Star Wars Guys x Reader

The Hunter & The Culinarian: Darth Maul x Reader

A/N: requested by EclipseNightlight - sorry this took so long to come out (like me from the closet)

Warnings: swearings, violence, blasters, some smut depending on how much you squint (it can also be interpreted as fluff),

Word count: 1633

Unbeknownst to many Sith and many more Jedi, you're in possession of a rather remarkable little secret. You, and only you, have seen the sight that graces your eyes nearly every morning, heard the gleeful notes of a soft baritone voice as he works, tasted the wonders of his phenomenal creation. Your husband, Maul Oppress himself, weilder of the cruel, crimson double bladed lightsaber, master of thousands of deadly, efficient fighting techniques, user of the mysterious, miraculous Force, is quite the chef.

To put it shortly, he makes great Gi dumpling soup. And Tiingilar. His Mustafarian Lava Bun is absolutely delectable, not to mention the Franikhad he cooks up, or that Corellian Ryshcate he made for you after you got some disease from a snotty Mon Calamari child... Oh, and the Quor'sav Fried Steak he made for you after that one hunt, or the one time where he made his own, slightly healthier version of the Raxus Slider from Dex's Diner.

There's nothing you love more than coming back from a long, arduous hunt to the smell of hot, just-out-of-the-oven food, apart from maybe the hug that follows - usually involving you dropping the bounty on the floor, chucking your rifle in the opposite direction (once you check the safety's on, of course) and hurling yourself at his back, trusting his connection with the Force to inform him that a heavily armoured Mandalorian is flying in a collision course for his ass. The expression on his face is always priceless, the soft melody dying an untimely death in the back of his throat as he drops the wooden spoon in his hand and catches you with the strength and precision of  a Sith lord. You can almost the strong grip of his powerful arms now, can almost hear the deep chuckle he'll let out as you kick your feet, toes brushing the ground from where he's lifted you into his embrace.

Your feet drag in the desert dust. How you wish for the insufferable, hot headed Zabrak now, with an unconscious bounty that feels like it's made of the solid beskar slung over your shoulder, the sun beating down on you as you trudge towards the ship - a mere speck on the horizon. Yes, you may tease him all the time that you're the bread winner, but sometimes you wish you were the one at home, pottering around in a 'please do nothing to the cook' apron and humming contentedly to yourself. You reckon you might even be able to avoid burning the whole ship down, although the food you produce may or may not be inedible. It's safe to say that the roles you both carry are fitting - you can't prepare food for your life, and if you put Maul on a hunt he'll either lose patience or find some trace of Kenobi that he can pursue eternally until you remind him that you'll all starve if he leaves you alone to do the cooking.

With every step, the arches of your feet radiate pain all the way up your legs, and the tiny silver glimmer on the horizon seems to slip further and further away, taking with it your promise of food and a pretty, tattooed, Zabrak man wife. The bounty over your shoulder groans, and you don't even think twice, you just sling the Iktochi onto the ground, watching passively until he stumbles, tripping over a rock, and you shoot out a hand to grab his arm in a vice like grip, steadying him. Digging the barrel of your blaster into his back, you urge him forward.

'Don't even fucking think about trying anything,' you huff grumpily.

Without the heavy, insistent weight of the bounty on your back, you relax a little, picking up the pace and forgetting your plans to just leave it all to hell and kill him, even if it meant you had to take half the pay. You roll your eyes when the Iktochi trips again, this time dropping to his knees on the ground. It doesn't escape your notice that he scoops a rock off the ground, probably a last resort weapon, but you ignore it for now - he'll be in carbonite soon, and if he tries anything, he'll have to deal with a grumpy, half starved Mandalorian and a Sith Lord with anger issues.

You're almost to the ship, happily trundling along, so close that the sun reflects off the hull and right into your eyes, when the bounty makes a break for it. It's rather pitiful, if you're being honest. All he does is launch himself in the opposite direction, the rock that had been previously hiding in his sleeve reappearing and rebounding with a clear, laughably bell like noise off your helmet. Maybe he'd been banking on the fact that you'd rather have him alive so wouldn't shoot immediately, but you're smarter than that - the blaster setting flicks to stun in a millisecond, and in the next, he's falling, eating the dust.

Staring at the unconscious body before you, you wrinkle your nose. Are you really going to drag that dead weight all the way up to the ramp, prop it up while you prepare the carbonite chamber, then struggle to not get your arm frozen in the process? It takes less time for you to decide than it took for you to stun the quarry. No. No way.

'Maul!' You yell, banging on the side of the ship. 'I'm home!'

A few seconds later, the ramp slowly lowers, and he pokes his head out, a smile brightening his face. He's a sight for sore eyes, shirtless and clad in nothing but some boxers and the iconic 'please do nothing to the cook' apron that he bought for himself after you... attacked him while he was cooking too many times: a common morning occurrence, which he claims is a bother, but secretly, or not so secretly, enjoys. His tattoos form constellations up his arms and across his muscle sheathed chest, and you watch, starry eyed for a few seconds before you shake some sense into yourself. Maker, you don't even have the strength to run into his arms today, instead waving helplessly at the body on the floor with a sheepish smile.

'Some help?' You ask. 'I'm in a bit of a Sith-uation here.'
He groans. 'My love; that was awful.'
'I beg to differ, Maul. It was hilarious.'

The crimson Zabrak rolls his eyes, strolling down the ramp and over to you. He pauses before you, and you think he's going to bend down and hoist the bounty into his arms, but instead he lunges forwards and grabs you, throwing you easily over his shoulder. You yelp in protest, beating your fists against his back, but don't do much else in terms of struggling - you can finally relax, and although you'd envisioned actually sitting down while Maul supplied you with a glass of water and a kiss on the head, this will do just fine. Swinging your legs, you watch from your upside down position as Maul stoops to grab the Iktochi's tunic, slinging him onto the opposite shoulder like a sack of those fried Protatos they sell in Coruscant.

'Alright,' you sigh. 'I can see you're trying to make a point here.'
'Was it with success?'
'Yes, unfortunately,' you growl. 'Put me down, Oppress.'
'No need to get feisty,' he croons. 'I made Tiingilar.'

It's actually almost embarassing how fast you perk up. Food will do that to a hungry Mandalorian like you, you guess. No one makes Tiingilar like Maul does - you haven't tried something as authentic tasting since you left Mandalore, but then, it would make sense, as he was ruler of Mandalore for a while. Knowing Maul, he probably figured out how to make the dish in private, testing out and measuring the exact mass of the spices to add.

Maul sets you down gently at the table as he hauls the bounty over to the carbonite freezer, and you dig into the steaming stew, setting your helmet on the table beside you. Smiling, your Sith sits down beside you, pausing your hurried eating when he cups your jaw, tilting your face to his so he can kiss you, his lips pulling up into a grin against yours as you snake a hand around the back of his head to pull him closer, leaning into his touch. Once he releases you, it doesn't take you long to eat the food he's prepared for you, and you groan, cradling your food baby as you set the clean bowl onto the table.

'That was so good, Maul,' you sigh. 'You spoil me.'
'Anything to see that pretty face of yours,' he replies with a disarming grin.
'Oh, so that's why you cook so much,' you tease.
'And because I love you,' he whispers, voice dropping a few octaves.
You smile - so hard your cheeks begin to ache. 'I love you too, Maul.'

It doesn't take you another second - you fall into his arms, the way a comet streaks towards a planet, trapped in its gravity. You are his star, yet you find yourself orbitting him, the shine of glittering galaxies glimmering in your wonder struck eyes; he cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you, and you wish to stay there forever, sheltered in the arms of the most dangerous man in the universe. He snares you in his grip, yet in doing so, he secures you. The two of you dance together within your own self made solar system, twirling among planets and spinning past asteroid fields, destined, as two star systems are, to collide. And when you do, you explode in a shower of glittering lights, again and again and again, clasped tightly in each others arms.

erm.... well that got metaphorical at the end.......