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⢠Anakin Skywalker ⢠Anakin Skywalker fluff ⢠Anakin Skywalker ansty ⢠dream ⢠force bond ⢠Anakin cries ⢠soft smut?? ⢠20-21 year old Anakin ⢠soul mates ⢠yearning ⢠grief ⢠cried while writing ⢠canât proof read cause Iâm sobbing haha </3
Anakin Skywalker had been having these dreams, prophecies? each night he falls asleep in his bed or halfway through meditation he has these terribly painful dreams. he closes his eyes and drift asleep. he wakes up in a dark void and hears a girl crying for him or calling his name.
he walks through the freezing cold void for what seems like an eternity before he sees her. you. your on the ground with your legs lucked under you. you look up at him and call out for him, your face is streaked in tears. he runs to you, though every step feels incredibly heavy and slow. every single dream he tells himself that heâll put all his effort to get to you in time but no matter how much âeffortâ his dream self puts in just as his hand reaches yours you simply disappear. he wakes up after those dreams shaking and gasping. tonight after a long day of training he lays in bedâwaiting the inevitable of falling asleep and experiencing the horrible dream.
he finds himself in a dream but not that familiar dream. heâs sitting on a sunbathed balcony, light blinds him momentarily and heat buzzes on his skin. as he gains full awareness in the dream he hears a voice. itâs barley audible and hard to make out but one thing is clear. itâs you. he looks down and sees you laid across his lap in a flowing white dress that looks around your thighs. your hair is tangles and a little messy applying that he had been running his hands through it. though he canât remember doing so.
he looks to your face. your face covered in miss placed freckles and more darker beauty marks and eyes a striking blue under the sun. your speaking, your lips move and he can see the slight unevenness of your front teeth that make you look so⌠real. your talking and despite all his harsher dreams in the past where your voice has been crystal clear, in this dream he can barley make out what your saying. he stares at you before you finally look up at him.
you smile softly. âthere you areâ you reach a hand up to gently trace his jaw, finger tip running back and forth. âwhatâŚâ his voice just below a whisper. you smile knowingly.
he closes his eyes momentarily, half because heâs savouring the feeling and half because the sun is making his vision bubbly and hazy. he lets you stroke and trace his jaw and then neck. heâs not sure how long it has been but you slowly shift and sit up. he opens his eyes. âMy sweet Anakinâ your murmur. he doesnât understand what that means âmy sweet Anakinâ but his soul does. you lean in and press your lips against his. the kiss holds no lust or hunger. it is warm, soft and slow. after a moment of being stunned at how real it all feels he kisses back. your hands slide down from his jaw and then his chest. hands lingering as they trace his stomach through his shirt before running down to his belt.
âIâve been waiting for youâ you whisper, voice still hazy and dreamy to Anakin. he gasps softly as he begin to unbuckle his belt. âIt feels like an eternity waiting to touch youâ you whisper. âthen touch meâ his voice trembles. âdonât wake upâstay with me, okay?â you ask softly. he nods. âI promise. I wonâtâ he whispers before kissing you and continuing the soft and slow kiss.
your fingers slipped into his trousers before your fingers brushed against his growing arousal. this is perfect and so strangely familiar but suddenly the light grows harshly and the perfect world begins to shift.
âWait no, donât stopâpleaseâ he whispers as if they could continue and finish this perfect moment in a matter of seconds that grow less coherent and more hazy. his arms wrap around your back, fingers digging into your soft back as if holding tightly onto you will stop you from disappearing. his vision is nonexistent and he can no longer feel you in his arms but he hears one thing.
âI love you aniâ
he wakes up and thereâs already tears streaming down his face. he chokes and coughs, his hand reaches up to grasp at his chest. he feels like the love of his life has been ripped away from him and heâs only dreamed of her a handful of times. his whole body aches to have her in his arms again, to feel his fingers in your soft flesh and your hands slipping into his pants. he collapses back onto his pillow and immediately wraps his arms around his pillow, trying to imitate the feeling of you in his arms.
where it truly lies. | a star wars tale
chapter xvii - sense
he looks in the eyes of someone he had once failed.
full work
[Anakin Skywalker x Reader]
The doors of the briefing room hissed as they parted.
The sterile recycled air of the hallway hit your face in whiplash as you exited the room shortly after the formal dismissal. The more walls you passed, the more they became cold and unforgiving, and they felt no different than a cage - and, much like the confinements of a cage, all you wanted to do was go elsewhere.
Anywhere but the vicinity of the unknown, of the one variable that, no matter how hard you had tried to ignore, the Force always found a way to put right back into the equation.
Unknown was something you had stopped being afraid of a long time ago, for not many choices had been presented to you - not knowing if your belly would have been full into the night, or if your ship could have withered one more hit through the ion storms, had trained your mind enough to develop the courage to dive headfirst, regardless of the consequences.
It was survival, after all - that never changed, whether you found yourself on a daunting warship or the leveled moon, and it did not listen to your excuses stemming from fear or hesitation alike.
It demanded motion, movement, action, for they were the only answers it had ever accepted, and every fiber of your informal training obeyed, much against the heartbeat in your ribs that kept calling a name you could never forget.
The question of where answered itself in the frantic thoughts of your mind that threatened to match your motions, as you had very limited choices before facing the wrong end of a blaster.
The ship.
Your ship, the one that carried you across worlds, the one with the damaged starboard panel, the one holding your trusted droid safely occupied. The one that seemed like the only familiar place to run to, the only constant that you could name, as the halls were foreign, the overhead lights were too bright, and the air suddenly felt too dry to breathe in.
The heat that had burnt enough to scar within your sternum grew colder with each step treaded.
The boots that had seen the grime of the Outer Rim hit too hard against the polished durasteel, too fast, in a hurry that they had not been in a while, with intention in mind, your memory not failing you yet to map the turns you had walked through a mere hour ago.
They kept up.
They did their job of lining up your feet, one after the other, keeping you as stable as they could when your gait threatened to falter at any given moment, holding up the slight buckle of your knees with the shock running through your limbs.
Yet, they could not be fast enough, for you did not make it far before a heavier, louder stride made the steel echo, with a frequency you could never mistake for anyone elses.
The low static in your mind that had hummed since the first step onto the warship, now erupted, spreading across all your senses, your limbs, and took over your thoughts in the only way it knew how to.
Instinct, the honed edge just under your skin that had kept you alive, that had managed to extract you out of impossible situations in one piece, was left defenseless against the mere proximity after a decade of distance, and the sheer possibility of an exchange after a decade of silence.
Of all moments, across the stars and the space and through the days spent wishing, it chose this one to break resolve - when a voice you had lost all hope in rang through metal with a certain plea.
âWait.â
------------------
âWait.â
In the moment that your body moved to turn, an otherwise instant motion that stretched reality this time, etching itself very well into his mind - Anakin Skywalker could swear he felt the galaxy fall, right through his fingers, star and planet alike disappearing into oblivion the moment his eyes locked into yours.
War, he could prepare for.
He could train endlessly in the salles, swing and push until he was drenched in sweat, obliterate any obstacle to perfect his form. He could review approach plans till the rotations slowed and blue of the holotable became one with his vision. He could read maps and create tactics in the hopes of surviving a siege in a clever way, bending the rules just a little when he needed to.
War, at least, was something from which he could come out victorious.
The fastening heartbeat that echoed against his ribcage reminded him, almost instantly that, from this, there was no parting with a win.
It was a ripple within the Force so strong it dragged deep cracks across the surface as if the very fabric of the universe was mortal durasteel. It was the clash of many truths he had once attempted to sweep aside, by his own hand, finally landing to show face.
This, no rule he had ever come to know could contain. There was nothing, nothing in the whole wide galaxy, that could have prepared him for just how this would feel.
Nothing would ever account for the collapse of all that held him whole, from the very instant he had felt your signature in the thread of the universe, to this moment where his feet had dragged him towards you, without permission, without a second thought.
The corridor, the standard sleek design of the Republicâs finest warship, that often bore the coldness he had gotten used to way too quickly, now pulsed with the warmth of the thread that refused to be tamed.
His pulse had found a new tempo, a new rhythm that the war had not yet taught him, one that lived in the marrow of a boy who had once pressed his cheek to a viewport in a ship that would fail to keep promises.
What lived beneath the walls he had once built with bloodstained hands, the very emotion he had refused to name even in the privacy of his own mind, had never disappeared through the years that, unknowingly, inevitably, all led to a singular point in spacetime - and, they tugged onto the pull that lived in his sternum to awaken it.
They did not have to try for long, for the thread was no longer a dormant, silent being once filtered out by his own doing, for no wall, no mind trick could ever contain scorching warmth.
Following the pull, his reflexes moving against the will of his mind, the movement of his eyes betrayed the difference of rank that hung in the air.
And, at this moment, perhaps with a hint of shame, he allowed himself to take you in, for the war did not afford the recognition often, for the weight of long lost years demanded it so.
The dreams that had often woken him up in sweat and gasps, the faint visuals that rendered him unable to fall back into slumber could not do justice to what the galaxy had carved out of the girl in the desert.
Innocence was a long lost feature that no longer coated your face, as fate and decision alike had rendered it infeasible to stay. Your flight suit, a dark synleather number he had noticed you zip up with haste prior to leaving, spoke of a thousand runs, of rattled seats and metal that pierced through on a hit taken too hard, yet, above all, of all the hits that you had survived.
The lines of your figure had gotten sharper, leaner, taller than the girl who had once fit under a workbench. The faint traces of definition along your limbs were molded by a life spent from one cockpit to another, a life of survival that he had been too afraid, too occupied to witness.
It all added onto the tender tragedy of your face, one he had not been ready to read, one he thought he had memorized every letter of in his mind once, yet, still, the inscription was of a language he had forgotten how to speak.
It was a face that would haunt his living and breathing moments, one that had stolen the air in his chest before he could protest, one forged in fire and molded by pain, one the galaxy had no right to make this beautiful.
And, Maker, your eyes. Those eyes that had shone with the fire of building, of winning, those familiar irises that overlaid themselves to the expanse of his dreams, of his conscience, of the memories that threatened to resurface regardless of the many tactics the Jedi had taught him.
From the day you had pranced into the junk shop, ever since the formation of that unforgettable memory he etched onto his heart long ago - Anakin had known those eyes would be the death of him.
And now, they were, unapologetically, staring right into his, making him wonder just what you were seeing, and what exactly mirrored the defiance in your gaze in the depths of your soul.
The general, hardened by the weight of decisions he had to make, scarred by fire and ash alike, was reduced to a little boy on the desert with sand in his hair and the suns blinding his eyes.
It was no longer the warrior that stood in the spotless halls, but rather the little boy who had also once stood in a shop, and believed, with all the certainty of childhood, that there would never be a force strong enough to take you away from him.
He was, with all that was left of him, at that moment when the ship stood still, the boy that had promised you the stars.
The strength that often came natural to him, dwindled as it decided to let fate take over - and it was evidenced by words finally finding voice, finally dragging themselves from his dry throat, low, unbelieving, and raw.
âItâs you. You - you are alive.â
As the admission left his mouth with a tremble in his voice, nothing seemed to matter.
Suddenly, the war disappeared from his thoughts. Voices that belonged to the routine of the ship quieted, the distant murmur of clones and officers moving through the belly of the vessel no more than residual noise.
There was nothing but the resurrected pulse within his chest, echoing the vibrations in your signature, screaming, kicking, yet silent.
There was nothing but the very reflection of all he had once held close to his heart, standing on a pair of dusted boots, shining with the blinding light of the suns that the galaxy could not succeed in dimming.
His gaze flickered across your face with a helplessness he despised in himself, in an attempt of attaching memory to a face, of digging what he had buried with his own hands.
He hoped, in the depths of his heart, that the child from the desert was in there somewhere, whose laughter was subdued for survival, who was forced to grow up too soon. It was in the almost defiant way you held his stare and did not flinch under recognition, in the faint tension along your jaw that spoke of secrets than aggression, as they all materialized into the sharp silhouette that the lowest places in the galaxy carved out of you.
Then came your voice, dry but purposeful, and it proved to be enough to rip the galaxy apart in the depths of his conscience.
âIt seems that I am, General Skywalker.â
The title, uttered from voice he had only heard in dreams finally finding tone, struck him like a blaster bolt, making his jaw twitch.
It did not carry the warmth of the nickname you once had for him, one you never dropped from your tongue when he had to rewire, one that you had screamed across the stars at his rising ship. It was pure ice, for it sounded wrong coming out of your mouth, after all these years. It was too clean, too deliberate, shaped by a restraint that made the thread ache between his ribs.
It awakened something in him, born out of the ashes of recognizing yet always falling short - a certain melancholic denial that he was told, countless times, to let go as a Padawan.
The words left him before his discipline could stop them, his training falling short yet another time, as shame could not act fast enough to drag them behind his teeth where they belonged.
âThat is what you are calling me?â
The simple question hung in the sterile air, followed by the slight breathy chuckle that carried the disbelief of a man who had heard his own rank spoken to him thousands of times across the war, across each rotation, and had never once felt it tear open a wound up until that moment.
However, you seemingly did not care to share his disbelief, as your gaze remained on his with a stillness that, at first glance, could have passed for indifference. Yet, the burning feeling beneath his ribs had another thought as it tightened in a way that made the empty space between your bodies some uncharted territory no voice dared to cross.
âIt is your rank.â
The obvious truth sounded nonchalant as it spilled from your mouth, yet the rank did not belong to your voice, not to him, for there was once a shorter name you had for him that had carried a different melody in the warm air.
Anakin, with the stubbornness that had won him battles, made it his unspoken mission to uncover what the decade had eroded whatever was left of the sparks that once erupted in your eyes when they had landed on him, whether the name you had for him still rang close to your heart or if it had been swallowed along with many words that never came to the tongue.
âYou know that is not what I meant.â
Your hands went back to clasp themselves, assessing, in the same way they did when you had been inspecting his wiring under the panels, when you had watched him attach servomotors to half-finished droids, with a certain maturity carved by sand that many children had not possessed that young.
To an outside observer, to the passerby clone heading to his post, to any other pilot or soldier, it would be seen as a harmless, natural gesture of a lower-ranking officer when faced with the general of a legion.
To him, it was a blade, rough along the edges, lodged into his skin deeper with each beat of recognition - yet the memory managed to outweigh the pain as it earned a softening in his electric blues, for your hands, beneath the icy enigma of your stance, still spoke the same language, even when your mouth refused to.
âI am afraid you are going to have to be more clear, sir.â
He did not know what he had wanted or what he had expected, for he had imagined all the possible scenarios seeing you would bring, over the years, often in the darkness of his bunk or in the corners of the training salles. He had imagined this a hundred different ways, often times with a gentle hug, or an angry outburst, a sobbing yet smiling face, if the Force had given him the blessing of sparing your life enough to meet again.
It had, and along with the light, it had also given him the dark.
The guise of recognition that the heat in his sternum denied viciously, the relaxed body language that you never broke as if it was strict formation, the words that concealed their true meaning under formality, the closeness of a mere three meters yet all the distance that came with it - brought out what he had often forgotten about.
It brought back, in the flesh, the boy in the desert, the relentlessly stubborn yet kind demeanor, with the childish anger stemming hot and anew, the one his masters and their doctrines had attempted to bury under the sand, yet could only hope to succeed.
His gloved hand flew to the back of his neck, a restless, frustrated motion of a body that refused to stand still in front of a ghost from the past, in front of the one, singular, constant truth that the galaxy had never succeeded in taking away from his soul.
âDonât.â
That earned him a slight tilt of your head, your eyes relentless in their calm hue as they kept contact with his, a slightly confused expression settling into your gaze.
âDon't stand here and act like - don't talk to me like you don't know me."
His breathing shifted into something more urgent, the rhythm of it slowly losing its resolve, following the tightening of his jaw, yielding to him even before the implications of the words could fully take a shape. Hints of frustration, something no Jedi should have ever housed within, crossed his face more evidently now, turning more unguarded by the second.
He was a man who could command armies with precision, yet could not command a single sentence right there in that corridor, against the patient voice of a woman who, seemingly, had all night, and had no intention of giving anything away.
"I know who you are, General. Everyone on this ship knows who you are. Half the Outer Rim has heard your name by now."
And, before the silence could engulf the air, before the meaning could land in his mind and soul, your voice carried on its steady pursuit which showed no mercy to the fire in his ribs.
âI also know where we stand.â
Something behind his eyes shifted, the light in them dimmed as if the flame that kept his protest alive got extinguished. His shoulders, broad and tense beneath the robes that had always, somehow, seemed to belong to someone older, someone steadier, dropped into the quiet stance that spoke of defeat.
It was a surrender for a battle he had not been given a chance to negotiate through, for he had already done so, when he had boarded that ship in the middle of the dunes, when he had sealed your name into the void with bloody hands in the desert.
Words rose, still, like ash swirling in the wind to make it to the skies. All the sentences he had silently screamed, all the apologies, the regrets and explanations that came with them, all ten yearsâ worth of utterances, yet none of them felt worthy against what the years had carved out of you, and none of them felt sufficient to cover what he had owed.
He wondered if they ever could.
They did not make it past his teeth before your voice rang in the sterilized air again, sending his heart into a frenzy.
âNow, unless there is anything I can help with, General,â you spoke, voice cold, dry in a way that could never reveal any emotion underneath, â - I have a mission to prepare for.â
And, once again, in his troubled blue eyes, he carried the look of the nine-year old boy under the suns, watching your parting figure disappear into a sandstorm - only this time, the sand was durasteel, and the storm was one of his own making.
The thread, the one he had buried alongside every promise he had broken, every plea he had failed and every vow he had made, stretched taut between as you turned the corner without awaiting formal dismissal - and it did not grow cold.
It only shone brighter - and, he knew, through echoes of his destiny etched onto his very bones, through the pulsing pull of the thread, that it would burn him whole one day.
ObiâWan sits on a crate like this is routine, armor pristine, plates unmarked, every line of it intact. No scorch marks, no dents, no cracks. He looks like a general untouched by battleâ except for the face.
And his eyeâ Anakin stops short at the sight, teeth scraping in a hiss.
Itâs swollen, lid grotesquely puffy, the white of his eye spidered with burst vessels, and Obi-Wan is holding an ice pack to it with the mild annoyance of a man inconvenienced by poor weather.
A medic beside him is talking in a low, nervous stream, but Anakin doesnât hear a word. The sound is drowned beneath the rush in his ears, a low roar like blood pounding against stone.
Obi-Wan looks up right as Anakin enters, and smiles. Smiles. The audacity.
âOh,â Obi-Wan says cheerfully, blinking his good eye. âHello there.â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Itâs a rainy night on Dromund Kaas and Maul is having nightmares from the torture he has endured at the hands of his master Darth Sidious.
â
Maul removed one hand from your hip, caressing the hand holding him.
âThese feelings are tied to me, as my soul is so unyieldingly tied to yours, my loveâ he rasped.
Hello, enjoy some angst and fluff with Darth Maul on a rainy day on Dromund Kaas. <3
You can also access the story on ao3:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/65280319
Pit, pat, pit, patâŚ
A cold breeze flows through you.
The only thing your mind registered was the pitter-patter of raindrops falling on your body.
Huh strange.
These raindrops were so fast.
Itâs like they were attacking your skin from all angles without leaving a trace of cover.
Pit, pat, pit, patâŚ
âHave mercy!â
You startled as your mind perceived a pleading voice crying out in agony.
âPlease, please!â.
Shallow breaths fluttered from your lips as you tried fighting this unbearable trance. But fighting it seemed to only fuel the unforgiving rain as it increased by the minute.
Each drop seemed to sink into every pore of your body like fire-
no-
like lightning.
Yes, lightning seemed to be more fitting.
As your mind pondered over the bizarre situation you found yourself in, your thoughts came to an abrupt stop.
What was that?
You processed distant whimpers and cries of pain, but no sound was escaping your throat.
No, that wasnât you. This voice seemed familiarâŚ
The tapping of the rain increased to an unbearable extent, making you feel like being drowned in endless torment.
You felt yourself reaching your breaking point as the last thing you made out was a distant cackling.
âThere is no mercyâ-
â
You awoke with a startle, taking gulps of air as if rising from the depths of Kaminoâs stormy oceans. The excruciating burn under your skin lingers painfully as if still under the torment.
What happened? You felt disoriented as your bewildered eyes scanned your surroundings. Thin light streaks emitting from the two moons of Dromund Kaas shined through the big glass panels of the quarters you shared with your husband. As your eyes adjusted to the familiar surroundings, you acknowledged raindrops falling outside the window.
The rainfall seemed to cover every inch of the glass, covering it like a heavy blanket made out of cold water. Your thoughts were momentarily drowned out by the white noise reflecting of the heavy storm on Dromund Kaas.
One glass panel was halfway open, letting the smell of chilly dampness in the air creep into the room and filling your nostrils.
But that wasnât the only thing your senses registered.
As you managed to calm yourself down to the best of your abilities you acknowledged the figure sleeping next to you whimpering quietly.
Not just whimpering.
Maulâs body lay straight on his back. His head was turned in the opposite direction of you, which is why you could only see the ink-filled back of his head. His horns were leaving sharp indents on the fluffy pillow. As you propped up your elbow to muster the situation better, he whimpered again, trashing his head to the other side.
Now you saw how pain-stricken his tattooed face was. His mouth was stuck in a permanent scowl as heavy breathes escaped his lungs, making it seem like something heavy was pressing down on his chest. Abruptly, you pulled yourself up to aid him.
âNo, no-â
Your worry increased as he started muttering words.
âAlways remember-
mercy is a lie-
always remember-
I am filth-â
You had to put a stop to this.
âMaul!â you called.
âItâs just a dreamâ you vocalised as you softly put your hand on his right cheek with the caution of approaching a terrified creature barring its teeth.
âMaul! Wake up-â
Pain.
Thatâs the next thing you felt -sudden and throbbing- as Maul opened his golden eyes and swung the back of his hand at your head, muscle memory taking over.
As you tried to recoil and take control of the situation by sitting up properly, you heard a growl from the depths of his throat.
Maul bounced bewildered on top of you, pinning you by your throat and squeezing hard.
His other hand shot out to summon and ignite his crimson lightsaber, thatâs resting dutifully on his nightstand.
Your hands flew to the strong hand choking you and clawing at it as you tried forcing out a sentence. Anything! But only a strangled sound came out of your throat.
Thatâs when his hand suddenly stilled and stopped squeezing the life out of you.
His bewildered, but oh so beautiful, golden eyes shone brightly into yours. The only sounds that could be perceived were the sharp intakes of breath coming out of the Zabrak above you and the rhythmic humming of his blade as he registered the lack of threat.
âMaulâ you muttered weakly.
The red blade vanished into the silver hilt of the ancient weapon he was clinging to.
His shoulders sank as Maul realised who he was fighting. Heavy shame seeped into the marrow of his shaken bones.
His scared expression shifted to one of anger, instinctively processing the shame into deep-rooted self-hatred.
This subtle change did not go unnoticed by you.
The Zabrak retreated as he pulled himself from your body and flopped down next to you.
âMaul?â you called again, with a soft voice.
His only response was turning his whole body so he was facing the opposite direction of you and subtly curling into himself.
Now you were facing his bare, ink-covered back. You felt your heart breaking painfully slow as you saw your husband in this state.
The sheets rustled softly as your body tried closing the distance between you, but not quite touching yet.
The sound of heavy rainfall increased as a lightning bolt washed the room into a sudden white light.
You knew that the roar of thunder would follow in a matter of seconds.
But before the sound could pierce your ears, you saw Maul gently raise his right hand and quietly close the half-open window with the help of the force.
Maul slightly flinched as you gently put your hand on his upper arm. He didnât draw his arm back or recoiled, letting your touch rest on him. Your pleading whispers broke the silence:
âPlease donât shut yourself off from me. Donât push me away-â
âYour reaction time is deficientâ he bluntly said in his raspy voice.
âI think I managed pretty well. I was just about to put you in a headlockâ you joked, trying to lighten the mood.
The effect left much to be desired.
âMaul, look at meâ you ordered.
After a moment, you felt him shift and turn around, now facing you.
You were sure you would never get used to how breathtakingly beautiful he was. You silently admired the contours of his crimson face, which was again set in a scowl.
But you could see behind the facade.
His own self-disgust was eating him alive.
âYou know I can handle myself, right? It was a mistake, nothing elseâ
Maul only replied with a humph.
You looked down and took his hand into yours, tracing the black patterns with your thumb. âYou wanna talk about it?â
An icy chill crept down your back as you remembered the harrowing dream he must have accidentally projected onto you with the force.
You feel dread form at the centre of your chest as you remember the agonising torture he endured at the hands of his master Darth Sidious.
Maul finally responded with a firm âTalking about it wonât make a difference, but only trouble you moreâ.
You frowned at him in silent disagreement, moving your body on top of him to straddle his hips.
Maul instinctively put his hands on your waist, holding you tight. The cold feeling of his cybernetic legs under you and the heat radiating off his body comforted you.
Your hand reached out to cradle his cheek, a singular finger brushing the base of the horn near his ear in a soothing gesture.
âYou donât deserve feeling like that, ever. I want to be there for youâ
Maul removed one hand from your hip, caressing the hand holding him.
âThese feelings are tied to me, as my soul is so unyieldingly tied to yours, my loveâ he rasped.
You tried ignoring the blush creeping into your cheeks and the flutter you felt in your heart.
âI felt your pain. It was agonisingâ you sighed.
âMy apologiesâ he gave a quick peck to your hand âI will try to control myself better next timeâ he genuinely said.
Your heart sank at his words
âNo!â you blurted out.
âYouâre not alone with this, Maul. I want to help you. My well-being is tied to yours, as my soul is so unyieldingly tied to yours, my loveâ you cheekily responded, using the same words but nevertheless meaning it with all your heart.
The corners of Maulâs lips lifted up, oh so slightly, in a small smirk.
A small victory.
The corners of your lips lifted into a genuine smile in response.
You leaned down, resting your head into the crook of his neck and feeling his hearts beating. âYouâre not aloneâ you muttered softly as you cradled him. âEver.â
You basked in the comfort of holding him and feeling his warmth.
âI love youâ you murmured, meaning every syllable of it.
Maul wrapped his arms around your body, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, careful of his horns.
âI love you too.â Maul rasped in a soft mutter.
Your warmth and comfort soothed his nerves as your breaths evened out, and you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
Content among the stacks, the quiet hum of knowledge, the slow accumulation of understanding. A padawan once buried in books had simply never stopped.
Until her first dream...
âWhat do we have here?â
His voice was calm, almost curious. The accent was High Coruscanti, revealing a well educated background. It might have sounded harmless under different circumstances. If his hand hadn't moved toward the lightsaber at his side.
