelling to a fixed point that’s growing closer the longer you wait. Determined. Head down. Arms pumping. Chest bare. Eyes like firelight.

The last bit of your conscious mind shuts off, and all that’s left is small, shrill voice of transcendent panic that screams through your veins: run!

Scuttling backwards, you twist and scrabble to your knees, no longer feeling the rocks and sticks and slithering things beneath your feet as you pelt head-long into Dathomir’s dark. No sense of direction. No regard for the fallen trunks in your way. You shear through them, no longer feeling your legs; your weaknesses a thing of history. Terror drives you. Maul is a killer, and you — you are the hunted. You are prey. 

You leap. You soar for freedom as the ground rushes by beneath you —

Pinwheeling.

Lesser creature.

Straining for freedom —

Collision.

The strike catches you in the midsection: a rough connecting blow that shoves the air from your lungs and rakes down your ribs with claws meant for tearing. They shred through your shirt. 

Your legs tangle, the impact of the fall buffered by a shoulder that is not yours. He hits first, wrapped around you so that you bounce and tumble, but the arms that have cradled you take the brunt of it in a roll. The world upends, spinning hard and fast so that the dirt and grime of the descent puts you down face-first into that rich loam, gasping and tasting earth. Hard hands on your body drag you backwards, your ass connecting sharply with a slap against hips that you feel in your cunt. 

Scrabbling, you claw into the dirt and pick up handfuls of debris, fingers sliding off vines and roots as Maul releases your hips. 

You try to twist away, but it doesn’t work —

Air touches your skin before you even realize he’s torn it all open, leaving you exposed to tooth and claw, the fist in your hair wrenching your head backward and exposing your throat.

No words.

Only sound.

Only your ragged panting, throat clicking open and shut, the night around you singing in your blood.

Only the heat and pressure of little uncomfortable twigs and stones digging into your knees. Only the scent of musk and blood. Only him, bending you to his will as he makes his claim.

The growl against your ear is a promise of retribution against a mate that doesn’t behave, but you claw at the arm that crosses you. You roar as he shoves your knees apart, loud enough to drown out the snarl and snap of his teeth against your earlobe: his breath is a wet heat.

Digging your nails into his arm, you claw at him. It does nothing at all.

“Mine,” Maul breathes. 

Your panties tear with a pathetic, elastic pop that snaps at your waist. The aftershock stings, but its a distant discomfort. You forget all those little pains in a heartbeat. 

There’s no warning: just the hardness and stretch of him sheathing into you to the hilt. Your body bucks, frozen at the shock of the intrusion, and unable to draw a breath, you’re overwhelmed at the feeling of his cock; his teeth.

Maul thrusts once like its a warning, but you’ve no wind to even keen at the surprise crunch of muscle and skin beneath his mouth. It hurts for just a second — the surprise and shock of being marked without warning leaving you fumbling, clawing at the dirt when he tosses you forward to your elbows and snaps his hips. 

His ridges ripple, making wet sounds as your body struggles to adjust.  

There’s no time. It’s too much. 

There’s no way you can fight when he angles just slightly, hitting that spot that bursts stars behind your eyes. Claw-tipped fingers dig into the back of your neck, and Maul snarls just the once like he commands you, striking at it over and over without mercy until your body snaps around him: “Come.”

Relentless.

Everything shudders to wakefulness, the moment shimmering before the drop trembles — and you hover at the precipice of desperation, clenching hard on him as he delivers you to oblivion and keeps rutting so that each slap of his hips shoves you over that edge and out of yourself.

You can’t even breathe. 

Darkness threatens. Stars burst in your vision.

This is heaven. This is abandon.

He doesn’t stop.

Each thrust of his cock pummels you deeper into the dirt, screaming, over and over:

“Maul, Maul, Maul.”

You’ve found your voice at last: it’s hoarse and reality turns ragged at the edges, leaving everything tunnelling down to the feeling of being claimed by him — as if there was ever any uncertainty to whom you belonged.

He grunts, giving your hips a squeeze, and then your ass as he unsheathes, leaving you cold and slicked and pulsing on nothing. Maul paints the backs of your legs with his release, breathing harder, his laughter a certain, dark thing.

Maul utters in a hoarse murmur, more growl than a summons, “Savage.” 

And you know in that moment they’re only getting started.

Fingers take the place of his cock, easing into you two at a time, a thumb weighted against the pucker of your ass. Maul rubs himself to stay hard as the world blurs and you feel the first inklings of your bruised and tender places.

He moves before you, lifting you to your hands and knees with two fingers under your chin, a thumb to your lower lip, spearing between your teeth to open your mouth for him.

The cadence of the fingers inside you don’t change, but they thicken as another finger is added -- a heavy hand caressing the curve of your ass and squeezing it hard enough that you whimper; that your knees buckle as you try to shy away from a firm grip. 

“That’s good,” Savage says. “She’s still throbbing.”

Maul’s thumb prevents you from speaking, pressing it deep into your throat and holding it there a moment. The little clicking sound of protest as you reign in your gag reflex is nothing shy of miraculous. 

“Keep her coming,” Maul murmurs, watching you with that predatory interest. “Until she learns her lesson. It does not seem fit to leave one who is so boastful wanting.”

And it’s in that moment you realize that while you might be sated, his brothers are not. 

“We’re all going to fuck you, darling; one after the other until it’s seated in your memory; until there’s no question of ownership — that when someone asks you, ‘to whom do you belong?’ you’ll never hesitate to answer.”

The press of Savage’s cock stretching you elicits shuddered moan, and he pops in two ridges before you gasp at the intrusion. You throb beneath the grip, his clawed fingers digging into your hips — as much an adjustment for him as it is for your body. 

“You’re going to take every inch,” Maul tells you. That you close your lips around his thumb  and suck is an involuntary response to the surprise push of Savage’s girth. It burns a little, and you moan into Maul’s palm, eyes fluttering shut. “And Feral is going to teach that mouth a lesson.”

Your own spit streaks your cheek when he withdraws, gripping your jaw and holding your mouth open, like he’s considering what you’ll look like stuffed from both ends.

“Every part of you — your cunt, your arse, your mouth, your fingers — every bit of you belongs to Dathomir,” he tells you. “Do you understand?”

Savage grunts behind you.

He thrusts, impatient.

You arch, and Maul’s grip loosens enough to let you take his brother in one shuddering push. 

Breathing hard, you can feel the pulse of Savage’s heartbeat through his cock. He’s buried so deep that the brush of his heavy balls touches the tops of your thighs. Why that makes you wetter — knowing he’s hilted so deeply that you can feel the brush and sway of them — you can’t think about.

“Gonna come again,” you manage, and if there are tears streaking your cheeks, you don’t yet know if it’s because you’re relieved or because once won’t be enough for him. 

Savage wraps a hand around your hip, placing two firm fingers to your clit, circling it hard enough that you buck up into him. His chest provided a buffer against your back, the hard heat of every muscle a comfort under any other situation, and you can’t help but whimper as one large palm spreads over your chest — and handful for long fingers.

“Good,” he murmurs into your ear, that low rumble of thunder so self-satisfied that you shiver. “I want you to. Spread over my lap like this so I can feel that little pussy flutter.”

You clench on him, and he chuckles.

“When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to walk later. We’ll have to carry you to the pools beneath the citadel, and we’ll bathe you and treat your little injuries, and when you’re warm and comfortable, we’ll do it all again: one after another, making sure each one of your tight little holes can take every inch of us.”

You blubber something incoherent, pawing at him but too addled by the promise and too stuffed to protest, but you manage with your waning capacity to withstand the pleasure:

“Promises, promises. How about you prove it.”

Savage nips your ear, his mouth pressed to your neck just beneath it so each huffed breath leaves your restraint in slivers. His hand circles your throat — not squeezing, but in a show of dominance.

“Try and fight me, then,” he challenges. “We’d love to see it.”

You grin, eyes slitted, but Savage doesn’t see the what Maul sees: a prey creature caught beneath the hips and hands of a larger predator, but not intimidated — only ready to fight for freedom.

To Savage’s credit, he actually snarls when you sink your teeth into his forearm.

He jerks, and thrusts in shock, hard enough to almost buck you off, but you sink your nails into his arm and you hold on — clamping down hard enough to draw blood.

Feral’s laughter rings around the clearing, and in a show of self-satisfied defiance, you gasp open when Savage rips your hands off him — both your wrists snapped to the dirt above your head while he slams into you from behind. 

“She bit him,” Feral chortles.

You make a note to take a piece of him too if he’s going to gloat about it.

Later, though —

Your body trembles, each strike of Savage’s hips jostling you forwards into a place where your cries become soundless, your insides shuddering like he’s attempting to rearrange your pieces.

You’re coming.

One surprised bleat of pleasure doused by another, stronger and guttering, but Savage doesn’t cease, he only maneuvers you to better see you stretch for him — slipping out to check how you strain and gape before pushing back in. 

“Brother.” It’s an invitation, you’re just not certain for whom anymore. 

The ground falls away as Savage lifts you, repositioning your body so that you’re forced to your tippy toes, tethered by your hips and the enormous cock inside you. He returns to your clit, rubbing with a vicious sort of precision which leaves you writhing and a little disoriented — too addled to protest and too small to do anything but take it when Savage lifts your body by the hips and resettles you around him. 

You scrabble a moment, your contact with the ground uncertain. 

“Surrender to it,” Maul tells you. 

“Let me use you little one,” Savage says, triumphant, “I’ll make sure you come again.”

“I can’t —“ you start, but he strokes you down his cock once more, and it feels so good that you’re not sure. It feels like you’re falling forward, and it’s everything to claw for purchase against whoever’s closest as Savage rolls his hips. The ground swirls below you, the sudden vertigo too much. You whimper. Everything shudders. 

“Brother,” Feral says. “Bring her here.”

You gasp as Savage lowers you, letting you descend almost to your knees, trying to crawl forward but slowed by the steady rhythm of his hips as he rolls his cock inside you. Touching everything. Working you open. 

Savage pulls out again, and you cry out when he spits, thumbing your ass as if its the last bit of innocence you have left and he wants to own it.

“Look at me, love,” Feral says.

Savage pushes in, and you’re so full for a second your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open.

“Kark,” Savage grunts. “Squeeze my cock.”

You don’t know how close he is. You don’t know if he’ll ever stop.

“I can’t —“ 

Everything’s raw. This is a losing battle. 

“You can,” Feral promises. 

That half-sly grin Feral wears is so sure of everything when he cups your face; when he pushes back your hair and brushes out some of the debris with his fingers.

He leans in, nipping at your lower lip so tenderly you moan for him. It’s a breathy sound as Savage continues, rocking you against his hips, his knees keeping your legs pinned. You take every inch, eyes tearing from the heavy slap of his balls against your clit. 

It’s good, even when he pulls out to tap your cunt — slapping it a little while he works your ass into submission. 

“Oh stars —“

You could touch them, you’re so close to that fathomless dark.

“Focus on me,” Feral murmurs, on his knees and dipping in to taste you. He sucks your upper lip into his mouth, leaving you straining for his shoulders to hold onto as he smiles into the kiss. 

Savage grunts, pulling you back onto him like its a competition for your attention. And even fucking you with one finger, he’s still winding you higher. 

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Feral asks, and he’s right: his tongue in your mouth leaves you with the lightest trace of smoke and sweet, filling you in a way that’s more tender than the moment affords.

“We’re just going to fill you up; make you forget everything but the feeling. Make sure you never want for anything.” 

Savage growls something, his restrained thrusts growing a little more forceful.

“We’ll take care of everything, just as long as you remember —“ Feral kisses your cheek; the corner of your mouth as Savage’s movements turn sharper. “You belong to us.”

Savage grunts. “Now, brother.”

He rises, your chin in the cup of Feral’s hand an invitation. 

“Open,” he murmurs, the fastenings of his trousers loosened to free his length.

You blink up at him, your lips already parted as Feral’s cockhead brushes your lips. 

Eyes darkened, amusement glitters. Maul watches, hungry still.

“Don’t go soft on me, Opress,” you manage, staring up at him. 

“I promise,” Feral whispers, “you’ll love this.”

There’s no preamble when he slides in so deep in a single thrust that you choke. He chuckles, stroking your face.

“I’m going to fuck that bitchy little mouth, now,” like he’s been waiting for this moment since you first started running your lips after dinner — a what’s for and comeuppance for every bratty thing you spat at him. Feral pauses to get a better grip on your hair. 

“And you’re doing to swallow it.”

You gurgle around him, the salt and musk sweetness of his skin delicious as Feral starts moving against your tongue. His breathing clicks, and you loosen a little as his cockhead brushes the back of your throat, and again, pushing deeper. 

Feral groans, and for a second he holds you against him, your nose against his pubis, and you just drool on him and down your chin.

“That’s good.”

“Hold her, brother,” Savage murmurs, and then they’re both fucking you in tandem.

It takes less than thirty seconds, the pulsing heat of Savage spilling inside you as hot as the cum that paints your ass when he pulls out, his thumb with it. You buck on him when he gives you his fingers, curling inside you so you have something to come on when Feral spurts down your throat, rasping a harsh command to, “Swallow,” that your addled brain obeys, tonguing the underside as if you can drain every drop from him.

You’re still coming on Savage’s fingers, the ache of it mingled with exhaustion; throat raw and voice rasping as Feral withdraws only to tip your face backwards. 

There are teeth on your shoulder: Savage’s, worrying a little mark into your skin that hurts less than Maul’s bite, and Feral’s fingers soothe the edges of your breasts as he tastes his own spend in your kiss.

“Mark her, brother,” Savage tells him. 

And you hiss as you’re handled, pulled into strong arms as Feral licks at the juncture between thigh and hip, putting a nip into you too like a final punctuation mark on your evening.

The forest falls quiet as everyone exchanges glances, smiles between them, and you too — limp in Savage’s arms and grinning.

“How was that, darling?” Maul asks from his vantage point against a nearby tree, his arms folded, gaze smouldering. 

You kick your legs a little, glancing down at yourself: covered in their marks and their juices, and giggling. Sated and ready to be bathed, cradled between them for a good rest after they tend to your bruises.

Your body is a ruin, you couldn’t possibly come again, but oh — you grin — it was worth it.

“Next time,” you suggest, winking, “maybe I do the chasing.”

[danger-xylophones]

[cakbanedraws]

Did a fanart for one of the Maul/Reader on Ao3 by Bipressed. I think they're new to write some Maul fics. Heheh, just imagine the reader having a marriage in Mandalorian wedding ceremony.

Warning: The fic is contain adult themes on it, if you're not okay with the Ao3 link.

Please ignore it, if you are cringed out. I'm just doing this just for fun

[rubytotherebellion]

Subjugation

Maul/Reader

(Fanart + little drabble)

Tags: Improper use of the Force, Mind Sex, Choking, Dom/Sub, Master/Pet, Established Relationship, Touch of aftercare

18+ ONLY

“Oh, but I do enjoy your little purrs and whimpers. So very exciting, tantalizing…that the faintest brush against your mind can elicit such a violent surge of pleasure.”

He brushes his fingertips down from the nape of your neck, to the base of your spine. Watching you shiver, listening intently to the crescendo of your muted pants.

It’s musical, heated, but as delicate as a reed flute. Easily broken. But so beautiful in its fragility.

“So fragile…I could crush your consciousness with a single burst of rage.” He snorts, a singular huff of amusement at his own proclivities.

You can feel the sensations building, mounting a high wall of rising pleasure and ecstasy. He’s skating up your mental barriers like a towering wave. There’s no point in resisting, you know his essence will seep through the very cracks in its foundation, ripping it apart from the inside out.

“Can you feel it?” He breathes out low into your ear, the vibrations tickling through your core. It’s so pleasurable it’s almost pain.

“You are mine. Irrevocably and unequivocally—mine.” He strokes the curve of your clavicle, fingers teasing the dips.

“My pet, my toy.” He grabs your throat, wrapping his strong fingers around your airway, there’s no room left for breath.

You freeze. Waiting. Watching the cold eyes contemplate the value of your life breath.

Do you please him?

Will he keep you?

His pet.

His.

Each eye is a black hole dragging you inside, swallowed whole. There is nothing but him. The blown pupils drag the magnolia irises down into their vortex

His darkness…is your darkness

One in the same.

The silence is making your tongue feel like cloth, but you can’t gather the courage to move your jaw. Trapped between the pressure of his hand and the bludgeoning force of pleasure smothering your mind.

It’s too much, but still somehow not enough. You need more. And you know that he does too.

“Tell me you understand. Tell me…what are you?” His voice is like honey and knives combined, slicing your mind, then lavishing the cuts with sweetness.

“…pet…” You choke.

He does not turn his gaze away. Never giving you a moment to breathe.

“And?” He shakes you, pulling your body up with the strength of one arm. Until your entire weight is raised off the ground.

You hang there, panting in incoherent ecstasy. The pleasure is intangible. If someone asked you to describe it, his mind subjugating yours underneath him—it would be impossible.

“…toy.” You finally gasp out. Another rip of talons into your consciousness ravages you.

“Ah, yes…” He drags the last syllable out on his tongue like a prayer. It rolls through your mind, you can hear his voice in your head. Fingering the sensitive areas, playing with them, taunting you.

He could give you more. You know this is just a taste.

As if sensing your desperation, “Your greed surprises even me, pet.” He laughs indifferently, and pulls you closer to him.

Red and black. Crimson and jet. Your world is consumed by fire. You can see nothing else.

Something wet swipes languidly up the side of your neck. Simultaneously, claws dig into your mind’s pleasure sensors.

Everything goes white.

You pant, scraping your fingers across muscled forearms. Nothing gives. You must endure. And everything is burning. Your mind is burning with feeling, euphoria and icy pain entwining—making love with each other inside you.

You have never felt more full, consumed entirely.

Inside and outside yourself, a voice echoes, “Such a good pet. That’s it, only I can make you feel this. Only I can tear you open…”

Something dark smothers the while light behind your eyelids, dampening the blazing sun inside your mind.

“This ultimate pleasure, this you can only get from me.”

It’s as if a candle was blown out inside your being. Everything snaps, and the darkness plunges you back into your body, into the physical.

You hear someone sobbing, wailing. It’s you.

Your own throat is vibrating with the sound. Undulating cries of both longing and pleasure. Stop it. You have to stop it. But you’re still disconnected from your own limbs, which are flailing wildly. Seeking purchase, and finding only a hard chest, and cruelly contoured jaw.

“Open your eyes.” Says the voice right next to your ear, deep and sweet. You know you can’t trust it, but you fall into it anyway, giving yourself over to it. Soul released into the clutches of your master.

There’s no other word for him. He controls all of your senses, and your mind now too, your very desires are molded and shaped by him. You are becoming who, what, he wants you to be. And you will do it gladly for him. You would do anything for him, willingly. And then thank him for it after.

“Master…” You whisper, a fluttering moan that leaks through your lips. An apology as your eyelids reject your command.

He growls in reply, but after so long spent trusting yourself to his designs, you hear the undertones of warmth. He’s like a nexu, menacing, terrifying even. But if you scratch its chin, and offer it something tempting to devour, it’ll lick and purr resemblant of a domesticated lothcat.

“Ah my pet, even now, so utterly spent–you tempt me with your submission.”

You feel an arm reach around behind your back, pulling your body to his chest, and the weight of you being lowered down, feet contacting with the tile beneath your bare heels. But your length slumps against him, unable to support itself. Limbs melting, useless and pliant in his hold.

So close to him like this, his warmth bleeding into you where your bodies connect. Faintly, you feel him still inside your mind, he’s running invisible fingers across your awareness. Stroking the sore points, making your shudders staccato against his unyielding frame.

And he so loves your shaking, your surrender, when you bow in worshipful compliance to his will.

“Come now, dear one.” He whispers into your mind, like he’s sharing a secret.

You shiver, dragging burdensome eyelids up. You cannot disobey, despite how even the candlelit chamber seems to burn your retinas.

He’s there, his face only a breadth away from your own. Amber eyes pouring down into yours. You blink against the force of power in their depths.

“There you are, so good for me.” A smile which seems at its core, egoistic, ghosting across his lips.

A part of you wants nothing more than to reach forward, cross the small space and kiss them, but you know better.

His amusement chuckles through your mind, a vibration of somehow tender delight at your desires.

“All in due time, pet, patience.” Reading you like an open book.

You can’t help but sigh in resignation, draping your arms around his neck. He releases his hold on your throat completely, and grabs your legs, hoisting thighs up around his waist. You cling to him like a life raft, and he laughs aloud this time, pleased at how used and mentally wasted his toy feels.

He carries you like a weightless bird, bringing you to the luxuriantly cushioned bed, he whirls and falls back into the mattress, bringing you toppling down on top of him. Careful to guide your body’s descent.

Toppling against him with a gasp, you find your face hovering above him. A wave of heat and arousal washes through your consciousness, fanning the flames of your own diminishing lust. He’s feeding you his own hunger, stirring up your mind.

He wants you.

He needs you.

He wants to feel you.

You lean down, giving into the urge now that you’ve been given permission. Your lips connect. And it’s fire, and ice again. Love and lust. Or maybe just lust. Whatever this is, you accept it, welcome it.

His tongue takes control of your mouth, violating you with precision and twisting your body into him, rolling you over—forcing you underneath him.

You go without struggle. The voice inside your mind chants, yes, yes, yes. It’s not just your voice, it’s his too.

Together you coil and bend, bodies writhing together, tongues battling, and fingers stroking over sleek skin. You can lose yourself in this. You do.

Everything you can give to him, you will.

Your master.

[samspenandsword]

Kinktober 2022/23 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: Kinktober Day 12 — Hate/Angry Sex with Maul Pairing: Maul/Reader; fem!reader with no mentions of her appearance. Rating: Explicit, 18+ (Younglings, foundlings, and cadets BEGONE!) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, smut; hate/angry sex, unprotected PIV (PRACTICE SAFE SEX), rough sex, cockwarming, inappropriate use of the Force, breathplay, pain kink, biting kink, mild blood kink, Mandalorian!reader, spy!reader, toxic relationship, I have never written angry/hate sex before so do with that knowledge what you will, language. Word Count: 2.2k

Sam's Pen and Sword Kinktober 2023 Taglist Form

Maker, you hated him. A shabuir of the absolute worst kind, he was unforgiving, murderous, singular-minded, self-serving, obsessive, angry, scary. He was a murderer, and you could not wait to help drag him to the pits where he fucking belonged. 

He’d stolen your sovereignty. Alienated your people. Butchered your honor and Creed. Assassinated your noble, albeit misguided, but still well-meaning duchess. Plunged your world into the worst kind of occupation and war. 

This hadn’t been what you’d wanted. You’d joined the Death Watch to restore the ancient ways to your people. To try and get the duchess to see that the two ways — pacifist and warrior — could coincide. The people who wanted to swear the Creed and wear the armor could, and help fight for and protect those who wished to live in peace. Pre Vizsla had seemed to share that vision. At first. But as time stretched, you began to see him for what he was. 

A madman. 

But you were in too deep to back out, lest you lose your people and your Creed.

So you decided to observe. To watch. To bide your time. Your people would realize the truth.

But then the unthinkable happened. Maul had murdered Vizsla and taken the Darksaber. And your people, so blinded by their need to reinstate the ancient ways, followed it. Despite it falling into the hands of someone who never swore the Creed and wore no beskar. 

The death of Satine Kryze had been the final straw for you, watching with stunned fury as she fell dead at the murderer’s feet. You hadn’t agreed with the woman and her way of rule, but all she had wanted was to do right by your people.

You had never wished for her death.

When an opportunity arose to infiltrate Maul’s regime from the inside, you took it. Everything you learned was relayed back to Bo-Katan, and you became a spy against the most dangerous being you’d ever met.

You hated Maul. You hated everything he stood for — power, control, domination. You were angry at how he continued to let your people suffer and lorded over your planet like he had a right to it. You were incensed at how your people had so lost their way that they willingly followed him. 

He sensed your anger.

“A fire burns in you,” he’d said. It was the first time he’d spoken to you directly. His golden gaze had fire in them as well.

“A fire burns in all who would call themselves Mandalorian,” you’d said.

“You don’t like me,” he’d observed.

Your heart pounded, but you’d prepared for this. Forcer-users had an infuriating habit of invading the thoughts of those surrounding them. Sith and Jedi alike. 

“I don’t have to agree with you, or even like you, to serve you, my Lord.”

He hummed. 

“And what is it that you don’t agree with?”

His eyes pierced into you, his posture as languid and lean as a cat. It was a dangerous posture, and you knew Maul was a capable warrior. He had to be to do the things he’d done. But you got the impression he was genuinely curious.

“Killing the duchess made her a martyr to the ones who would support her, including the Jedi. Not to mention it alienated Bo-Katan and her followers, splitting our numbers more than they already were. Mandalorians have always been stronger together.”

He studied you, the gleam in his lava eyes unreadable. “Why not join Kryze, if you disagree with my killing the duchess?”

You’d prepared for this too. And you spat your answer with a very real anger.

“Because she would’ve killed her sister had you not done it first. And I would never follow a hut’uun who would kill her own, Mandalore-born blood. I would follow you before I ever followed her.”

Maul’s eyes shone with something, again, you could not quite identify. His hands, clasped behind his back, remained there as he turned slightly to face you more fully.

“I think we’ll work well together.”

His voice was a purr. And you hated how it made your thighs clench. And you hated how your eyes watched him as he walked away, unfairly graceful and fucking hot.

It made your blood boil from more than anger.

You suddenly found yourself as one of Maul’s advisors, an ear to his monologues of grandeur and power, long and poetic. He spoke of the dark side of the Force, and his old master, his desire for revenge and how your people would help him achieve it.

You listened. You responded when necessary. Your blood still boiled in his presence.

He smirked every time he sensed it. Because he knew what it meant.

He sensed the clenching of your core, and the heat in your veins. He saw the tension in your posture as he circled you like prey, and took amusement in seeing how far he could push before you bit back. He relished the way you tried not to shiver as he leaned to whisper witty commentary in your ear the rare times you removed your helmet. He delighted in sensing the conflicted fire in you, and pushing you until you snapped.

And you did, snarling at his antics and games until he pinned you and took you roughly against the floor of the throne room. 

Your beskar covered the bites and bruises he left. It guarded you when his gaze grew heated and knowing. But despite that, it bore his colors, and your skin tingled at the mere thought of his touch. 

Maker, you hated him, and yet you couldn’t shake him.

He’d clawed into your armor and sat in your kar’ta beskar like it was his throne. 

You were impaled upon him, him lounging on his stolen throne like a smug, satisfied loth cat. The smirk on his face infuriated you, and made you disgustingly wet. You dug your nails into the muscles of his back, hot and rippling under your touch.

Your hips were pinned to his, an unseen pressure quite literally keeping you from moving and it was all you could do to not beg, twitch, or even react. It would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he had an effect on you.

Not that he already didn’t know, but still.

Another invisible, firm, searing pressure pressed to your clit, devastatingly precise. You choked on your gasp, nails digging painfully into Maul’s back.

His smirk widened. 

“I can feel your need.”

His voice was a purr that wreaked havoc on you, and he suddenly, powerfully, yanked you even tighter to his front. You couldn’t swallow your moan this time, and he nibbled on your jaw.

You brought your hand to his scalp, fingers curling around his horns in a way you’d discovered made him lose a bit of that irritating smugness.

But instead he leaned into the rough touch, and it made your heart skip, your cheeks flush, your breath hitch.

He nipped the plush of your lips. 

And invisible hands raised you up, sliding your slick and squeezing walls to the very tip of his cock, and slammed you back down.

With each slam of his cock into you, you choked around moans and screams. His length was impressive, if artificial, and everything about him felt so hot and real. You could practically feel him in your throat, heavy and bulging and thick. 

Or perhaps that was the force pressing against your windpipe, constricting your air just enough to make your head spin.

“Sublime,” came Maul’s voice, velvet in your roaring ears. 

You felt his hands seize you, bruisingly, slamming you down onto him even harder than before.

You could feel the heat, the tightening inside you, having been plateaued for what felt like hours upon him. And now as you fucked yourself upon him, clawed and fought and snarled on top of him, you felt yourself cresting. 

“You’re close,” came his voice. Arrogant and smug.

You squeezed your cunt around him and yanked at his horns. His teeth bared and a guttural growl escaped him. 

“So are you,” you growled back.

You found yourself beneath him in a blink, back pulsing with the pain of slamming into the throne and his cock punching into you. 

You had bruises on the backs of your thighs from the metal of his legs and hips unforgivingly slamming into you, and you hated how good they looked on your skin. Your shoulders had scars of his teeth, skin permanently bearing his mark. You hated how you shivered when he traced them teasingly. Your pussy squeezed and throbbed with pleasure and pain, the feeling lasting well into the days following each tryst. You hated how it made your gait change and widen, and how it became your new norm. You hated the open-chested tunics he wore, showing the intricate, beautiful ink of his heritage. You hated how good your nails left scratches in him. You hated his grin when you yanked his horns, hated how he pushed you to give as good as you got. 

And you hated how he fucked you — painfully, roughly, carnally, exquisitely, completely, ferally. 

Exactly how you liked it.

And he did it in a way no other had. 

The heat of your hate and your anger and your orgasm came to a boil, and as another invisible force once again enclosed around your windpipe, something erupted inside you.

Screaming loud enough to be heard through the palace as you came painfully hard, Maul continued to slam into your convulsing, clenching walls, forcing you open as he claimed your heat and slick and chased his own end. 

He seized it, and bit down on your shoulder as he came. 

He never softened inside you, not really, and him retreating from your abused cunt was always something that made you hiss. Sometimes it made your core tighten with discomfort. Other times, like now, it prolonged the fluttering in your cunt.

You gulped in air, chest heaving, thighs trembling, and your shoulder throbbing and pebbling with blood. It didn’t bother you, and you knew Maul liked the sight. And indeed, his molten eyes were fixed upon your shoulder, looking quite proud of your new mark. 

You quietly huffed with begrudging amusement, closing your eyes and leaning back to catch your breath.

“You look a vision upon my throne,” he said. You popped an eye open, still trying to will strength back into your legs and normalize your breathing.

“Hmm,” you said, “especially when I can’t quite walk right?”

Maul smirked. After all, you’d said it, not him. 

You pushed yourself up, tremors fading as you forced your muscles to engage again. You leaned down to where your beskar had been discarded and began to pull your armor back on.

“I had thought you Mandalorians were always fighting for the throne,” Maul suddenly continued. 

You frowned mildly over at him, confused at the sudden direction of this conversation. He usually dismissed you after your escapades. 

“Part of being a good Mandalorian is thinking of the people as a whole. Knowing what would be best for us. We’d never have survived as long as we have if we were constantly fighting each other for the Darksaber. And we’ve almost lost ourselves to that before.”

Maul draped himself over the throne as you continued to methodically and habitually armor yourself. As you did, you grew more and more comfortable. 

“So you wouldn’t want to rule, despite how good you look on the throne?”

You tossed him a little smile, amused despite yourself. 

“I’ll leave the desire for power to you. You embody it so well.”

He smirked. You returned to your armor. 

“You would really never want to be Mand’alor?”

This made you pause again, and you sent him a searching look. “And challenge you for the Darksaber? Not a chance.”

He smirked again, eyes never leaving your form as you continued to redon your beskar and weapons. 

“I thought you Mandalorians loved a good fight.”

You barked a laugh. “A fight, yes. But I’m not stupid enough to try and beat you in a lightsaber duel. So no, I will not be challenging you for the rule of Mandalore.”

The flattery, which usually amused Maul more than anything, did not garner his usual response of a smirk and tilt of his head. Instead, as you picked up your helmet and looked back at him, you found him looking at you, his face and eyes unreadable. 

Again.

“I wasn’t offering a challenge.”

There was something there. A hidden meaning to his words. A meaning that scared you.

You straightened. “Will there be anything else, my Lord?”

He looked disappointed, but not surprised. He was patient. He would wring a response from you one day. “No.”

You sealed your helmet over your head, strode from the hall, and allowed your expression to contort.

Gritting your teeth and jaw and marching through the palace, your hand drifted to your blaster, twitchy and eager. Target practice would help you relax. It always did.

But as you found yourself in the training halls, your mood and anger darkened.

You hated him. You hated him! You hated how you were attracted to him. You hated that you liked him. 

And you hated that he knew it.

You knew that one day, Maul’s own darkness and evil deeds would lead to his downfall. And when it happened, your kar’ta beskar would once again be yours.

The day could not come soon enough.

Taglist: @twistedstitcher27 @rexxdjarin @frietiemeloen @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @jedimastersovi @hnnybee @sleepingsun501 @virginoliveoil @rosmariner @sunshinesdaydream @adikas-world @theroguesully @dangerousstrawberrypie @kraytclaw @lindsaygallof @misogirl828 @thefact0rygirl @mxkyrie @rain-on-kamino @coffeyorky

Sam's Pen and Sword Kinktober 2022 Taglist Form

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[wild-karrde]

NSFW Kinktober fic rec…

@moonstrider9904 has a Maul x Fem!reader fic that is so 🔥🔥🔥! She wrote Maul with such a beautifully sensuality…🥴🥴😘😘

This fic is HOT. Maul being a little tease?

“I must teach you patience, my love,” he purred. “Is it not enough for us to be close, to be together?”

SIR.

Moon, you didn't have to make him this sinfully playful, but you did, and for that, I salute you. Maul may be a villain, but the guy is nothing if not chivalrous, and sometimes, we all just need a bad boy that's horny with horns.

(Also we know I am weak for usage of "good girl" always til forever so yes yes very good soup mhm).

THANK YOU FOR THE REC!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[sophiemariepl]

Okay, I know that this may sound stupid, but this time it is not Tumblr at fault - it’s me, because I deleted the recent post on that by accident (gosh, why am I so blind, I just wanted to edit it because I found some interesting info, but nevermind).

So, the thing is, that I’ve been working on my Star Wars fanfiction for a while. The story would include Darth Maul having a daughter with his human lover before being cut in half on Naboo by Obi-Wan in Episode I. I remember that for some reason it made little sense to me that so many fan artists draw their Maul’s daughter OCs with horns and red skin when they choose mothers of their OCs to be clearly human women (because with other species it makes a little more sense, which I will explain in a second).

So, the first time I asked the question “How likely it would be for Darth Maul’s potential daughter to inherit his horns?”, I received an answer that in case when the mother is human, horns are very unlikely, with an Iridonian Zabrak mother are most likely and in case of other species it is hard to determine.

It makes sense to me - Maul is a Dathomirian Zabrak and it is commonly known that Dathomirians are a result of mixed breeding between Iridonian Zabrak men and human women. This means that Maul carries human DNA from his female line and Zabrak DNA from his male line. This specific Dathomirian DNA is likely to manifest itself differently in his offspring, depending on the kid’s gender. This means that a daughter with a human partner would inherit characteristics common in Dathomirian women, instead of Dathomirian men, such as pale, slightly gray-ish skin and slender figure. In fact, I decided that my OC would inherit many more of her visual characteristics from her mother (only paler skin and slender figure would be the slight signs of her half-Dathomirian parentage), which would perfectly add to the surprise effect when she finally learns that Maul is her biological father - because she will obviously assume at first that it's impossible because she does not resemble Maul at all 😜

In the case of a son with a human partner, I am not 100% sure. Perhaps he would inherit his father’s horns, perhaps not. Maybe he would have red/reddish skin, maybe not. I mean, here it kinda gets tricky like in human/Twi’lek hybrids. We’ve seen those with lekku (Lacquane kids who are half-human, although Cut is not their biological father) and without (Jacen Syndulla, who only has green hair, eyes, and tops of his ears). So I guess that in this case, all options are possible.

I am still not sure whether Maul’s kids with a human partner would inherit Zabrak two hearts though, since both Dathomirian men and women have two hearts. I guess it depends, but in case of my OC I chose not to give her two hearts.

So, now my question to you guys:

How do you think Maul’s children would look like, depending on the species of their potential mother?

Leaving this post so that everyone can share their knowledge and thoughts 📚

[helpinghanikan]

Star Wars: Kinktober 2023

Day 7: Collar (Darth Maul)

Kinktober Masterlist

The collar was a braided accessory of dark brown and black leather. A silver ring in the middle to give the illusion of jewelry. You’ve been watching him braid it casually over the last few weeks. It was only towards the end that you dared ask what it was.

“It’s for you,” He says, holding it up for you to see. “A present for the world to see you as you are; mine.”

It’s almost shameful to say but, you didn’t hesitate. Turning around for him to place around your neck. Tight, but not so much to affect your breathing. Just enough to bite at your skin and leave a hint of a mark when it’s taken off.

Maul looked at you with admiration and absolute love. His finger goes under your chin, tilting it upwards so he can get a better look.

“So, absolutely, lovely,” He coos, bringing you in closer for a kiss.

The kiss becomes heated right away. In the privacy of your bedroom, he becomes something else than what the world usually sees. He’s still tough but in a more controlled way. Pushing and pressing you down onto the bed.

His hips find their way between your thighs. Spreading them and rolling in deeply enough that you couldn’t help but groan.

Without a warning, without a car, he manages to slide two fingers under your new collar. Pulling tight and forcing out a squeak from your lips.

“Do you like it?” He asks, orange eyes an endless sunset you could watch forever.

You should have a voice but it’s hard to find right now. The squeak that came out of you was the closest thing to words you’d find that night. So, instead, you simply nod. Although the look on your face was something close to fear, Maul still smiled at it.

“Good, because you are ravishing in it.” He says and goes in for another kiss.

He fucks exactly the opposite as he fights. Slowly, with a small range of movements that sends your head spinning this way and that. His hips move faster and faster as the energy progresses. But not once did he let go of your collar.

The next morning, and for several days after, you wore that collar. In your regular clothes and out in public you wore it like a prized piece of jewelry. You got a few looks but even more admirers. After all, few women could brag about their husband’s hand skills like you could.

[dinsverdika]

I've written this Mand'alor!Maul/reader smutty one shot a while ago. I guess I should put the AO3 link here. I'd type it but I don't know how to make it look fancy like people here do. Don't forget to check the tags!