#Savage Opress x You

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

The Offering (Savage Opress x Reader)

Pairing: Savage Opress x Reader (GN) Rating: M (Sexually suggestive) Word Count: 1,200ish Warnings: Food mention, use of the "c" word, mild voyeurism

Summary: A gesture of kindness for a king. A stolen moment. A treat.

He's a collection of paradoxes: the strongest of all the Nightbrothers, the last one to wield the ichor, the only remaining Champion. They called him a monster, and a brute, and all manner of ugly thing that say nothing of the way he cares for his kin — his brothers and his clan. It's only after you've spent months on Dathomir that you hear the reverent whispers about him: he's fiercely loyal, he's the protector of the small, and he'll never back down so long as those he treasures need to be defended. 

He doesn't say an awful lot. Being Maul's enforcer is a twenty-four hour job, and there are only a few Savage would entrust to guard him in his stead while he takes his rest. At first you think it's because of one of Maul's diktats, but after watching the way Savage behaves, you soon realize that it's Savage's choice to stay close. Maybe he fears for Maul, or maybe Savage remembers those near-misses, growing up with a reckless, headstrong younger brother. 

You deduce several things about him, however: he doesn't like court company, he rarely indulges in spirits, and he doesn't keep a string of lovers. 

You don't understand why: you've seen him in Dathomiri fighting leathers. They're revealing: snug pants that cling to heavy thighs, matched vambraces with their clan crests, and nothing more than an oiled chest on the upper half, highlighting their Nightbrother markings. He never shies away from hard work — every grunt of effort when he lifts, and hunts, and trains with the other brothers are a revelation:

Savage wields a single-minded focus. No distractions.

The brothers respect him, but they keep their distance. You're not sure if that's his preference, or if he's just intimidating, but whatever his solitude suggests, it's intriguing. You would offer your company if you didn't think he'd reject your advances, but something suggests he needs more than someone keeping his bed warm.

Who cares for the person who cares for everyone else?

You're not sure. But you hope the position is available.

That's why you elect to catch him when he leasts expects the interruption. You intend it as a kindness — a token of your appreciation for working so diligently alongside Maul during Dathomir's restoration — but Nightbrothers are not used to receiving honour, and none of them enjoy being caught unawares.

You find him drying off in a small patch of sun after bathing in one of Dathomir's natural springs. His clothes are folded into a small pile on the stone beside him, and the way Domir's light falls across the small downturn of his mouth hints at other preoccupations that can't be washed away. Even with his eyes closed, a furrow notches his brow. 

When you make your approach, you do so with nimble feet in absolute silence. Not a single snapped twig. Not a breath. You move like a shadow, spilling over the edge to place your offering atop the pile of zeyd cloth and slip away before he notices.

Savage sniffs. You can see the flare of his nostrils when he turns his head as if scenting your presence, a mass of hard, moving muscle lumbering to wakefulness, like a statue coming to life. He turns his head left, and from your hiding spot, you're confronted with the angular chisel of his jaw and the sliver of firelight in the gloom when he slits open his eyes.

His rumble of displeasure is rolling thunder when he sees the thing that's violated his respite:

A tiny, leaf-wrapped sweet from one of the food stalls in the market: a confection of candied brula, its toxins boiled off to leave the sweet and chewy bits that warm the hearts. Perfectly safe. Perfectly delicious. 

He sniffs again, but your body tingles as the reserves of your bravery evanesce when he shakes off the sweet to collect his clothing. The wrapper opens as it rolls off, the treat wasted as it falls to the bog. 

When Savage rises, naked, you freeze: locked to your hiding spot on your knees beneath the brush as he turns on the spot — giving you a perfect view of every line and every bulge, and if you weren't nervous before, you're nervous now... seeing how his cock hangs heavy between his legs. 

Maybe there’s a reason he doesn’t take lovers. Maybe the reason he’s intimidating isn’t just the obvious station and stature and cadence, his family and his position. Maybe that’s part of the curse the Nightsisters left on him when he was changed: 

To be so different that none would dare try to love him.

But the reason it scares you is the reason you remain intrigued, heart hammering against your ribs like a bird in a cage —

And when his smouldering gaze picks you out from between the gnarl of trees, you remain rooted, stock-still and terrified that you’ve been seen — the hunter and its prey across from each other, with nothing between them but the promise of a failed escape if you try to run. 

“I smell your fear, little one.”

His amusement is self-deprecating, edged with the knowledge that you’re bested before you’ve even begun, but the fact that he stands before you still, alone and unadorned, is the reason you don’t.

He turns away, picking up his clothes, his gaze shuttering. The crown of his horns bows when he lowers his head, withdrawing from that beam of sun that angles through the trees in the effort to catch him. It fails.

His voice is the mountains, the swamp, the rumble of distant storms of the horizon —

“Go now. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Your ankles tangle, but you listen to your own self-preservation this time, and this time, you run.

It’s not until you’ve reached a safe distance in the gnarl of the grave thorn groves where the funerary pods rock gently in the breeze that you pause, turning back to see if he’s followed.

He has not, but you see him through a gap between the branches — hesitating in the distance over at the gift you left him. He appears to be staring at it, and when Savage bends to collect the little offering with the tips of his claws, there’s no mistaking the way his frown deepens when he unwraps it. Examining. Checking for poison with a sniff. Surprise registering with a lift of his brow bones.

A glance over his shoulder leaves you hunkering lower, your stomach twisting as he unfolds the little waxy package, lips pursed as he sniffs it, and if your limbs aren’t shaking, your heart slamming against your ribcage, the sweet vanishes between his lips. 

The face that rises to the red sky overhead is perplexed, but softening with the sag of those huge shoulders as he relaxes, eyes shutting briefly as the crunch of his teeth echoes through the trees as if he were chewing bones and not a treat, but pleasure is something you’ve never expected to see on those fearsome features.

Your stomach tightens. Your palms sweat. Your breath is shaky, having stolen this little secret:

And you know, all of a sudden, what Savage looks like when he’s surrendered to desire. 

#Savage Opress #Savage Opress Fanfic #Savage Opress x Reader #Savage Opress x You #if I miss a tag lmk.

[dukeoftheblackstar]

ρℓσ кσσи αят:

Wine Daddy Plo: I, II,

Plo Expressions: I, II,

Plo & The Wolves: I,

PloDuch (oc) Art: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII,

Home by amorfista — a state of being, a state of mind, a state of feeling, a state with you.

¢αѕтιѕ ναкαяιαи αят:

Castis Vakarian, A Turian Study: I, II, III, IV, V, VI,

Commissioned art by moonmo0n and, scent.2002 [ please do not repost ] Dividers and banners by saradika, dystopicjumpsuit, idontgetanysleep

Plo Koon x OC / Reader : Somewhere Only We Know

You kept your friendship with Plo and though your heart bleeds for him, as it beats only for him, you decide to yet again express your desire to act in spite and avenge your most favorite Kel Dor in the galaxy. Only to be reminded of something else. "Right Here" - Part II -> Depression strikes and you're at the medcenter.

Savage Opress x OC / Reader : Come Away With Me

Fic dedicated to a friend, @amorfista ♥ To endure is to be patient ; the unnerving circus of a concept that for him to be angry, for him to bestow upon you this carnal need of fury, he would first have to care about you.

[ρℓσ∂υ¢н] [ OCxPlo Koon Series] : єℓє¢тяι¢ ℓσνє

Fic dedicated to my Plo Koon bestie @saengak ♥ Chapter 1: The Invite <- <- <- Ziar Koon, Plo Koon's father, is hosting a celebratory gathering to commemorate the newly established hatchery as part of rebuilding Mother Dorin after a separatist attack a year ago. That said, Plo Koon is expected to be at the event and with you being the known closest to Plo, he is expected to have you by his hand during the ceremony.

ℓσνє, ι gυєѕѕ - ρℓσ кσσи χ σ¢/яєα∂єя [ w o r m ] | ρℓσ∂υ¢н

мσяиιиgѕ ωιтн ρℓσ кσσи - ρℓσ кσσи χ σ¢/яєα∂єя | ρℓσ∂υ¢н

αѕк!ρяσмρт: αℓтєяиαтινєѕ - ρℓσ кσσи χ тιмι∂!fєм!яєα∂єя

яєρєит ωιтн ∂σм!ρℓσ кσσи - αѕкρяσмρт - ∂σм!ρℓσ кσσи x яєα∂єя

ѕαтυяиιиє - ρℓσ кσσи χ fєм!яєα∂єя

#♝ #masterlist #plo koon #savage opress #plo koon x reader #plo koon x oc #plo koon fic #savage opress x reader #ρℓσ∂υ¢н #dukeoftheblackstar #plo koon x you #plokoon #plo koon/reader #plokoon/reader #plokoonfic #plokoon/you #plo koon ficlet #plo koon/oc #savageopress #savage opress x you #Castis Vakarian #Garrus Vakarian #Turian Study #Turian #Turian Study art

[bacarasbabe]

Hiiiiiiii, so happy! Can I ask about Savage + 2 ☆ { putting } a hand over their mouth to be quiet, from the smut prompts? Only if it’s something you’d find interesting!

Ohmygod talk about another amazing request 😩 I had so many ideas for this one too. So you get two fics 💕 Idk what it is but I've really been in the mood for more Savage recently. Thank you for the request and I hope you like what I wrote!

5 Sentence Fic Requests

The gasp you cry is punched from your gut, escaping before you’re able to gain control of your body once more.

It echoes down the hall, painting the smooth walls in the sounds of your staccatoed breaths while simultaneously giving away the topic of your private conversation, to anyone who overhears, with the man who’s currently pressed flush to your core.

Savage stills momentarily, pinning you to the same traitorous wall with his hips and kisses your swollen lips, a request to be quiet, before he thrusts resume.

Again, you’re unable to hold back the cry that erupts from your chest, so Savage resorts to replacing his mouth with the palm of his hand, gently yet firmly covering the lower half of your face.

“Come on my cock, little one, then I’ll take you back to my chambers where you can be as loud as you want.”

From your knees, the height difference between the two of you is greatly pronounced.

Savage towers over you, caging you underneath and between his legs as you work his leaking cock with your kiss-swollen lips and spit slicked hands.

He looks desperate, golden eyes half lidded, knees bent as if he was about to collapse to the floor.

You suck the bead of precum from the head of his cock and Savage keens loudly.

He cuts his cry off, smothering his mouth with his own hand in an attempt to control himself.

#this was so much fun to write #five sentence fic #5 sentence fics #star wars #savage opress #savage #savage x reader #savage opress x reader #savage x you #savage opress x you #botherbother-blog

[aftergloom]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @thegreatwicked! This is my main — @thenightmarketofdathomir is my sideblog (and I usually do these tag games over here.)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?  Twenty one. Have deleted as many in as many years, probably. 

2. What's your total A03 word count?  740,975. I had this horrified moment as I was tallying… what if my current WIP (not live) has a bigger total than everything else that’s up as of today? (It’s not. I’m not sure if I’m relieved because this thing is shaping up to be a trilogy.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?  Stah Wahs

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Kudos in ratio to chapter, orrrr just the volume? Some of them are shit and I pretend they don’t exist anymore so I’m not going to list them. They’re like bad dreams. That shit never happened I don’t care if it took 38 chapters. And I’m not counting the Nightmarket because it’s a hundred and eighty one-shots lumped together. 

Somebody's gonna have a bad time by nxctuary (Opress Bros x Reader)

Drown Me in You by nxctuary (Mermaid!Maul x Reader)

The myriad applications and multiple uses for a Corellian HWY-280 class fresher. Article 342: One locking door. by nxctuary (Feral x Reader)

The Collector by nxctuary (Maul x Reader)

The Ritual by nxctuary (Maul x Reader)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?  Depends on a couple of things that aren’t always consistent, and often if I don’t reply it’s because the comment broke me. (I often will reply, but I’m like a cryptid — expect me to pop-up without warning six months after you’ve left a note.) It’s often someone saying something nice, my inner self-hatred seeing it and going, “LIAR!” And then taking six months to convince myself that I just can’t take a compliment when negotiating my own imposter syndrome.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?  Ah that’s… hm. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone lately.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?  Everyone gets a happy ending. Even if it’s a little twisted. I like horror endings, you know? The kind that, on the surface, appear as if everything’s actually going to work out for the better but there’s a single drop of darkness left on the page that implies everything can be lost at a moment’s notice.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Narp.

9. Do you write smut?  Yarp.

10. Do you write crossovers?  Just once. Let’s not talk about it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?  Better not have. I’ve had multiple pieces plagiarized partially, though. In really hilarious ways (to me, at least) because there’s nothing like borrowing a turn of phrase said to you IRL (while you were sleeping with the person who said it), giving those words to Maul as he speaks them to the Reader character, then finding someone else pulled out several lines of the same dialogue to use in their fic without permission. Maybe don’t do that. You don’t know where this stuff comes from, and you definitely don’t know what I was working through when I wrote it. Awkward. 

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?  Not that I remember. (Maybe once in X-Men? I've had work turned into podfic, though.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?  Nope. 

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?  Feral and Kai? Do OCs count? 

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?  Nothing is ever finished even if it’s finished. I don’t understand the question. /j

16. What are your writing strengths?  I show up every day and I do the work. Even when it sucks and when I hate it. I do the work. 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?  If I don’t have a clear overview of how a scene is going to play out (or especially the layers of an argument between the characters — what they’re saying VS what they really mean, what they’re withholding, what the reader knows but they don’t, etc) I will spin my wheels and fill up a page with setting description to avoid making a bulleted list of what’s actually happening so I can get to the point. Then edit it twelve times later like hacking away at a hunk of marble trying to get to the good bits. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?  Doesn’t bother me. There are circumstances where the jist of the conversation carries regardless, and if not, I’m assuming the writer’s offering a translation either in-text or as a citation. I mean, if you want to get granular about it, then start asking does doing that serve the story and what does it add, or does it detract, but that’s a situational thing and I think you need to experiment a bit to learn what works in context.

19. First fandom you wrote for?  Harry Potter. Draco/Harry. I was baby.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?  Archangel (unreleased). Heartsong (unreleased). Crown of Motherfucking Horns (current WIP). CoH my heart. CoH beloved. CoH my baby.

Tagging (no pressure): @herbalinz-of-yesteryear @grinningnexu @sinisterexaggerator @inquisitorius-sin-bin @umber-cinders @graaaaceeliz @not0a0mundane and anyone else who wants to play :)

#tag game #on writing #Darth Maul x Reader #Feral Opress x Reader #Savage Opress x Reader #Opress Bros x Reader #that polyfic follows me to this day istg #Maul x Reader #Maul x You #Feral Opress x You #Savage Opress x You

[eloquentmoon]

sonnet 29 - savage x gn!reader

summary: modern au. gn!reader. when savage finishes a late shift at work, he comes home and reads to you, as he usually does - but the content of the text that he chooses tonight resonates with him in a deeply personal and profound way. features sonnet 29 by william shakespeare.  pairing: savage opress x gn!significant other!reader  cw/tw: domestic fluff that snowballs into angst. hurt/comfort. grief, insecurity, envy, mention of manipulation, sickness and abuse. happy ending. word count: 2.2k a/n: thank you candy + kima for beta-reading! this was inspired by prompt 6 of this list: ‘reading to them late into the night.’ this is purely self-indulgent: i love shakespeare and i want savage to read to me. i also hated how savage had no time to acknowledge or process the death of his brother feral, and that we did not get to see the extent of how maul's madness and his mother’s terrible behaviour affected him.

Sonnet 29 - [Read on AO3]

The weather outside is wet, grey and cold, and peppers your bedroom window with the delicate pitter-patter of rain song. The bare branches of a nearby tree are encouraged closer by a whistling autumnal breeze, and frequently knock against the glass. The howl of said wind is a muted, soothing backdrop to both of those gentle tapping sounds, and the trio of noises are a grounding comfort as you awaken from your dreamless sleep. The flickering glow of candles drapes your bedroom with an incandescent cosiness, the light so pleasant and warm, perfect for your now sensitive, sleepy eyes. You roll over, leaning across the cold and unslept-in side of your double bed to grab and then squint at your phone, which reads 4:13am. Perfect. Savage will be home any moment now, so you won’t bother trying to get back to sleep. You smile softly and sit up with a yawn, stretching your arms out into the cold air, before quickly pulling them back into yourself and the sanctuary of the warm bed with a shiver. You turn onto your side and curl up, nestling beneath the duvet and fluttering closed your tired eyes to rest them as you patiently await the tell-tale squeal of the elevator from down the hall - the sound that will indicate Savage’s imminent arrival.

As if right on cue, you hear the softened screech of the lift, and then the muffled thud of large feet padding closer. The lock of your apartment door then clicks, and you cannot help but grin as you listen to Savage try in vain to be quiet, shuffling around in the small hallway in the darkness, no doubt knocking his horns into the lampshade that hangs from the ceiling. Being as large as he is, Savage still struggles with residing in a building that wasn’t designed for someone of his size, which, though frustrating for him, is endlessly endearing to you. You quickly decide to let him know that you’re awake before he breaks anything in his attempts to prevent rousing you. “Savage,” you call out, your words laced with sleep. “I’m awake.”

He turns on the light in the hallway then, and makes his way to the bedroom. “What are you still doing up?” he asks softly as he appears in the doorway, ducking beneath it to enter the room. He steps closer and drops his keys to the bedside table, and leans down for a kiss. As you peck his lips, you notice that his yellow skin is cold from the weather, and raindrops linger on his tattooed cheeks. He smells like the nightclub he works for, that cheap booze mixed with the ashy remnants of other people’s cigarette smoke - but beneath that there is still the intoxicating goodness of his natural scent, a musky richness that never fails to make your head spin. 

“I was just so excited for you to come home,” you whisper against him. 

His lips curve into a muted, amused smile and with a final kiss, he then pulls away to the wardrobe. He shrugs off his jacket which is damp from the rain, then grabs a hanger. It’s a black double-breasted topcoat that was tailor made to fit his unique large frame, and you always think that it makes him look so smart and stylish. “Tea?” he asks as he hangs it up. You cannot help but grin at his offer, knowing that he is once again beginning the early-morning ritual you always share when he works late.

“Chamomile please,” you respond.

“Of course,” he says softly. “So how was work?” you ask, sitting up again, rubbing your groggy eyes as he makes his way from the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Fine,” he replies back, but you notice that his tone is slightly dejected. You hear him fill the kettle with water and switch it on. Then he pokes his horned-head around the doorway to say, “But all the better now it’s over, and I have come back home to you.”

You smile at that comment, but before you can reply he has disappeared again. You can hear the sound of him traversing the tiny kitchen, cupboards opening and closing, clinking mugs and teaspoons, the bubbling rattle of the kettle. Then he returns - two cups of steaming tea in his grasp, one in each hand: he makes them look like shot glasses with how large his fingers are. He passes you your tea, and you gratefully accept, holding the cup in both of your hands, pleased for the warmth that it emits.

“No sugar,” he states. “And in the cup with the smiling little tooka on it.” 

“Just how I like it,” you reply with a soft giggle. “Thank you, love.”

Savage smiles at your gratitude and places his mug on the table, then kicks off his shoes. You watch him closely, noting how much you like his work attire on him, how sharp and dapper he looks: he wears all black, a crisp shirt that, as most of his clothes do, appears the slightest bit too small for him. No tie tonight, a leather belt with a simple silver buckle, and fitted trousers that show off the shape of his thick legs wonderfully. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him wear his work clothes, what with him having time off due to the events of the past few months.

“How are you doing?” you ask softly, tucking your legs beneath you.

He sighs as he then falls back into the old armchair across from the bed, which is situated next to the bookshelf. He spreads his legs and rests his thick forearms on the fraying armrests and briefly closes his eyes, shaking his head. “It is…strange. Being back at the bar again,” he admits hesitantly.

“What’s strange about it? Talk to me,” you insist, a spike of worry unfurling in your chest.

“Seeing people…laughing, dancing, celebrating. As though nothing terrible has happened.” He opens his glowing eyes to look at you then, and his face softens with grief. “I still can’t believe that he’s…gone,” Savage says wistfully.

“Me either,” you reply. 

A pause. “He really liked you.”

The absence of his brother has haunted Savage since the day that he died four months ago, and you know that the weight of responsibility that Savage bears for Feral’s passing will always sit heavy on his shoulders. It is not helped by the fact that his family has crumbled in the face of such loss, what with his other brother Maul’s sickness and his Mother’s total apathy and indifference to both of her son’s pain. It has been heartbreaking to witness.

Savage takes a deep breath then, exhaling with a pensive sigh. He then plucks his small pair of wiry reading glasses from the bedside table, seemingly keen to move on. “So what are we reading tonight?” he asks as he perches the spectacles on his nose. Late night reading sessions by candlelight have always been a part of your routine together. It’s always a highlight of your day, stealing these precious moments after Savage finishes his shift, indulging in each other’s company before the sun’s rise and your departure for your own job. And since Savage had to take time off of work, you both kept up the habit. Comforting him and distracting away the sleepless nights with stories of faraway people and places, getting lost in fictional worlds together to cope with the tragedy of Feral’s death and Maul’s suffering.

“I was thinking maybe a poem or two tonight,” you reply, grabbing one of the tattered books that litter the wooden floor by the side of your bed, then reaching over to pass it to him. “Maybe a sonnet?”

“Which one?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

He flicks through the small volume of poetry, which looks positively tiny in his large fingers, and stops at a random page. “Sonnet 29,” he reads.

“Sonnet 29 it is.” 

And after a brief pause, he clears his throat and settles into a comfortable position. Then he begins to read:

“When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state…”

His voice is deep and rich as usual, he speaks clearly and slowly, enunciating each word perfectly. You feel a tug at your heart as you hear him read these antiquated lines, written by such a sad soul, from a time so long ago. Words that despite their age are timeless, that now may very well be resonating with Savage. Disgrace. The despair he feels in the face of his loss has been monumental, and you both know that there have been those around you that blame him for what happened, and the guilt and sorrow of such sentiments has begun to decay him from the inside out. Outcast. You are aware of how isolated his upbringing was, of how feeling separate from those around him has always plagued him. How that feeling has only been exemplified with the loss of Feral. “And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate…”

It is devastating how well Savage is embodying the pitiful, downcast narrator of this poem. A man broken by tragedy, his pleas and prayers, no matter how desperate, ignored by the Forces above. His existence falling to ruin. You notice Savage’s fingers gripping the pages tighter, and it is then that you understand: he really does relate to these words. He pauses at the end of this line, blinking slowly as the meaning of what he speaks steadily settles within him. As he realises that his pain has been understood by a poet, who lived hundreds of years before he even existed. Savage inhales softly, then continues: “Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d…” Savage has never been one to complain, never been one to envy: does he truly resonate with these words? Does he wish he were someone else, someone without a violent past, without a broken family? Does he long for a temperament that is not easily inflamed, a body that is not large and imposing? To be someone whose friends and family have never once attempted to manipulate him for his strength? “Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope, With what I most enjoy contented least…” Savage’s voice is quieter now, the tragedy of these lines making his voice syrupy with regretful understanding. Though you are aware of him sinking into a grief-fuelled depression, one that has leached him of his hobbies and passions; he has never before struck you as insecure or unsure of himself in any respect. Has he envied those with more money than him? Your home is modest, but you get by, it has never been noted as a problem before. Does he secretly wish for the decadent lifestyles of those that he works for? Or does he simply yearn for the sweet relief of self-medication, exotic drugs and acrid drinks that he cannot regularly afford? “Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state…”

After reading these two lines, he stops talking, reading the rest of the poem in silence. You worry that this was a terrible idea, that the content has been unnecessarily upsetting. That the poem is going to end with a bitter lament on the poet's lover, and Savage wants to save you the awkwardness of it by ending it here. But then he reads those final four lines aloud to you, his confidence restored, his countenance painted with…relief. “Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate; For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

There is a deep silence when he finishes, as his words ring in your ears, the meaning of the piece striking you unexpectedly, deep in your heart. The poet’s spirits, once melancholic and dire, are immediately lifted when he thinks of his lover. That he is like a bird, flying the sky at sunrise, whistling songs of beauty and reverence. Joyous. That his love brings such richness and wealth to his life, he no longer wishes to swap places with those of such greatness as monarchs. “It is all very truthful,” Savage muses, shutting the book. He thinks for a moment, then brings his eyes to yours. “My suffering has caused me at times, to envy and wallow,” he admits. “I have often compared my own fate with that of others, desiring to swap our lives, to switch places and live a menial existence without the heartache of my grief. My guilt.” He pauses, and adds with a devastating inflection, “and the overbearing reality of my abuse.” Savage then sits forward, taking the reading glasses from his face. “But then I look at you, my beloved.” Your eyes prickle with tears as you listen to him. “I look at you, and I know that I would not change a thing. Not for the world. Not for the galaxy. How could I ever envy those without you in their life?” You inhale sharply at the sweet shock of his confession, placing your cup of tea aside and stumbling out of the bed and into his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck, and feel his large, warm palm settle on your back. “Oh Savage,” you whisper. “I am so sorry for all of the pain that has been inflicted upon you. It’s not your fault. You don’t deserve this, any of it.” “When you say that, my love,” he mutters in a hushed whisper. “I truly believe it.”

–

tagging some mutuals who make like this (but please feel free to ignore if this isn’t your cup of tea): @kimageddon @eyecandyeoz @stardustbee @maulslittlemeowmeow @moonstrider9904 @dinsverdika @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @grinningnexu @elledjarin @gggoldfinch @nxctuaryninetythree @wingofshadow @seriowan @itsagrimm @lazarithebellydancingmime @corona-one​

#savage opress #savage #savage opress x reader #savage opress x you #savage opress fic #savage x reader #savage x you #savage opress fanfic #savage fic #savage fanfiction #savage opress fanfiction #my writing #eloquentmoon

[dinsverdika]

Hand Massage (blurb)

Pairing: Savage Opress/Reader

Tags (as posted on AO3): fluff, hand massage, savage purrs because I have no self control, reader's gender is not specified, this idea came up to me at 1am in a vision, this ends abruptly because I kept on writing and writing when this was just supposed to be a blurb, mentions of size difference (though it is a given with Savage)

Word count: 618

Savage was sitting on the couch facing your desk, rubbing at his own hand. He had been moving and lifting furniture around all day, making his flesh hand sore. An idea popped up in your head as your gaze was trained on his moving hands. You got up from your chair and brought it to the couch, sitting in front of Savage. He gave you a quizzical look as you were gently untangling his hands.

“Let me do it,” you replied softly, resting his hand on your thigh.

Savage did not say anything in response but leaned down against the back of the couch anyway. You started the massage by easing him to your touch, running your nails along the skin of his inner forearm. You were careful to not apply pressure onto your nails as your intention was not to scratch him. Once you felt like you had gotten him used to your touch, you squirted some massage oil onto your palm and warmed it up. Savage stayed quiet as he observed you working around. Using the pads of your thumbs, you rubbed down from the middle of his hand to his wrist. You could not help but notice how massive his hand was compared to yours. His palm could barely fit between your two smaller hands.

Your mind wandered as you focused on the feeling of his skin against your thumb pads. His skin was warm and smooth on his forearms but rough and calloused in his palm. Just like his hands were in movement, gentle and tender but yet so harsh and unforgiving. His duality is what had lured you in, such contracting facets but you both had welcomed and accepted them.

Savage’s gaze was on your focused face and the coldness of his prosthetic thumb between the crease which was drawing your eyebrow together pulled you out of your thoughts. You blinked up at him, confused.

“You should not be so tense while you’re trying to wind me down,” he explained.

“Oh,” you simply replied. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, little one. I’m just looking after you.”

“I’m the one who’s looking after you right now, though.”

“This is a mutual thing,” he retorted, gesturing between you two.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you went back to your task.

You were now alternating between your thumbs and the heels of your hands using the same motion on his hand to the length of his forearm. Satisfaction bubbled up within you as you felt the Zabrak growing putty under your ministrations. That was your cue to use your hand to use a wringing motion on his limb, turning it around gently every so often.

A comfortable silence settled between you, Savage’s purring lulling you into a deep state of relaxation and well-being, bonding you closer. Your thumbs squeezed their way down his forearm to the back of his hand and finally to the tips of his pinky and thumb. You repeated the action a couple of times before tenderly squeezing the tension out of his fingers, one by one.

When you were satisfied with how his hand muscles felt under your hands, you finished off the massage by guiding his hand into several motions: extensions, flexions and finally circle motions. Still gently as to not spoil your work. You let go of his hand with lingering strokes along his limb with the tips of your fingers.

Your gaze darted to his other hand resting on his thigh. “Do prosthetic limbs also need to be massaged?” you asked.

You looked up to his face as a genuine chuckle made his chest move, “no, but I appreciate the thought, little one.”

#savage opress x reader #savage opress x you #gn!reader #blurb #savage always takes great care of his little one #but his little one takes great care of him too #i've never written... massages before #i struggled with transitions #but i did my best #i also remembered half-way that Savage has a prosthetic hand #which made the ending a bit easier for me #my writing

[kaminokatie]

We Meet Again || Darth Maul

Synopsis - It's been years since you had last seen him, but now you're fighting for the opposite side. Can Maul convince you to join him again after years of brainwashing from the Jedi?

Warnings - SFW.

Word Count - 0.9k.

[Caffeinate Me]

“You never even came to find me,” Maul hissed at you, red lightsaber clashing against your own green one. 

“I was told you were dead,” you snapped back. You twirled around and used the force to push Maul backwards giving yourself an opportunity to relax before he was swinging at you again. 

“You could have tried,” he growled. “Instead you joined what we swore to destroy together!” 

“I had no choice!” You said angrily. 

“We always have a choice Y/N,” Maul snapped. He was hurting inside. “You just chose wrong!” 

“If I knew you were alive, I would have done anything to find you,” you said, stepping backwards and turning off your lightsaber. Maul looked at you completely perplexed as you laid your lightsaber on the ground and held your hands up. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, still standing in a defensive stance. 

“Laying down my weapon, Maul,” you said simply. 

“But why?” He hissed. “Pick it up, I’m not through with you yet.” 

“Yes you are. I’m not fighting you anymore, Maul. If you want to kill me, go ahead.” 

Maul shook his head, retracting his lightsaber and staring at you with wide eyes. This had to be some sort of trick, something Kenobi had set up. Using you as bait was a low blow, but something he wouldn’t put past the Jedi. After all these years of working with the Jedi, you must have told them the details about the nature of your relationship with him. He placed his lightsaber back on his hilt and outstretched his hand to you. “Killing you would only kill me,” he whispered softly. “Take my hand. Join me once more.” You bit your lip, hesitated for a moment. You had spent the last few years of your life dedicating yourself to the Jedi after all the wrongdoings you had done by Maul’s side. After you learned of his ‘death’ you hoped you could put that life behind you, but with the Zabrak standing in front of you very much alive, you highly doubted yourself to turn him down. His yellow eyes gazed into yours and you felt your heartbeat pick up a few paces as Maul walked towards you, hand still outstretched. “Think about what we had Y/N.” 

“I am!” You snapped, taking a few steps backwards. “It wasn’t good for either of us.”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered, still stalking towards you. “You were my stars in the galaxy, the light that guided my way. Please, come with me. I need you. Please.” 

How could you deny him when he begged so deliciously for you and only you. You sighed and closed your eyes slowly for a few seconds while you thought long and hard about what you were going to do. Images from your past flashed through your mind; your time with Maul, the good and the bad. It clouded your senses and you were sure this was Maul’s doing. When you opened your eyes, Maul was standing directly in front of you. His breath, short and shallow, fanned across your face. His eyes pleaded to you silently. “What do you want from me, Maul?” You asked, knowing the answer was damn well you.

“You know what I want,” he whispered, leaning his face closer to yours. Your breath hitched in your throat as his lips skimmed your own, making their way to your ear. “I can’t live without you by my side any longer. Not after seeing you again.”

You felt your knees buckle at his words, despite how simple they were. You believed him too, knew he was being truthful. His hand grazed your waist gently, pulling you closer to his body. You willingly leaned into his touch. It had been years since someone had touched you the way Maul was touching you now, as if you were glass that could be broken with a simple flick of the wrist. “Maul,” you whispered, your chest rising and falling sharply with each breath you took.  

“I know,” he cooed, face moving to be in front of yours once more. Without warning, Maul pressed his lips to yours quickly. His warm hands came up to cup your face gently, pulling your face as close to his as possible. You stiffened as his lips connected with yours as the thoughts swirled around in your mind: what were you doing! You couldn’t let him get to you. Couldn’t let him ruin what you’d worked so hard for since you had last seen him, but it was too late, your arms had already instinctively wrapped around his neck. Maul smirked against your lips and deepened the kiss, his hands dropped to your waist and grasped at the fabric that separated him from your bare skin. When he pulled away from the kiss, Maul pressed his forehead against yours and sighed contently. “Join me, baby.” Your heart clenched at the pet name. Maul knew exactly what to say and do to turn you to the Dark Side and you hated that. You wished you were strong enough to resist him, but when he looked at you the way he was looking at you right now, you couldn’t say no. You nodded your head and Maul smirked. He moved his forehead away from yours and pressed a kiss to your right temple. “I’ve missed you, my love,” he whispered against your head, pulling you into a sweet embrace.

“I’ve missed you too,” you whispered into his chest. It was then that the tears welled in your eyes. All the emotions came flooding back to you, emotions that you had kept buried for years. Your place was by his side; you knew it and so did he. He wasn’t going to let you get away from him again, no matter what it took.

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars the clone wars x reader #star wars the clone wars #star wars x reader #darth maul #darth maul x reader #darth maul imagine #darth maul imagines #the clone wars #the clone wars x reader #the clone wars imagines #the clone wars imagine #the clones wars x reader #star wars imagines #savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage oppress #savage oppress x reader #darth maul x you #Star Wars tcw #tcw x reader #tcw maul #tcw maul x reader #sw tcw #sw tcw x reader #tcw #tcw darth maul #tcw darth maul x reader

[yandere-wishes]

Savage deserves to have a Nightsister darling. A little witch who's soul he can crush and mold into his perfect little sweetheart. Don't get me wrong, Savage is the nicest sith/zabrak out there. But I'm convinced he wants to get some revenge on the nightsisters for the hell they put him and the rest of his kin through.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere x you #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars headcanons #yandere aesthetic #savage opress #savage opress x reader #savage x reader #yandere savage #yandere savage opress #darth maul #darth maul x reader

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

~Snacks of Dathomir Snippet~

You grab your buy'ce off the counter and snag one of grandpa's knives in a reverse grip, then you go to check out that noise.

There's a body on the stairs.

With all due caution, you lean out a bit and call, “Hello? Are you dead?”

“Mnnggg,” the body replies. Oh good, still kicking.

“Are you one of the Opress brothers?” you ask hopefully.

“Ngh?” they reply, turning to squint blearily up at you.

It's a man, or male looking at least. Horned. Tattooed. Average height and build. Yellow, with a smidge of orange. Hot as fuck, honestly.

“... messare Feral?” you try. That was the youngest one, right?

“Yeah,” he manages, pupils two different sizes. “Fff- nng. You?”

“I'm your new chef, uh, nice to meet you… do you want help getting to medical?”

Probably-Feral flops back down onto the stairs, and mumbles something inaudible with a tone of supreme annoyance.

[Light hearted & spicy / Learn some mando'a / Cooking recipes / Non-specific 'you' protag / Nonserious fluff / Nightbrother culture]

#this is going to complete trash #sterotypes and problematic behavior and moral bankruptcy and violence and horrible flirting and sporadic updates and quiche #star wars #darth maul #savage opress #feral opress #sith #zabrak #nightbrothers #dathomir #x reader #fanfiction #silly smut and literal cooking recipes #you wanna learn mando'a? #i'm going to be injecting more and more as we go #nightbrother culture #nightmagick #nightsisters #cooking show bullshit #confession: i don't know how to cook #confession: i'm using a translator to make up fancy names for the food #confession: i don't know how being a professional chef works #this entire thing is built on sitcom stereotypes #the smut ain't happening right away it's not the point #the point is chaffles

[eldritch-horror-from-the-void]

Hey, listen, fanfic writers, I love you guys. I love what we do. I love our community, but pay attention.

We need to start accommodating for fat readers. Not "chubby" readers. Fat ones. (Seriously, just say fat, it's not a slur.) That includes fanfics with chapters, not just headcanons.

We also need to drop the whole "uwu your blorbo thinks you're cute and squishy" thing. I know it's not done out of hate, but the pattern is repetitive, uncreative, and I think some fat people (including myself) are getting sick of hearing it.

Very NSFW example below cut.

Small example of this pet peeve: If I'm reading a fanfic where I'm riding somebody cowgirl style, and lean forward to put my hands on their chest, they're probably not going to see their dick sliding in and out of me. My stomach is probably going to be blocking most (if not all) of that view.

Point is, please be more mindful.

#fanfiction #fandom culture #maul x reader #darth maul x reader #savage opress x reader #star wars x reader #star wars x you #thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[thenightmarketofdathomir]

So what if Savage wasn't the nicest fuck ever (and used his size to break you instead of being tender)?

Pairing: Savage Opress x Reader (AFAB Cis) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Borderline CNC, Rough P in V, size kink (brr brr)

The first time he pushes you into the table and kicks your legs apart, his whole hand covers your head to hold you in place. Cheek pressed to durasteel. The cold is shocking. A thumb muffles the sound of his belt clinking open. A claw razes the delicate skin beneath your chin because his whole palm covers your crown. A pinky swaddles the world in darkness. One squeeze and he could pop your skull like a meiloorun. There is discomfort, but more importantly, there is fear. Zabrak have great noses, and your scent is the biggest turn on.

A tear and cold air hits your ass. Your panties shredded, the pinch against your hips from the pop of tearing fabric edging your surprise with a bite of pain. He doesn't touch your cunt. He scents your slick. Your heat. The swell of your sex lubrication enough for the ripple of hard, hot flesh that butts up against your slit, wetting himself with your arousal as your heels lift and your knees buckle, the first two inches just the tip but the movement is sharp and swift and he's inside you with no regard for your tightness or the resistance your body offers because it pulls along the edges and you stretch just enough to feel in the seconds after how going rigid and squeezing does nothing. He pushes in without pausing, seating himself, half-hilted as the sensation catches you up. Can't breathe. Can't stop. Legs shaking. Little pops of his ridges terrifying because you know that when it pulls back, you're going to feel the way they tear you open.

When you don't have the breath, your high-pitched, little whimpers are smothered by the finger caressing over your lips, parting your mouth. He tastes like durasteel and sweat, and his callouses have callouses, but your heartbeat is in your cunt and there's salvation in surrender, so you touch your tongue to the finger in your mouth like there aren't tears in your eyes from the burn and the stretch and the threat of how his cock touches every part of you, the tip resting heavy and certain against your cerevix, creating just enough discomfort from the angle that you know, in no uncertain terms, that he's feeling your pulse squeezing him involuntarily. He knows that you're already throbbing as you get used to the feeling.

You don't move. He pulls you, angling your hips like he can adjust your body however he wants because you're smaller than him and it takes so little effort to bend you in half, to hitch you up by the hips so that he's more comfortable when he pulls out just to hear you keen for his absence -- each of those ridges sawing over the sensitive, spongy front wall of your cunt where you're sensitive. The effect whites out your senses, but there's no time to think about how close you are to coming apart before your breasts and your hands and your stomach squeak across the table when he lifts you up and drives himself into you fully in a single, sharp thrust.

That's his pussy, now. He's made it fit him and him alone. And when Savage grunts, moving you in time with the knock of his hips, chafing your body over the table, you're grateful that he wasn't gentle. This is how he claims you. Your mating doesn't need a mark. He's going to break you so that no one else will even dare come close to what he thinks of as his.

You don't have the air to scream when each knock of his balls against your ass and thighs stings like a slap. You don't have the capacity to stop the downwards plummet when each stroke bottoms him out; when he grinds his hips against you to open you further to fit him better and he cups a hand against you, trapping your clit with two fingers as he fucks you into his grip.

Pleasure smears across your vision in a mottle of colour and darkness, but he just keeps going: his ichor-augmented stamina unrivalled.

And even though you go limp for a time from passing out, and when you rise again to consciousness, it's to the knowledge that he's still not done and your legs are numb from being held up like the cocksleeve you are.

Maybe he'll flip you over if he gets bored. Maybe he'll slow or stop, or have you clean him up with your tongue, but for the moment, there's only the bite of his claws into your hips and your ass, and the deep, baritone grunt of your lover using your body to chase pleasures that he's never been afforded before.

Get comfortable. You're going to be here a while.

#Savage Opress #Savage Opress x Reader #Savage Opress x You #Savage Opress Smut #Clone Wars Smut #Nightbrother #Zabrak #Zabrak Smut #spicy #Star Wars Smut #Savage Opress Headcanons

[irenadel]

Fear Leads the Way ch. 2

Darth Maul x Reader, Darth Maul and Savage Opress and Reader, eventual pseudo-threesome, this is a cuddling threesome for the time being, I promise we'll get some smut back next chapter, I just really like cuddling too, female reader btw.. because otherwise we wouldn't have them traumas to play with, thank you fucked up Dathomir!

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

So it had come to this, once he had decided you were a non-negotiable commodity, Maul had instructed your things to be moved to his quarters where you were confronted with one smugly pleased zabrak and the other balefully glaring at you, standing guard as he had been instructed to. Maul had neglected to inform you these were THEIR quarters and avoid him though you always did, you were still perfectly aware that if it were up to Lord Savage, you would have already been thrown out of the airlock.

And Maul couldn’t understand your trepidations, the thin line of your pursed lips or your utter refusal to lay a finger on him while his brother watched his back. You’d had nothing to complain about, he had informed a still disapproving Savage. He had been gracious to you, generous even. There had been no chains or restraints placed on you, the moment he had decided to allow you to touch him. There had been no silken black robes and artful application of red and black makeup in honor of Maul’s own tattoos. Certainly, Darth Sidious would have demanded all of that and more, charged you his due in blood as much as in humiliation.

He’d seen it happen and decided long ago, he did not find it appetizing.

He could do without carnal pleasure, without his master’s occasional taste for a woman’s horror, he’d decided back then. After that, the rest had been decided for him. To do without anything else: food and rest and relief from pain. Other things he had not even known the value of… Kilindi, Eogan, Lorn Pavan… even such a creatures as the padawan Eldra Kaitis. He was no longer his master’s pathetic apprentice, sniffling after wisdom, beholden to his missions and rules. He was a Sith, master to an apprentice of his very own, and though he could do without, he would no longer stoop to it.

But you’d laid your things on the floor and proceeded to sleep there in defiance of Maul’s explicit orders. You talked to him only for maintenance’s sake and ignored any veiled threats meant to disabuse you of the notion that you had any say in this arrangement. You did not touch his bare skin anymore and addressed him solely as “Lord Maul” as coldly and stiffly as you had that very first time you’d seen him, futilely trying to hide your terror from him. You weren’t that much more successful at hiding your resentment.

Maul should have taken you by the throat, dangled you over the speeder lanes of Sundari, taught you fear if you could not manage respect. Certainly Sidious would’ve etched the lesson somewhere permanently on your body… Maul had plenty of reminders himself. But he’d found the idea oddly repulsive. Larval. Pathetic.

After all, robbery just did not work with you. Forced greetings landed hollow. The furtive brush of his fingers through your hair felt like sandpaper and even the sweet scent of your skin stank of too little time in the communal showers and too much fear. You obeyed his barked orders to the letter, no more no less, and Maul found himself choking on the humiliation of further pleas, touch me, kiss me, come closer… He would not stoop to that either. 

So it had come to this. This stalemate. This failure of strategy that Maul was loath to accept or accommodate. Because though, Darth Maul had known he could do without, had done so a thousand times, had survived death, had survived Sidious, gone without food and rest and relief from pain, he found himself, in this one way, as loath to stoop as to do without your eager willingness.

***

If Savage had breathed a sigh of relief at your rebellion then he had also fretted at his brother’s temper, shorter and more volatile than ever before. He did not know what strange manipulation you were attempting and he was sure your stony silences in the face of Maul’s cold fury were nothing more than a cheap ploy. It was so transparently obvious that Maul’s increasingly threatening anecdotes of what had happened to the disobedient slaves of past Sith were merely that, empty threats. So much that Savage was sure even you could sniff out his brother’s mounting desperation.

He’d seen it play out in Dathomir, whenever Nightbrothers stupid enough to believe they could court favor that way had eagerly participated in the games. He’d seen young brothers puff up, full of pride and painful confidence in their combat prowess. Full of the same purposeful, grimly determined fury that had always characterized Maul. Like that could elevate them, protect them against every Nightbrother’s eventual fate. It was a fool’s errand, an illusion of control, and he would be damned if he saw his brother fall for it.

He would be damned if he let you lead him there.

He thinks to dump you in the trash compactor. He carefully plans to gather you up in a spare bedsheet and throw you into the ion engine. He considers simple murder, beheading or one huge hand wrapped around your neck, a single tug of your thin little neck and your body crumpled on the floor to trouble him and Maul no more. But it is too much like his nightmares to go through with it. He doesn’t want to see your face when you die, because it reflects back Maul’s too much, hungry like the magic mirrors in the Nightsister stories he’d heard told sometimes… And Maul’s face still reminds him too much of Feral’s.

Savage waits until you are both asleep. He imagines it in detail, one hand to cover your mouth and hold your face away from his, metal arm to hold your struggling little body. Maul is right. You are no warrior and no Nightsister for all the power you seem to hold over his brother. It is alright to protect him from you. There are no rituals to bind you together, no magic to safeguard you, no tradition to uphold whatever cruelty you have in store for his brother. It will be nothing to kill you, to make you disappear, to keep him safe… at least from you.

He thinks of Maul’s face, it too reflecting yours when you aren’t looking, furiously refusing to acknowledge him even as he lets you tinker with the screws of his cybernetic legs. The two of you, not looking at each other but talking in a language incomprehensibly full of nuts and bolts and batteries and circuits. The language Maul speaks to Savage whenever he too adjusts the metal of his brother’s prosthetic arm, the one thing he does gently, because it’s done to Savage. Maul, ruthless when wrestling his own hydraulics into submission, always careful with his brother’s. Too often angry at his warrior’s body, divested, Savage had thought, of any vulnerability because a Nightsister could not use it.

Maul, who looks too much like Feral when his face softens, not in sleep because even asleep Savage has seen him keep on fighting. It isn’t asleep that he’s seen his face give up the set of his scowl.

He does gather you up in the spare bedsheet you’d dragged to their quarters. But it’s on Maul’s bed that he dumps you, with a shriek like a lothcat’s and your useless, weak little limbs flailing about. You are no warrior and no Nightsister and if you hurt his brother, Savage will look into your eyes as he kills you. He holds an impossible breath as he waits for you to hurt him (hopes you won’t) (fears you already have), staring impassively at Maul’s outraged face and your own bewildered one emerging from the sheets. There is a moment like a heartbeat, brief and pulsating, where you all stare at each other. Savage does not know what you yourself see, Maul’s fury, his own grim determination, or something else. But you gape at him for that single moment and then begin to laugh.

You must be mad as a Nightsister after all.

He has no time to reconsider his initial plan to dispose of you though, because, still laughing, you turn your back to Savage and make yourself as comfortable as you can in Lord Maul’s strangely comfortless bed. No silken bed sheets for this crime lord, you think with a pang, no exotic liquors or rare meats, no precious metals draped over perfumed bodies. Just you and his monstrously protective brother on a bare mattress. He had not ordered you to suck a cock he still refused to consider building for himself, as if that would be too much luxury for this life so bare of pleasures. He’d demanded you sleep in his quarters and been wroth when you would not do it besides him… but done nothing else but rage about it. Lord Maul of the Shadow Collective, who had asked you to touch his back and gone to pieces when you did.

So you did it again now, quick before you lost your nerve, your own back turned to Lord Savage who you still did not know for sure would not run you through with his lightsaber. You snaked your arms around Maul’s body and pressed your face against his clothed back, still in awe that he let you. He did not make the same strained noise he had your first time around, but you could feel his whole body tense under yours and his hands snap close around your own, like a trap, crushing them with an intensity and a strength that should have been terrifying but were somehow comforting.

“You are mine,” he hissed menacingly against the hands he held vice-like tight in his own, having brought them to his face in reverence. You are mine. An order. A warning. A prayer you heard and answered.

“I am yours,” you reassured him, not knowing why it was easy now, why the looming bulk of his brother behind you was an intimation of safety instead of danger now.

Perhaps because it had all been so different from your worst fears. So surreally unlike anything your overworked caution could have conjured up. Because Savage had never laid a hand on you except to dump you, unceremoniously, on his unsuspecting brother. Because Maul had done nothing but hiss threats he never carried out. Because you had nowhere to go if you were honest, no home to run to and the brothers’ room was bare and empty of luxury except each other. You may have had nothing, but in this, you could afford to be generous, even as you felt the bulk of Savage leave the bed.

“You can stay,” you said, quick again, before you lost your nerve, and you felt the tension like a live wire laid all across the room, like the moment before you realized you’d made a mistake when laying out the nerve arrays and were about to find out the hard way.

No one moved for a long time. You couldn’t know if you’d made a mistake and Savage hadn’t known how much he wanted this until he settled back in, not quite laying down, not quite relaxing, watching his brother’s body tense up as he sat down on the bed. There was that current still between the three of you, one brother on each side of you, each of them so horrifyingly powerful, so absolutely in control of what little remained of your life, that it would have been easy to ignore this tension even though it echoed all around you, like the all-encompassing groaning of a starship’s bridge about to collapse. Ignore it just like you had ignored every other uncontrollable danger in your life.

It would have been easier to try to sneak under this catastrophe in the making. Let them figure it out themselves. But it’s not in you to leave work half-done. 

So you exchange places with Maul, as nonchalantly as you can, counting on surprise to forestall the weeks of black tempers and veiled violence, the months of fear and your remaining wariness for both brothers. You do it because it feels right and you can still afford to be generous. 

The tension pops like a bubble.

You have no Nightsister magic, you do not feel the thrum of the Force through every living being in this ship. You know nothing of every Nightbrother’s fear or of the wild longing one small boy had to quench in himself a long time ago, in another lifetime. You just know that when you encounter a barrier when running a circuit you remove it and so you have. And you know you did right when Savage settles himself besides his brother’s body, when Maul lets out a breath he had not realized he was holding. The first time they’ve laid besides each other since they faced down death in a freezing escape pod. A luxury not theirs even when Maul had been mad with pain and so fragile all Savage could think of was holding him close, the way he had held Feral close whenever he had a fever or a belly ache when he was a boy. A luxury only death’s door could purchase.

Death’s door and now you.

They do not sleep, though Savage hears your breathing settle in, no witch still for all your magic, because a witch would not have slept so easily. They do not sleep because there is no rest in sleep for either of them, no rest where Sidious or Feral await them. There is rest here, in each other’s even, soft breathing, in the warmth of each other’s bodies. 

There is rest for Savage in his brother’s body, in the certainty of his safety and the quiet of his acquiesce to kindness and comfort. He no longer had to fight Maul to love him, at least not alone.

Your body is so good and soft behind Maul it makes him grit his teeth and Savage’s before him, what he had never thought he could have or deserve, or let go once he’d possessed it, solid and protective, a bulwark against the world. He wants it all, would have hidden it away as wildly covetous as when he was eight and trying to survive, not yet knowing the price of touch and comfort, not yet knowing there’s no use in hiding anything because Sidious will always find it, hold it over him, make him pay for each moment of hope. Maul would have stolen you away, both of you, brother and girl he will not name concubine for fear of invoking their fate, except there is no need. His cup overflows. And he’s almost afraid that he will never know how to do with as much as he has known how to do without. Recklessly, shamelessly, no plan in place, with the thoughtless confidence of his life before Kenobi, he throws one arm around Savage, settles the other over yours, wrapped around his waist and lets himself luxuriate in this strange abundance of touch. There is rest here for Maul, in giving up the fight against desire, against greed, against the freedom of wanting it all and never again having to do without.

#darth maul x reader #darth maul x you #savage opress #darth maul fanfiction #savage opress x reader #if you squint #I'm fighting all that lovely trauma Talzin and Ventress left so be patient #we'll get there! #female reader #relevant on account of Nightsister-shaped trauma #fear leads the way

[bacarasbabe]

Zabrak Masterlist

A place for all my fics about Darth Maul and Savage Opress. This covers The Clone Wars, Rebels, Legends, and my own silly AU's. Dividers by @saradika

Back to the Main Star Wars Masterlist

Darth Maul

Series

Beat the Devil's Tattoo Masterlist - Updating

2021 Kinktober fic featuring Demon!Maul x Witch!Reader - 21/31 Chapters Completed - 26.8k words - Explicit

Darth Maul Pride and Prejudice AU List

Just my silly goofy collection of my Darth Maul Regency AU. Darth Maul is Mr. Darcy and the reader insert is Lizzy. Includes art, edits, fic drabbles and anything else I feel like making

One Shots & Drabbles

Maul + Injury (hurt/comfort)

Character + Fic Trope Prompt - 850 Words - Mature

On Top

What happens when the reader uses the Force to pin down Maul - 800 Words - Mature

Improper Use of The Force

Maul uses the Force inappropriately on the reader - 1.3k Words - Explicit

Inky Black

Drabble/headcanon about tracing Maul's tattoos with your tongue - 400 Words - Explicit

Maul Using the Force

5 sentence hc about Maul using the Force to check in with the Reader - Mature

Maul and Breath Play

Five sentence hc about Maul and breath play - Explicit

Maul + Kissing the marks you left in them

Five sentence fic request - Mature

Savage Opress

Underneath

Reader used the Force to pin Savage's hands above his head - 900 Words - Explicit

Savage and cock warming

5 sentence hc about cock warming Savage - Explicit

Savage is too big to fit

Size difference 5 sentence hc - Explicit

Savage + I don't like them looking at you

Five sentence fic request - Mature

Savage + Putting a hand over their mouth to keep quiet

Five sentence fic request - Explicit

#masterlist #zabrak masterlist #darth maul smut #maul smut #darth maul #darth maul x you #darth maul x reader #maul x you #maul x reader #savage opress #savage opress smutt #savage opress x reader #savage opress x you #savage x you #savage x reader

[aftergloom]

2022 - By the Numbers

368,791 total words written

Crown of Horns took the greatest chunk at 260,395 words

The Night Market of Dathomir and Opress Oneshots came in second at 108,396 words

152 smutty ficlets, drabbles, and headcanons for @thenightmarketofdathomir

15 gen headcanons for @fromdathomirwithlove (but it's new so I'll forgive myself)

One 50k NaNoWriMo Win

Two Camp NaNoWriMo Wins (30k each)

Fave WIP: Three Princes (Feral Opress x Reader) Fave Oneshot: The Collector (Darth Maul x Reader)

Fave Unreleased Work: Crown of Horns (Feral Opress x OC - Kai Dara Koth) Archangel (Darth Maul x Reader) Most Popular Work: Evidence in the Aftermath (probably? I'm guessing based on how many times it's showed up in my notifications.)

Most Underrated Work: This Fic is Cursed (Opress Bros x Readers) Most Surprising (that I actually did the thing): Homecoming (Rogue x Gambit)

Fave One-liner: Too many of them.

I know 2023 is going to be a busy year for me for my writing, but how much of that happens here versus what's happening behind the scenes is up in the air.

I have some bigger projects that I want to finish, and I know some of my focus is shifting back to original work, and maybe, like, two fics that need attention/completion that I'm still thinking about.

By my own self-assessment, and looking at the numbers month over month, I burned pretty hard but this isn't enough for me. It's rarely, if ever, enough for me.

I want half a million words in for 2023, including at least two complete drafts of novel-length work, with one outline for a new project, and maybe six short stories (original horror content) that I can take to market. Gonna be busy.

Let's fucking go, kids.

#Darth Maul #Savage Opress #Feral Opress #The Night Market of Dathomir #Darth Maul x Reader #Feral Opress x Reader #Feral Opress x You #Savage Opress x Reader #Savage Opress x You #Darth Maul x You #Maul x Reader #Maul x You #hi I'm nxctuary #amwriting #rogue x gambit

[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

#darth maul #maul #maul opress #maul fic #darth maul x reader #darth maul x you #darth maul x oc #savage opress #star wars clone wars #star wars #starwars rebels #star wars art #sw art #sw au #tcw

[dinsverdika]

okay okay but that Maul purring post I've just reblogged is making me think of being caged by Savage's body (like you're on your stomach on a bed or whatever and he's on top of you) and he basically purrs you into submission. Like let's say you're stressed out or feeling angsty or something and he's like "time for purring therapy" by making you feel small and protected under him.

#evening thots #or just thoughts i guess #savage opress x you #savage opress #haha fixed the type almost 24 hours later