The Nightbrothers - when they canât sleep and ur next to them
Includes: Darth Maul, Savage Opress, Icarus, Scorn
These are a bit longer, I kind of went crazy. I canât help it I love them so much :c Just wanted them to have longer situations in which they can exist. Might have to edit Scorn later on, I feel like I didnât do him justice. Iâll be writing some shorter, more straightforward headcanons for them too though. Also if you have any ideas my requests are open. Thank you for readingđ¤
Maul rarely sleeps, at night, or ever, really. It doesnât come easy to him. And in those quiet moments, when youâre drifting deeper into sleep, he feels it again⌠that crushing, familiar loneliness.
The air in the room tightens. His vision blurs. Half-formed visions creep in, warping the edges of reality. It sounds like a dozen voices speaking at once, all clawing for space in his mind.
âWh⌠what do you wantâŚ?â he hisses under his breath, voice uneven, strained. âStop it⌠I hate you! ..get away from me! They donât understand you⌠no⌠n-noâŚâ
Before he even realizes it, heâs standing by the window. The reflection staring back at him isnât his. It smiles, wrong, twisted, then suddenly itâs crying.
His uneven breathing and unsettling whispers finally wake you. âHey⌠are you alri-â
He cuts you off with a sharp look. It stops you cold. Thereâs nothing of him in his eyes this time, just something lost, drowning in its own horrors.
You sit up, then slowly stand, approaching him with careful steps. âLet me help you⌠please.â
A violent push of the Force sends you stumbling back. He drops to his knees, covering his face, shoulders shaking.
âI donât want you near me right nowâŚâ he chokes out. âItâs not⌠itâs not safe.â
But, you donât stop. You move to him quickly, wrapping your arms around him despite the weak, fading attempts to push you away.
âIâm not leaving you like this,â you whisper, holding him tighter. âIâm right here with you.â
âI just⌠I canât. I couldnât bear hurting you⌠youâre the only one⌠tolerating me.â His voice falters as he swallows, head still buried beneath his arms, knees drawn tight to his chest.
You donât hesitate. âYou could never hurt me, my love.â Thatâs what reaches him.
Slowly, he lifts his head to look at you. His expression softens, just a fraction, but the sorrow lingers, heavy in his eyes. He reaches for you, hands settling on your arms as he rises, pulling you up with him.
Something has shifted. Thereâs urgency in his gaze now. A restless, aching need. Heâs searching for something, no, someone, to ground him.
âTell meâŚâ his voice is lower, almost desperate. âTell me you will never leave me.â
âI will never leave you.â
Thatâs all it takes. He closes the distance in an instant, capturing your lips in a deep, consuming kiss, nothing hesitant about it, nothing gentle. Itâs intense, almost overwhelming, like heâs trying to prove something, to hold onto you in the only way he can.
âRight now..tell me,â he murmurs against you, breath uneven. âYou can never leave⌠no⌠never..â
âHey,â you cut in, steady but firm. âIâm not leaving you. Snap out of it.â You tap his cheek lightly, grounding him, before pulling him back into you.
This time when he moves, itâs with intent, his hands finding you again as he guides you backward, the tension still coiled in him. You fall onto the bed with a soft breath, and he follows, hovering over you, eyes still searching yours⌠still trying to anchor himself in something real.
His hands are all over you, itâs how he finds himself in the moments when the voices are trying to get the best of him. He clings to something real, you. Grounding himself through touch, through presence. Itâs not calculated, not even entirely controlled⌠just instinct.
Your warmth, the softness of your skin, the way your body reacts to him. Every small tremor under his touch pulls him further away from whatever is clawing at his mind. His fingers find their way down across your belly, under your waistband.. slowly dipping lower.
âKeep your eyes on me,â he murmurs, voice low but firm, laced with that familiar command. Then softer, almost reverent âMy dear⌠stay with me.â
Isnât really used to rest, not real rest. His body never seems to settle, too large, too heavy, too present for any space he occupies. And tonight is no different.
He lies stiff at the very edge of the bed, careful not to crowd you. Every shift feels dangerous, like one wrong movement might crush you, or one careless turn might catch you with the sharp curve of his horns. He hates that thought. Hates how big he is⌠how much he is.
Youâre asleep. Peaceful. Completely unaware of the storm sitting just inches away from you.
And so⌠small. He thinks to himself.
Youâve also somehow taken up most of the bed, tangled in the sheets, leaving him barely any space, but he doesnât dare complain. If anything, it keeps him contained. Keeps you safe.
Still⌠he canât stop looking.
Thereâs a softness to you that feels unreal to him. Something fragile, something untouched by the kind of life heâs known. The blanket has slipped just enough to reveal your skin, and his breath catches slightly. He really wishes you were awake, he could devour you right then and there.
âYouâre⌠beautiful,â he thinks, the words unfamiliar even in his own mind. It unsettles him a bit.
Heâs never thought like this before. Never cared. Never had time to care. Ever since Mother Talzin reshaped him, made him into what he is now, itâs been nothing but survival⌠obedience⌠chaos.
There was no room for self-reflection. No room for doubt.
Until you. A quiet thought creeps in, one heâs tried to bury before. Thereâs no way someone like you would ever choose someone like me.
His jaw tightens slightly at that. A flicker of discomfort, no, insecurity, passing through him. His horns, his size, his very presence⌠all of it feels wrong in comparison to you. Too much. Too monstrous.
And yet⌠You chose to stay. You saw him. You touched him without fear. You spoke to him with a gentleness he had never known before.
That alone is enough to keep him awake. ..Let alone the way your leg just shifted and looped over his waist.
He shifts again, trying to find some position that doesnât feel like heâs about to break something, you, mostly, but itâs useless. Also he doesnât wanna move your leg off of him, cause it feels.. nice. His body refuses to relax.
And his thoughts wonât quiet.
He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face, almost frustrated with himself.
ââŚRest,â he mutters under his breath, though he doesnât move away from you. If anything, he leans just a little closer. âThen again⌠maybe if I just..â
Slowly, he slides his hand beneath your thigh, cautiously⌠lifting it just enough to guide it aside without waking you.
He draws closer, one hand bracing beside you as he adjusts his weight, easing himself into place between your legs with surprising care. Slowly, he shifts lower, his large frame moving with surprising control as he eases himself down your body. His hands wander as he goes, settling over your chest, holding you there, grounding himself in your warmth.
His breath lingers against your skin for a moment, like heâs steadying himselfâŚ
âŚand then he begins, intent on waking you not with force, but with something you might rather enjoy.
Keeps himself occupied in the other room, tools scattered, parts laid out, the quiet hum of his gadgets filling the space. Fixing, adjusting, improving⌠anything to avoid lying awake staring at nothing.
You wake to the empty space beside you. It stings a little, but itâs not new. Some nights, you just turn over and let him be. But tonight⌠you donât feel like it.
You slip out of bed and make your way to his workspace, quiet as you can manage. Heâs focused, hunched slightly over whatever heâs working on, completely absorbed.
You come up behind him and cover his eyes with both hands. âGuess who?â
He stills for half a second, then smiles.
His hands come up, gripping yours as he leans back slightly. âMm⌠let me think,â he murmurs, amused. âSomeone who shouldnât be awake right now?â
Before you can respond, he pulls you around and down into his lap in one smooth motion. âOr someone who missed me?â he adds, voice lower now.
You barely have time to react before his attention is fully on you. His gaze locks onto yours, intense but warm, like heâs taking you in all over again. One hand comes up to your face, fingers brushing along your cheek, slow⌠deliberate.
His thumb traces your jaw, then higher, pushing a loose strand of hair away, tucking it behind your ear. His touch lingers there, fingertips brushing lightly, almost absentminded as he moves down the curve of your neck.
You feel it before you fully process it, his fingers grazing over the marks he left the other night.
You flinch. Just a little.
A slow grin spreads across his face, eyes flicking back up to yours. âDid I go too far?â he asks, tone edged with teasing⌠but thereâs a thread of sincerity under it.
âNo,â you answer immediately, too quickly. Like you donât even want him to think about holding back.
His eyebrow lifts slightly at that, amused.
âNo?â he repeats, quieter now, leaning in just a bit closer. âYou sure about thatâŚ?â
Your fingers curl slightly against his shirt. âDonât start pretending you regret it now.â
That earns a low chuckle from him.
âRegret?â he echoes, thumb brushing over the same sensitive spot again, slower this time, testing. âNot even close.â
You inhale sharply, and he catches it, his grin sharpening just a little.
âThought so,â he murmurs.
He then shifts, lifting you onto the table in front of him in one smooth motion. The intention is clear in the way he looks at you, focused, certain, like heâs already made his decision.
And you donât stop him.
Instead, you pull him closer, legs tightening around his waist, drawing him flush against you.
He leans in, bracing his hands on either side of you, caging you in without hesitation. His presence fills your space completely, intense, controlled, overwhelming in the way only he can be.
Your fingers rise to him first.
You hook them under his mask, guiding it back into place over his face. Only then do you press your lips to it in a slow, teasing kiss, soft against the material.
His breath shifts at that.
The air between you tightens, everything narrowing down to closeness, heat, and the way he looks at you like heâs trying not to lose control of himself. When he enters you, his movements are sharp, lingering, like heâs reinforcing your presence with every thrust.
Thereâs nothing gentle in the way he holds you now, just urgency, heat, and the kind of intensity that makes it hard to tell where he ends and you begin.
At night, Scorn is quiet. He doesnât want to disturb you, doesnât want to take up space you might need for rest. Headphones on, he drifts through playlists, sometimes making one for you without really thinking about it.
But then you shift. Itâs not normal sleep movement. Itâs restless, tense. Your face tightens, caught somewhere far away from him. A nightmare.
Pulling one ear off his headphones, watching you carefully. For a moment he just observes, trying to decide if youâll come out of it on your own or if you need him to pull you back.
He hates this part. Watching you suffer and not knowing what to do. Then you let out a small, broken sound.
âHeyâŚâ he says softly, leaning closer. His voice is careful, steady. âHey, are you okay? Wake up⌠I think youâre having a nightmare.â
And the moment your eyes open, it hits him, tears already spilling down your face.
âShh⌠hey, hey,â he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you tighter. âDonât cry. Iâm here. Iâve got you, baby.â
You clutch his shirt like itâs the only solid thing in the world, trying to breathe through it, but it keeps catching in your throat. He doesnât let go. Just holds you closer, steadying you with slow, grounding pressure.
His hand moves up your back, then into your hair, careful strokes meant to bring you back down from wherever your mind dragged you.
âItâs over,â he whispers. âYouâre here. Youâre with me. Youâre safe.â
And he just stays like that, letting you fall apart in pieces if you need to, without ever loosening his hold.
Your face is pressed against his chest as you cling to him, trying to steady your breathing, but it keeps breaking apart in uneven waves. The comfort youâre seeking spills out of you in fragments, soft, lingering kisses against him, unsteady and emotional, like youâre trying to anchor yourself in something real.
He stills for a moment, caught off guard by how overwhelmed you are, how close to falling apart you feel in his arms.
His thumbs brush gently under your eyes, wiping away tears as they fall.
âDonât cry⌠please,â he murmurs quietly, voice rough with concern.
He holds you closer instead, adjusting his grip so youâre fully against him, no space left between you and his warmth. His touch stays careful, steadying, like heâs trying to pull you back into yourself through presence alone.
âHeyâŚâ he adds softer, almost pleading now. âIâve got you. Just breathe with me, okay?â
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