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your-divine-ribs · 8 months ago

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No Nut November Part 1

Words: 4.8k

Warnings: SMUT! You help your boyfriend Van uncover his secret submissive side… ❤️

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"What the hell did you just say?"

You're sitting in the pub with your boyfriend, huddled in closely in a small booth. You were only nipping in for a quick pint, but one pint had turned into two, which had then inevitability turned into three... and now the table in front of you is littered with glasses and you've lost count.

You don't reply straight away, giggling to yourself as you take a sip of your lager. Van eyes you with amusement over the top of his glass as he also takes a swallow.

"I said No Nut November!" You announce suddenly, and your voice comes out a lot louder than expected, travelling cross the crowded pub, drawing the attention from an elderly chap propping up the bar.

Van's eyes widen and he swallows the mouthful of lager too quickly, a hand shooting up to his mouth as he starts coughing and spluttering violently in between gales of laughter.

"What... the fuck... even... is that?" He manages in between laughing and practically choking on his drink.

You're laughing too at his comical reaction, and now you're both so loud that you've also caught the eye of a middle-aged couple sitting in the booth next to you. They eye you distastefully but you're too inebriated to care now, you're having way too much fun.

"The clue's kind of in the name..." you say, placing your empty glass down on to the table, enjoying the way Van's face scrunches in confusion as he ponders the conundrum.

He's drunk too, that daft, silly, tipsy drunk he gets that you love so much. The heavy-lidded eyes and the dopey expression and the way that his usually affectionate nature just amplifies a hundred-fold. You watch him mull over the words, nudging him teasingly.

"Do I have to spell it out? No... Nut..."

That's the lightbulb moment. His shocked expression quickly turns into a look of what can only be described as horror.

"No nut? Like no..." He pauses, his voice hushing into a dramatic whisper. "Sex?"

You nod emphatically, smiling at Van's visible panic.

"For the whole of the month? Like nothing? None at all? Not even..."

You don't let him finish, folding your arms across your chest as you speak. "No sex, no blowies, no hand-jobs... and no wanking either."

"No wanking?" Van's voice raises by at least two octaves, and his volume increases too.

You hear an audible tutting noise emanating from the booth next door so you nudge Van in the ribs, urging him to keep quiet. "Keep your voice down for gods sake!"

He shakes his head, looking distraught, draining the last of his pint before turning again to you, talking in muted tones this time. "And remind me exactly why you wanna do this again?"

You roll your eyes, despairing that he can't even recall the conversation you'd been having five minutes previously. You'd been talking about abstaining, and who copes best with the lack of sex when Van's touring. You know damn well that you're the clear winner here, but Van loves to remind you that he can get you worked up in no time when he's talking dirty down the phone to you. You never used to get off on phone sex, but since your little shopping trip to Ann Summers a few months back and the purchase of certain sex toys, you're now an eager participant. And that's not the only improvement to your sex life. All of a sudden lights out, missionary position seems almost yawn-inducing.

"I didn't actually say I wanted to do it anyway," you explain. "I simply said that you wouldn't be able to manage it."

You lean back in your seat, watching Van carefully. You think you know exactly how he's going to react and he doesn't disappoint, drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth, his brow furrowed as he considers your words. When he looks up at you there's an air of determination about him, his shoulders squared as he turns his body to full face you.

"Are you challenging me?"

You mirror his posture, smirking gleefully. "Maybe I am. But there's no way on this earth you'll manage it anyway, so it's silly even talking about it..."

You shrug, looking down, rummaging in your handbag for your purse, but Van stills you with a hand on your arm. "Hold up. Who says I can't manage it? It's just a month, that's only like four weeks yeah? Last tour was nearly six weeks when we went to America. I definitely abstained from sex whilst we were away. I could do this easy."

He has a smug, self-assured look on his face which doesn't stay put for long when you remind him of one very important rule.

"No wanking, remember?"

Then you're up and out of your seat, making for the bar, wobbling slightly as you realise just how drunk you are. You're thankful to get to the bar and you slump against it heavily, ordering another pint for Van and half a shandy for yourself this time. You know that if you don't slow down you'll soon be in the realm of 'bad decisions' where you and Van will most likely end up agreeing to attend some tacky club night after the pub, thinking it's the best idea of your lives. It happens occasionally, and it's all good in the moment when you're dancing on the tables, miming to 90s hip hop and knocking back the tequila slammers, but when you wake up the next morning with the hangover from hell and no recollection of the past twelve hours it all changes.

You collect your drinks when they've been poured, slurping from the tops of the too-full glasses before you start back over to Van, watching him watching you as you move closer. His eyes slip down to roam over your figure as you walk, and you purposely add an extra sway to your hips, seeing his eyes glint with hunger. You laugh to yourself. He's so predictable. He'll never manage this. The man is like a walking hard-on.

Van waits until you're sitting back down and you've settled into your seat before he slips the arm that's been resting on the back of the seat down to your shoulders. "So... what's in this for me then? This so-called no nut thing? Surely I'll get something out of it other than blue balls?"

You giggle at his description, smiling up at him. "Well... it'll show your strength of mind and your willpower. And... you know... I guess if you manage to pull it off then I'll have to like... reward you or something."

You inject a sultriness into your voice, pouting slightly, pushing your shoulders back so Van's faced with the alluring sight of your cleavage. Predictably his eyes slip down, lingering longingly. You place two fingers under his chin, tilting his head up, smirking at him.

"Of course you'd have to follow the rules. No cheating."

He looks right back at you with a sexy little smirk of his own. "I reckon if the reward was tempting enough I could manage it. So what's it gonna be?"

His free hand slides across the upholstered seating and up on to your thigh. You feel a little tingle of excitement shoot through you. You love the flirtations that you and Van have. There's plenty of teasing, tempting touches and smutty insinuations, both of you drawing out the moment and ramping up the tension. You'll carry on before the two of you can't stand it any longer, then it's a quick dash for a taxi back home or an exciting hookup somewhere very public and oh-so daring. Either way your sex life is never dull, but you just can't think up anything enticing enough to reel Van in this particular time.

But maybe you don't have to. Maybe you don't have to try at all. Maybe the mystery of it will be the biggest temptation in itself.

"Maybe..." you begin, fixing him with a seductive look as you feel his hand inching further up your thigh under the table. "Maybe I'll let you do anything you like to me."

"Anything?" His eyebrows shoot up and you can practically see the x-rated thoughts scrolling through his head. "Anything at all?"

"Well yeah... I mean... within reason," you reply quickly, your own thoughts running wildly, excitement and a tinge of nerves simmering in your gut. Then you remember what the conditions of the challenge are and you relax a little, almost certain that Van has already as good as lost.

"So what about it then? You up for it?" You speak with more confidence this time, spreading your legs slightly, allowing Van's fingers to travel even further under the secrecy of the table.

"Fuck, you drive me crazy ya know? Yeah... yeah I'll do it."

His fingertips draw small patterns on the bare skin of your thighs, just below the hem of your skirt, sending shivers through you.

"Well... you better make the most of it tonight then. It's October 31st you know..."

He leans even closer and you can smell the faint scent of his cologne, feel his breath warm on your ear as he whispers into it. "And what happens... if I don't manage to do it? What then? What if I go and break the rules?"

A dark part of you stirs and starts to come to life. It blooms inside you, filling your head with sinful thoughts, a switch in the dynamics of your usual sexual encounters. You just don't know whether Van will be down for it.

You fix him with a steady gaze, your arousal rising as his fingertips dance along the hem of your skirt, straying underneath.

"Maybe then I'd have to punish you..."

You watch your words reach him, watch them sink in, his eyes widening for a second before they darken, simmering with lust, that heavy, needy way he looks at you that makes your heart pound. The thought flits through your mind that you must be mad to be offering up a challenge whereby you'll have to forego his passionate touches for a whole month, the feel of his fingers, his tongue, his cock, every single part of him that makes you feel the way that he does. The way he worships you like you're some kind of goddess, bringing you to your peak over and over before he even thinks about his own pleasure. But then you imagine how good it'll feel when you've held off for so long, how desperate and hungry he'll be for you and it sparks a fire in you, wicked thoughts of him being completely under your control, eager and needy... and all for you.

And it's not actually November yet... Not for a few more hours.

"Come on," you tell him, sliding your hand into his just as it's about to creep under the hem of your skirt, going to rise up out of your seat, urging him to follow you.

"Huh? But we've not finished our drinks yet. Where... oh... okay..."

Van's puzzlement quickly fades as he clocks the hungry look on your face. It must be pooling in your eyes... it's certainly throbbing between your legs, so much so that you don't want to lose your momentum having to wait for a taxi to transport you both home. You turn into the short corridor that leads to the pub toilets, Van trailing behind you, not even pausing even though you know you're risking being caught as you push through the door to the ladies toilets.

"Y/N..." Van mutters, and you feel resistance as he pulls back, bringing you to a stop just as you're about to step over the threshold. "Not in here... what if someone comes in?"

"No one'll know if we're quiet. C'mon... where's your sense of adventure? You're always dragging me off to do it in risky places!"

He hesitates for all of a few seconds before quickly glancing back to check the coast's clear and then urging you forwards. You both stumble, laughing, into the small room, immediately heading towards the bank of narrow cubicles lining the back wall. You take the first one, diving inside with Van hot on your heels. He turns to slide the lock across and you're already reaching for his hips, impatient, swivelling him around and pushing him back with force, causing his back to crash hard against the door.

He lets out a groan from the impact and you're just about to apologise but then you see the look on his face, the need etched into his features, and you think that maybe he wasn't voicing his discomfort as much as his arousal at your show of dominance. He reaches his hands to curl around your waist but you instinctively grab him by the wrists, watching his reaction carefully as you push them back firmly against the door. He lets you, his breathing deepening as he tips his head back against the wood. You push yourself up on your tiptoes, your lips going to his neck which you cover with kisses all over, starting gentle but getting progressively harsher, sure to leave bruises.

"Fucking 'ell..." you hear him utter under his breath, his arms flexing under your grip but he doesn't attempt to break free. "What's got into you? I like it."

"I want you... right now," you tell him, surprised by the commanding edge in your voice, feeling a strange kind of empowerment as you finally release him and begin hungrily tearing at the buttons of his shirt. One pops off and falls to the floor in your haste to uncover more bare skin. Then your fingers are deftly unfastening his belt buckle and ripping open the fastenings of his jeans, one hand slipping inside to encircle his rapidly stiffening cock.

He sucks in a gasped breath through gritted teeth as you grip him firmly, your fingers sliding down his length whilst your other hand pushes his jeans and underwear down. You feel drunk on desire, a feral kind of need overtaking you as your hands dart up to grab the edges of his shirt, pulling him forward and manoeuvring him backwards and pushing him down on to the closed toilet seat. Van just complies, his eyes fixed on yours as he looks up at you, glimmering with an awe-like wonder as he finally speaks.

"Right now you can do whatever you like to me babe... I'm all yours."

"I just fucking want you... okay?" You say, hitching up your skirt around your hips and hooking your fingers around the waistband of your panties, tugging them down your hips and stepping out of them, discarding them on the floor.

His cock's already standing proud and he looks delectable sitting there ready and waiting for you, a flush on his cheeks and his full pink lips slightly parted, so inviting that you waste no time in mashing your own lips against his, swirling your tongue around his as you rest your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you straddle his lap.

"I love it when you take charge," he smirks up at you when you finally break away from the kiss and you're pushing his shirt back off his shoulders. "Just want you to ruin me."

You can't help but giggle even though his request has made you feel things, a glow of desperate heat inside you. "Ruin you? Oh god you old romantic!"

He grins back, his hands smoothing down over your bare hips under your hitched up skirt, fingers curling tightly around them, sliding you further up his lap.

"It's not all about romance though is it? Sometimes you just want someone to take control and fuck your brains out!"

"I can definitely do that!" You reply, grasping for his cock, the feel of him rock hard and eager for you spurring you on. You want him and you want him now. Not slow, sensual love-making, taking the time to delight in his touch and planting kisses all over his skin, you just want to feel him inside you, all of him... every delicious inch of him.

You hover over his lap, guiding his cock to your entrance, the sigh already building in you as you begin to lower yourself down, feeling his thickness stretching you out. You temporarily forget that you're in a very public place, a loud moan bursting from you as you slide yourself completely down, the feeling of sudden fullness making your eyes roll back.

"Shit... feels so good," Van groans as you come to a rest completely in his lap, your bodies fused as one.

He bucks his hips, eager for you to move but you press down on him, stilling him, moving your own hips just ever so slightly. You can tell he's desperate for you, he needs the friction of you grinding on him, his fingers tightening their grip on your hips, enough to leave furrows on your skin. You just smile down on him, a mix of sweet and sultry, teasing him by slowly rotating your pelvis, not giving him what he wants... not just yet.

"C'mon... want you," he breathes, looking up at you with hungry eyes, his hips twitching.

"Oh you do, do you?" You purr. "You think you deserve this?"

You're enjoying this, the heady feeling of being in control, soaking up his need. You flick your hips quickly before stilling them again, drawing a moan from him which tapers off into a whine.

"Fuck Y/N... please..."

And it's the way he says it, his voice thick with desperation, the pleading look in his eyes that stirs a dark part in you that relishes the power you hold over him. You wonder how far you can take this, how it would feel to make him really beg for it.

"I don't know Van... I mean maybe you don't want it that bad..."

You emphasise your words, drawing them out slowly with a smirk, your hips lazily circling, giving him a taste of pleasure but without the pressure he needs. His eyes are glazed over with lust, yearning as he looks up at you like you can make all of his dreams come true.

"Please baby… please... I want you so bad..."

The teasing smile on your lips tells him all he needs to know. He'll get his pleasure but if you want to take your sweet damn time he'll just have to suck it up. It's your pleasure that's of utmost importance here. You reach up a hand, brushing his hair back from his face, cooing at him in a soft voice.

"What do you want... do you want this?"

You buck your hips at him harshly, just once before you press down on him again, gasping yourself from the sensation. He groans, his mouth falling agape. Your hand smooths against his hair, your fingers twisting through it, winding it tightly into a fist.

"Fuck yes..."

"Yes... what?" You tease, yanking his head back with force, a sudden movement that has an impassioned groan bursting from him, confirmation that this is turning him on just as much, if not more than you.

"Yes... please... oh fuck please Y/N... just want you to fucking use me..."

His words shock you, arousing you beyond belief, spurring you on, your hips grinding torturously slowly against him. You pull his head further back to expose his neck, sucking and biting a trail across his skin until his hips are bucking and he's letting out needy whines. His fingers are digging even harder into your hips now, insistently so, his breath coming in harsh pants as you thrust your own hips again and again.

Part of you could go on like this all nigh but it's not just torturous for Van. Your need is growing by the second, simmering uncontrollably as another thrust creates a delicious friction against your clit as your bodies collide.

"Gonna fuck you now," you whisper into his ear, catching and nipping his lobe in your teeth as you pull back to look at him, the purplish blooms of bruising that litter his pale skin, his pupils blown wide and clouded over with lust.

You let your hips pull back before thrusting back down, moving with as much force as you can muster, one hand gripping at his shoulders to steady yourself, the other still caught in his hair. Desperate, frantic groans fall from his lips as you set a fast pace right from the start, his cock hitting a spot deep inside you at every thrust which has you gasping breathlessly. You just ride him even harder, slamming your hips against his, the harsh sounds of your skin connecting filling the small cubicle.

You know he won't last long, his face screwed up in bliss, his eyes rolling back, needy grunts and gasps spilling forth. He's always been vocal in your love-making but you don't think you've ever heard him this loud before, it's like you've tapped into some primal need in him to be used and fucked like this.

At some point you're dimly aware of sounds outside your cubicle, shuffling footsteps, a door slamming, a toilet flushing, but you're fuelled by the same need as Van, desperate to reach your peak now. You reach down a hand to increase the pressure on your clit, your fingertip sliding over your slick skin, bringing you closer and closer to the high that's just out of reach.

"Fuck... fuck... FUCK..."

Van hisses out curses through gritted teeth, his body going taut below you as you slam on to him again and again, relentlessly as your own climax approaches.

You can feel him start to shudder beneath you a moment before he spills into you and you pull back to watch him, mesmerised as the intensity of his orgasm consumes him. The divine sight of him losing it drives you to your own peak, your fingers flicking quickly over your clit until you're a quivering wreck yourself, still driving yourself on to Van even though he's now a trembling mess from the sensitivity.

"Holy fucking shit!" He breathes as you finally come to a stop, panting uncontrollably, pressing up against his warm body, burying your face into the crook of his neck. "That was somethin' else!"

A warm glow of satisfaction engulfs you as you finally peel yourself away to look at him, sated and happy. "I don't know what came over me!" You laugh, taking in his blissed out expression.

"I don't fucking know but I am here for it babe... 100 percent! You were like a fucking animal!"

His lips curl into the widest grin and you can't help the loud laugh that bubbles up in your chest, bursting forth until you're both sniggering, even more so as you start to manoeuvre yourself off Van's lap, groaning at the sticky mess that immediately starts dripping down your thighs.

"Oh god, look at the state of us!"

In fact you're both so caught up in your tipsy, post-fuck haze that you don't pay any heed to the toilet door opening again, much louder this time, crashing back on its hinges. It's only when the loud, stern voice booms out that you both freeze, eyes wide and panicked, mouths wide in embarrassed horror.

"EXCUSE ME! YOU TWO! WE'VE HAD COMPLAINTS FROM THE OTHER CUSTOMERS!"

A hand shoots up to your mouth in an instant to stifle a horrified gasp as you look at Van who's expression quickly changes from shock to a gleeful kind of mischievous delight, sniggering like a naughty schoolboy who's been caught smoking behind the bikesheds at school.

"Oh... errr... sorry mate. We... errr... we'll just get going then..."

"Shhhh!" You hiss urgently, scrabbling for your panties off the floor, even though it's much too late to worry about being quiet.

The voice rings out again, even sterner this time. "Yes, I suggest you do... and may I remind you that this is a LADIES toilet..."

"Yeah... shit... yeah sorry... I... errr... got a bit confused. When ya gotta go, you gotta go though, right?"

"Van!" You whisper a warning, digging him sharply in the ribs, urging him to shut up as he tries to swallow down another snigger, clumsily fastening his jeans and buttoning up his shirt as fast as he can.

There's a disgusted kind of huffing sound before you hear footsteps and the sound of the door swinging shut, and you breathe out a sigh of relief, smoothing down your clothes and reaching for the lock on the door.

"Fuck's sake how embarrassing!" You groan. "I hope there's like a fire escape or something we can sneak out of!"

Van's still laughing, pushing you forwards gently as you edge cautiously out of the cubicle. "Nah, we've actually got to walk back through the pub to get out!"

He sounds much less traumatised than you at the thought of facing the poor unsuspecting person who was privy to your sordid toilet shag, and you can already feel your cheeks aflame as you imagine the disapproving looks you'll get.

"Bloody hell I'm never coming in here again!" You whine as Van pushes past you in the short hallway that leads back into the pub, taking the lead and grasping the door handle, striding in like he's walking out on to the stage for a performance, full of his usual confidence.

"Don't think we'll be welcome anyway love," he chuckles.

You shuffle along quickly behind him, trying to make yourself look as inconspicuous as possible even though you swear you can feel several sets of hostile eyes burning into you. "Hurry up, just get going!" You urge, butting into him, head bent down, studying the pattern on the carpet as you both make for the exit.

There's no cheery farewell by the pub landlord as you both file out of the door, Van with a huge shit-eating grin on his face and you blushing and shame-faced beside him as you come to a stop in the cold October's night chill.

"Thank god we're out of there! I've never been so embarrassed in all my life!" You shake your head, cringing as you fan your glowing cheeks, feeling a smile simmering that you can't control as Van bends over double with a huge gale of laughter.

"Your face!" He gasps, clutching his belly, uncontrollable now with his laughter, causing your giggles to start up. "Anyway... this is all your fault. If you hadn't been so insatiable..."

"Fuck off!" You laugh, landing a well-aimed slap on his upper arm which he yelps at playfully. "You were well up for it!"

"I always am with you... can't get enough of ya!"

He catches you around the waist, drawing you in. You pretend to resist for a moment before you give in, still laughing, letting him envelope you in a warm embrace which staves off the chilly breeze that's whipped up around you.

"Well... I'm glad you enjoyed it as that's it now!" You bring up your wrist to check your watch, calculating that by the time you've made your way home, November won't be far away.

"Wha..." he begins, and then you see the realisation dawn on his face. "Oh, right! The No Nut November thing. Ahh shit... I forgot about that... but it's fine... no problem... I can handle it."

He nods emphatically, a glint in his eye, still on a high from your latest encounter which makes you laugh inside. He might be confident now whilst he's still coming down from your sleazy toilet encounter but how will he feel when hours turn into days and days turn into weeks and he has to abstain for all that time? He'll never manage it.

"Well, we'll just see about that shall we?"

He scoffs at your smug grin, pulling you against his body even tighter. "Yeah, we will. Honestly love, if you think I'm gonna lose this bet you're wrong. It's gonna be worth it anyway... just gotta think up my reward... oh it's gonna be good, I can promise you that."

He dips his head down to plant a warm kiss on your lips, pulling back to reveal the seductive smile you're wearing as your thoughts stray to your own wicked plans. "Meanwhile I'll just be plotting your punishment... for when you fail."

You emphasise your words, letting them roll slowly off your tongue, coated in the promise of something dark and sultry. You can see the intrigue in his eyes even though his competitive streak won't let him give in.

"Not gonna happen!" He smirks, and you both laugh, kissing again, finally breaking away as Van catches your hand in his as you start your walk home.

Read Part 2

If you were wondering where my inspiration came for this fic, it was this ask I got… I’ve written 5 parts so far so I’ll upload the rest soon xxx

#no nut november #catb imagines #van mccann x reader #fanfic #vanfic #van mccann fanfic #van mccann #smut

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metataxy · 3 years ago

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Maul, post-Order 66 Fanfic, #14

After Order 66, Darth Maul accidentally acquires a child. Spoiler alert, it’s Seventh Sister.

This isn’t going on AO3 until I finish and edit the shit out of it, but you can read what I’ve done so far here:

Maul 1, Maul 2, Dathomir 1, Maul 3, Dathomir 2, Maul 4, Dathomir 3 , Dathomir 4, Maul 5, Maul 6, Maul 7, Metane 1, Maul 8, Lothal 1, Seventh as a Nightsister

This is set after Maul 8.

Warnings for this segment: Maul’s worldview, canon-typical violence, etc.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ventress came awake the instant the door to her cabin hissed open, but pretended to sleep for the benefit of her intruder.

A moment of hesitation. Then, the pad of small feet up to her pallet. A Force probe as clumsy as it was tentative. A quiver of the air and Ventress’ hand came up, eyes still shut, to clasp the girl’s wrist.

“Drop the knife,” she grumbled. “It’s too early for assassination attempts, and you’re terrible at it anyways.”

A surge of indignation from the girl, who did not, in fact, drop the knife, but started bashing at Ventress’ grip with her other fist.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, kid,” Ventress scowled, now opening her eyes fully and resigning herself that, yes, it was going to be another one of these mornings. “You realize I’m four times your size.”

The kid bared her teeth, no doubt in imitation of her Master. The effect, Ventress thought, was rather ruined by the adorable gap between her two front teeth. “You hurt him.”

Ventress’ brows rose as she plucked the kitchen knife from the kid’s hand and then grabbed the brat’s other wrist. Of course, the girl immediately began kicking in retaliation. “Oh good,” she drawled. “I’d hate to think all that effort was for nothing.” The kid squirmed harder, and Ventress rolled her eyes. “Stop. Just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

The kid did not, in fact, stop.

Ventress thought back very hard to how Master Narec had dealt with her after Halsted died. It had involved a lot of herbal tea and patience, neither of which Ventress had an abundance.

She set the kid on the floor, and when the kid promptly went for the knife, she swung her up flailing with nothing more than her telekinesis.

“Bitch,” the kid spat.

Ventress rolled her eyes. “I’m so very glad you figured that out, youngling.” The kid kept cursing and flailing, but her tantrum slowly died off at Ventress’ lack of reaction. Ventress eyed her.

“Right. First thing, kid. I’m not a Jedi. I’m a Nightsister. Formerly a Sith.” Ventress considered. “If I find you in my room again without my permission, if you ever try to kill me again, I will do way worse than just float you around the room.”

The kid’s mouth opened, probably say exactly what she thought of Ventress’ orders, then snapped shut as she thought better of it.

Good. The kid wasn’t entirely stupid then. Just mostly stupid, if she was willing to volunteer that Ventress had hurt her Master, but Ventress could work with that. She got up and walked out the cabin, the brat floating behind her.

“Put me down!” the kid protested.

Ventress turned around. “What’s the magic word?” Really. Ventress had been raised on the Rim, first by a warlord, then by a rogue Corellian Jedi, and she’d better manners at this age. Sure, Sidious was insane, but she couldn’t imagine the pompous dick had expected any less of Maul.

“Please,” the kid muttered, cheeks blushing a deeper green.

“Are you going to behave yourself?”

“I said please!”

Ventress waited.

“Fine,” the kid scowled.

“Fine what?”

The kid looked up in confusion, then evidently thought about everything Ventress had said.

“Fine, I won’t try to kill you or go into your cabin! Unless you try to kill Master again.”

“Oh, we’ll definitely try to kill each other again,” Ventress said genially.

Metane glared, her fingers twitching for the kitchen knife that was now stashed under Ventress’ bed.

“Now, how about food?”

The kitchen had ample Zabrak rations. Maul had even shelled out for preserved cuts of rancor, pickled in vinegar and their own juices. Ventress gleefully grabbed one pack from the cupboard and a ration of broth and settled down to eat. The child, on the other hand, had garbed herself in a neat white apron over her black tunic.

“You can’t possibly eat all that,” Ventress pointed out between bites of nerf loin.

The child gave her a look like she was very stupid. Fair. Living with Maul there was no way the kid had been exposed to sarcasm yet. Tedious monologues were more the man’s style.

“Master likes to have his breakfast ready when he awakes,” she told Ventress primly, ladling an excessive quantity of water and rice into a prep container. Ventress snorted.

“And he can’t make his own breakfast?”

The girl stiffened defensively. “He’s my Master.”

Well, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t ever tried to do the same for Master Narec. It hadn’t been a regular thing though, mostly because of a mutual agreement that meals were better if Ventress didn’t have a hand in their creation. The girl removed a bowl of rehydrated veggies from the mealprep, set the rest of it inside on a timer, and settled down across from Ventress with her meal.

“Are you and Master Maul really related?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Well, fuck. “Yeah,” she told the kid. The girl goggled. “Are you brother and sister?”

“Sure,” Ventress said.

The kid looked at her dubiously. “You don’t sound sure.”

It wasn’t as though Ventress had ever cared to reckon how she was related to the banthashit crazy Sith Lord. She’d prefer the relation didn’t exist at all. “Cousins, maybe.” That tallied up, by blood and Sith lineage.

“So should I call you Aunt Ventress?”

Ventress grinned. “It’s Asajj, honey, and yes, you should absolutely call me Aunt Asajj.” Maul would have a fit.

“Do you have any other family?”

Ventress stiffened, thinking of what her old Master had left of the clan. “Yeah.”

The kid chewed her lip, thinking about this. “Why doesn’t Master live with them?”

Ventress choked. She barely knew the man, but the thought of Maul--prissy Maul, with his Core accent and his rhetorician’s gestures and clothing that smelt of starch—living with his illiterate brothers on the Rim made her laugh. Sith knew what Sauvage had made of him.

“Probably because he hates dirt—”

The galley door slid open. Speak of the devil. He stumbled in, looking as pissed off as Ventress had ever seen him. The kid immediately got up to make him a plate, while the man stormed to a seat next to Metane’s.

“Why,” he asked murderously, “are you eating my prime steaks for breakfast?”

Ventress smacked her lips. “Yours? I rather thought half of all this was mine. Compensation for getting us away from those Imperials.”

He accepted a plate of minced, spiced meat from his apprentice. “It was your fault they were there to begin with!”

She sniffed, savouring another bite of his nerfsteak. “Must we argue this all again, Maul? I’d propose we settle it with a duel, but—” she glanced significantly at his thighs below the table, “I can feel you haven’t even been in a healing trance yet. Didn’t your Master teach you anything?”

“He taught me enough to wring your neck, witch.”

“Mmmhmm,” Ventress murmured. “Another time, manling. Stop spitting like a krayt,” she sneered as he glared back at her. “You can’t follow through on any of those threats right now. Not with the shape you’re in—”

“Soon as I’ve finished eating, witch, you’ll see exactly what shape I’m in.”

“Promises, promises,” Ventress purred.

Maul choked—or gagged? Well, she didn’t care either way.

They continued to eat in strained silence. Sensing the tension at the table, the girl seemed to hurry in eating up her breakfast. “I’m going to feed the guests and start working on my blaster skills,” she announced, grabbing rations out of the mealprep and spooning rice and tubers cooked down to ooze into sealed bags.

“Ah. Your guests.” Ventress ate the last bite of her steak and considered licking the plate. She didn’t—why give Maul a reason to mock her for savagery—and immediately cursed her restraint when the man grabbed her abandoned plate and did just that. “Lapping at my leavings like a dog,” she sneered.

He shot her an unimpressed look over the plate. “Tell me you wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t here.”

She didn’t. She stood up and followed the sound of the blasterfire to the cargo bay. The kid was firing bullseyes at centre of an X painted on the wall. She smelt something hideous. Walking along the rickety balcony, she paused once she could see under the deck directly adjacent to the galley. Three humans huddled in the corner, dressed in trooper blacks. They reeked of fear—both in the Force and otherwise.

“And why is Maul keeping this filth on deck then?” she demanded.

Metane, treating her ridiculously oversized sidearm like a sniper rifle, didn’t bother to lift her gaze from where she squinted along the barrel. “They tried to take over the ship. One died.”

So the girl didn’t have an idea. Ventress eyed the humans. “Tried to take over the ship, eh?”

One, an old clone, ignored her in favour of rocking back and forth and muttering ‘Kill the Jedi’—a phrase she usually heard at blasterpoint. A gawky adolescent resolutely ignored her gaze. Only one, an older man with dark eyes and greying hair, responded to her.

“Yes, ma’am. Lieutenant Creel of the Imperial Stormtroopers.” He stumbled to his feet and gave her a surprisingly crisp salute. “The Empire sent us on a priority mission to recover the child. Help us get her into Imperial space. I’m sure our superiors would express their gratitude our safe return with an ample reward.”

Ventress gaped at the sincerity of this address, and then couldn’t help herself. She laughed.

“You honestly believe your superiors care whether you live or die.”

“I do,” the man said staunchly, a muscle tic just above his eye.

She scoffed, leaning on the creaking railing. “They have a thousand starving recruits from the Rim to replace every dead trooper. Your lives are worth about as much as that cheap armour. Less, really,” she mused. “They can at least recycle the armour when you’re dead. Sentient rights still balk at using bodies for compost in most sectors.”

The trooper stared up at her undeterred. She’d seen that expression before, usually on the faces of men who expected to die and had passed beyond any fear of it. Mostly, she’d seen it in the clone soldiers and jedi she’d taken and interrogated under Dooku’s instruction. She didn’t expect to see it in some half-trained Rim trash trooper.

She liked him.

“Whatever,” she muttered, stretching out. “Now what’s Maul done with you since you’ve come aboard?”

“Maul?” repeated the trooper blankly. “Oh, the Jedi?”

The Jedi? Ventress’ face split into a smile.

“Used us as props for teaching and target practice,” muttered the adolescent.

“Hey!” protested Metane. “Have not!”

“I’ve got blisters down my back that prove otherwise,” the teenage boy grumbled.

“Props for teaching?” she asked Creel.

He winced. “He made the child do surgery on Moakes here,” he gestured to the mumbling clone.

Right. Ventress had seen enough. She drew her blaster from its holster, aimed it at Creel, and fired—

Only for the muzzle of her weapon to jerk upright at the last moment.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Maul snarled from the entrance way. Somewhere below, one of the humans repeated the question, only with a lot more swearing.

“Cleaning house and putting your pets out of their misery,” she snarled, yanking her blaster back into place.

“They’re not yours to dispose of,” he fumed, interrupting her aim once again.

“Oh, because keeping them to rot in the cargo bay is so useful, is it?” she snapped, shooting again.

“They’re for training the girl,” Maul snapped, side-stepping Metane, but refraining from rushing her. Good . The injuries he’d received the previous day must still be hampering him. Make him mad enough though, and any pain would cease to be disabling for as long as he could sustain his wrath, and with it, a deeper immersion to the Force.

Maul had been cut in half, thrown down a reactor shaft, and managed to keep himself alive through sheer spite. He could probably stay angry for awhile, but then, so could she.

“Training? Is that what’s going on?” she drawled, pausing in her shots. “You ever see anooba-fighting, Maul?” She aimed her blaster again at a trooper, who ducked back under cover. “You know they train them with tookas?”

“Fascinating—”

“They starve the anooba, rile it up, then let it loose in a pit with the tooka. Gets it used to fighting and gives it a taste for blood.”

Maul curled his lip. “She’s a Sith Apprentice.”

“She’s a fucking child!” Ventress exclaimed, then ducked her head at a sudden warning. A blasterbolt—this one fully charged—splashed into the wall next to where her head had been a moment before.

“I’m not a child,” Metane demanded.

Ventress tried to yank the blaster from the girl’s hands and nearly pulled her over the railing in the process. Below, the clone’s eyes bugged out at the sight of the blaster moving on its own.

“And how old were you when you killed someone?” Maul demanded.

“Not old enough,” Ventress sneered, “though I’m flattered you think I’m the example your apprentice should have to live up to—”

“The JEDI MUST DIE!” bellowed the clone, slamming into the post of the observation deck directly below Metane.

The support post buckled, the deck slanted. A taller child might have been saved by the railing. Metane slid right under it and fell the two stories down towards the maddened clone.

--------------------------------------------------------------

The girl’s panic flared out through the Force. Ventress lifted a hand to save her. Maul didn’t bother. Neither of their actions made any difference. Creel couldn’t see or feel them. He saw only the girl, only his own daughter screaming for help.

He rushed forward and slammed Moakes out of the way, caught the child, and slung her awkwardly to the ground. She rolled onto her feet, shaking, her eyes too large even for a child in that almost human face, and looked desperately at him.

“Kill the Jedi, killthejedikillthejedi,” chanted Moakes, mindless.

“She’s not a Jedi,” Creel pleaded desperately with whatever was left of one of his oldest friends. “She’s a kid. Moakes—Moakes, the Jedi’s up there—the Red Man and that woman, they’re the Jedi. Not the kid—”

What were the karking Jedi doing up there anyhow, and why didn’t they get the kid out of there?

He didn’t have the time to time to think more about it. The clone rushed him.

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“You fucking LUNATIC,” Ventress snarled, grappling with Maul through the Force. She’d have preferred to get a straight shot at the clone, but she’d have settled for just lifting the girl out of the cargo bay and the fucking man wasn’t letting her do either. “You’re going to get her KILLED—” the backlash of their opposing telekinesis flung them in opposing directions, which worked for Ventress. She flipped over the rail, fell two stories onto her feet, and immediately launched herself at the clone. Maul, for whatever reason, didn’t like this.

Fuck Maul. First rule to using the Force—influencing the body or mind of anything living was harder than affecting an inanimate object. The difficulty only increased with sentience and Force-Sensitivity. Trying to affect the body of a trained warrior attuned to the physical side of the Force?

Useless.

She snapped the old trooper’s neck. An easy death. Still less than he deserved. Well, it was good as he was going to get under the circumstances. The clone managed to get in a couple kicks, and then a rush of warning told her to dodge sideways, because fucking MAUL was shooting stunbolts at her.

“Stunbolts? Afraid you’re going to kill your precious teaching props?”

“KILL THE JEDI,” the clone bawled, barreling at her.

“Yes, yes, we know sweetie, kill the jedi,” murmured Ventress, sidestepping his rush and swinging him into Maul’s next blast. She held up his unconscious body as a shield the way Maul might. “C’mon, manling, still tired from last night? Give it a go?” She shook the collapsed clone playfully. “Bet you the last trooper you can’t beat me.”

Maul couldn’t actually fight her now. She’d beat him too thoroughly last night. He could overcome his injuries by opening himself fully to the dark side, but submersion in the Force at that level had the urgency of holding your breath underwater on a deep dive. There were consequences for those who went too deep or failed to resurface from the connection in time. Consequences like madness.

Of course, she thought as Maul bared his teeth and jumped over the railing, some people didn’t really care about consequences.

Or maybe he was already suffering from them.

“This again?” she complained.

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With both of them still exhausted from the last encounter, the fight didn’t last very long. It ended with him astride her, pressing his forearm down to choke off her breath; her uncut claws digging into his throat, their faces close as kissing. Her pale, pale eyes glared up into his, and he knew if he pressed his leverage any further, she’d slit his throat with less regret than when her sisters had slaughtered jero.

He wondered if any of those sisters remained, or if she was the last of them.

He eased back slowly, cautiously, the motion a parley. The edge of her nails pulled back from the skin of his throat in response. They disengaged warily.

Without lifting his eyes from her, he took stock of the mess her disagreement and the mad clone had made of the cargo bay. Dented walls, broken railings. The support posts of the overhanging deck had crumpled on one side, leaving the floor aslant. She’d killed the old trooper bloodlessly, at least. The remaining trooper was hiding behind a box, out of view. He could smell it had pissed itself again. Metane stared wide-eyed from the side.

“I suppose we can dissect the dead ones,” he conceded. “For an anatomy lesson.” Ventress positively bristled at this magnanimity

“At least kill the last one beforehand!”

“He will remain alive until I decide otherwise,” he declared, watching the witch’s nostrils flare. “Unless you intend to go back on your bet?”

“A moment longer, and you would have been dead.”

“Hardly.”

They glared at each other.

“Master?” his apprentice asked tentatively. “Can I go to my room?”

Breathing deeply, he reminded himself he could kill Ventress later. Or maroon her on a barely habitable planet on the far side of the Rim. Given his experiences on Lotho Minor, that might be the better revenge. He turned his side to Ventress, somehow certain she would do nothing, at least, while he dealt with the child, and held out his arms.

“Of course, my child,” he soothed.

The corpses would keep until later, when he could plan an appropriate anatomy lesson, and he didn’t sense any squeamishness in her desire to be alone right now. He picked her up, ignoring the throbbing of his amputation sites at the increased weight. As before, the damned witch had targeted his weak points with a predator’s precision, and with the fight now over, he felt everything.

He gritted his teeth and pushed the button of the lift above until it descended, and mounted it, the witch sulking behind him. Once above, he took Metane to her room. The witch lingered in the kitchens.

“If I find any more of my meat eaten—” he threatened,

The witch sprawled out on his chair. “You won’t,” she told him indulgently. “I’m still quite full from breakfast.” She looked at him coyly through her long lashes. “Our little scuffle downstairs was hardly enough for me to work up an appetite.”

Never mind his injuries, he was going to kill her—

“Master?” Metane murmured, tugging at his robes.

He breathed deeply, turned his back on the damned witch, took her apprentice to her quarters, and sat her on her pallet. She looked at him.

“Are you hurt, Master?”

“Fine,” he lied.

She looked at him.

“Show me your programming exercises,” he demanded. The girl set to it without another word, and as she did so, he channeled every ounce of his pain into the happy thought of stranding Ventress on an industrial wasteland like Murkata.

Then, he stumped off to his bedroom and wasted more of their medical supplies on his damned injuries.

The stumps of his thighs were bleeding again where they merged into the metal of his legs. His back ached. He slathered the former in bacta. Damned witch. Not a day later, and already challenging him again.

He would kill her, he decided. He’d come upon her while she slept and choke her to death, or poison his horns to kill her if he so much as scraped her with the tip the next time they sparred.

He stretched out on his pallet and reached for his anger and the Force with it but found both difficult to grasp right now.

Damn Ventress, distracting him.

He wondered if there would be anyone else left of his people, after he killed her.

Before he’d entered the galley earlier, she’d told his apprentice they had other family.

When he’d awoken from his ten years of madness on Lotho Minor to Sauvage, and the devastated mountainhold, he’d seen no other survivors. Not that he’d made any great effort to find them. The murder of his people meant more as an insult from Sidious than an actual loss, he thought. They’d refused to adapt, had fought starfighters and droids with spears and arrows. They deserved to die. If they’d survived, it was more by chance than skill.

The scratches Ventress left on his back and arms itched.

He hadn’t been so marked up after a fight since the first Dathomiri witch he’d fought, years before...

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#Darth Maul #post order 66 #asajj ventress #seventh sister #stormtroopers #sith training

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