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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Prompt: Dad Cad and his kids coming home/caught sneaking home drunk for the first time. They got it from their mom. Hilarity ensues. A hint of walk of shame maybe? 🤔

The Bounty Hunter’s Guide to: Breaking Curfew

Summary: In which the Little Lady stays out a little late, Bambi operates flight machinery under the influence, and Bane nearly wears a rut in the floor.

Pairing: Cad Bane x F!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Rating: General.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, nonconsensual drug use

---

Bane has spent an unhealthy amount of time taming his nervous tics. He's as cool as can be at all times -- no lip biting, no finger tapping, no pattern to his toothpick gnawing. He is completely unreadable in the face of an adversary.

...in the face of two missing kids, however, he might as well be a neon billboard.

His leg joggles. He drums his fingertips together. He bats his toothpick between the corners of his mouth with his tongue.

He wishes you were here and not out burgling trade secrets from an arms manufacturer. You'd know what to do. You're much better with the whole 'kids will be kids' thing. You call it mother's intuition but as far as he's concerned, it's extrasensory.

Like when you let the kids walk to the corner store for the first time. They took a bit too long getting home and he was convinced they'd been kidnapped. Turns out there was construction and they had to take a detour.

Or when they stole his gun belt. He was furious, but you told him to cool it. Turns out they were getting a nicer one made and needed the sizing right.

Somehow, you're always right about these things. He could use that assurance.

Part of him is relieved it's both of them missing and not just the Little Lady. Cold, perhaps, but she's fifty kilos soaking wet and just as pretty as you are. An easy target for an unsavory type.

Bambi, on the other hand, is sixteen years old, already taller than his daddy, and built like an upside down tortilla chip. He’s more than capable of protecting his big sister.

They're probably fine. He knows this. And yet here he sits, bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers and chewing his toothpick.

Sometimes he wonders when he went so damn soft. Was it when you handed him his son, minutes old and still covered in blood and amniotic fluid? Was it when he first laid eyes on the Little Lady, small and sweet and unmistakably his?

No, it was when he gave you that head start on Nal Hutta, all those years ago. Just moments after he fell ass over teakettle for you.

A hard thunk from the balcony catches his attention. He jumps to his feet, hand hovering above his blaster.

He sneaks over to the door and silently slides it open. He steps out and into the shadows. The sun is just barely peeking over the horizon and there's still plenty of dark to conceal him.

A pale blue light grows brighter, accompanied by angry, slurred muttering. "...piece o' shit railin' an' boots an' fuck-all everythin' everywhere..."

The second voice is more enunciated. “Just shut up and try to stay even.”

A pair of thin hands grab the railing, and the Little Lady hauls herself atop the railing. She reaches downwards, but is rebuffed. Bambi tries to swing a gangly leg over the railing, only to get himself stuck. He taps at his wristcom to deactivate his boots, and the blue glow fades.

Bane watches him try to get over the railing. Slurred words, lack of coordination... The kid's drunk as an acid skunk.

The Little Lady tries to help, but Bambi shoos her away. “ ‘m fine. I can do it--”

“You’re gonna fall and break your neck is what you're gonna do,” she replies.

“ ‘m fine. S’all fine,” he slurs. He gets himself upright enough to straddle the railing. He lets out a dopey giggle. “Heh. Speeder. Nyoom...!”

He starts to tip and the Little Lady darts her hand out to snatch him by the back of the collar. "Shut up before Daddy hears you," she hisses.

And there's his cue. He tosses his toothpick away. "Li'l late fer dat," he says, stepping out of the shadows.

The Little Lady yips in surprise and whirls around. Bambi tries to reach for his blaster, but he's not wearing his holsters and he grabs air. He twists to find them and falls backwards over the balcony without a sound.

The Little Lady's hands fly to her mouth and her eyes go wide. "Oh shit."

Bane touches her shoulder to calm her. He tosses his chin at Bambi rising back over the balcony, a little rattled but no worse for wear.

"I knew it!" His hover is unsteady, and he struggles to keep himself upright. "Yer tryna flip-icide me!"

Bane raises a brow. He watches carefully as Bambi gets up and over the edge, landing in a heap of gangly limbs on the ground. Satisfied that the boy is safe, he turns his attention back to the Little Lady.

"Yer curfew's midnight," he says simply.

She bristles slightly. "It's not my fault!" she says. "He kept wandering off and I had to chase after him." The bristles fade as she crosses her arms. "He's completely zonked. He can barely walk."

Bambi makes a horrific retching noise, and the putrid smell of acid fills the air.

Bane's stomach churns, but he keeps his own dinner down. "Get one of de shitty towels and meet me in de downstairs 'fresher."

---

He feels a bit bad throwing Bambi into a cold shower fully clothed. But it'll wash him off and sober him up enough to function.

At least his whining is funny.

"Why do you hate me," Bambi grumbles, looking for all the galaxy like a kicked puppy.

Bane snickers to himself. "Suck it up."

"You suck it up." Bambi tries to grab a bar of soap -- your citrus-scented one, Bane notices -- only for it to shoot out of his grip. He grabs it again, only for the same thing to happen. He gives Bane a pathetic look. "Soap's broke."

Maker's sake. "Arms up, kid."

Bambi obeys and Bane lifts the shirt up and over his head. Tossing it into the laundry, he grabs the soap and gets to work.

He intends to manhandle the boy a bit. Treat him like everybody else he's had to clean up after a rowdy night out. Rough in his scrubbing and half-ass it enough to make it clear he'd done it begrudgingly.

But he doesn't.

A gentle touch comes unbidden, the same he used when Bambi was five years old and so sick with virid flu that he couldn't even keep water down. You had put him in the bathtub while you called a doctor, leaving Bane to mind him.

The poor kid was too exhausted to even cry. Just sit there and stare sadly at his little feet, eyes puffy from a lack of sleep, and occasionally retch up nothing.

Bane gave that boy the greatest bath of all time. Used the nicest soap, the softest washcloth, the warmest water. Bambi was dead asleep when the doctor finally showed up, bundled in a fluffy towel and smelling like a rose bush.

But Bambi isn't a baby anymore, and Bane knows this. He just cleans what he has to as gently as he can -- chest, neck, and chin.

Bambi doesn't say a word for a long time. Bane thinks it's out of embarrassment until he actually does speak.

"S'not my fault," he murmurs. "Only had two... But the secon' one wass... Had t’ve been spiked. Hit like a freighter."

"Gotta watch what ya drink, boy."

The retort comes in the form of a snore. Bane looks up to see Bambi's eyes closed and his jaw slack. His chest rises and falls in rhythm.

He can't help but chuckle. Switching off the shower, he leaves the boy to sleep it off.

---

Like you, the Little Lady eats when she's troubled. Also like you, she tends to go for cold cuts straight from the package. Today, it's the capicola.

He catches her mid chew, her eyes going wide as her jaw stops moving. A little spray of green dusts her cheeks, and she swallows. "So ya gonna rip me a new one, or...?"

"Don't see why I should." He peels a slice of the meat from the butcher paper and takes a bite. "Ain't yer fault yer brother got drugged."

She slumps. "It was meant for me," she says quietly. "The guy brought us two beers and I gave Bambi the one meant for me, just in case." She picks at the edge of the paper. "It wasn't right, I know, but the guy was greasy and I couldn't figure out a way to get rid of it and Bambi's got a hundred pounds on me--"

"Yer brother's smarter'n he looks," he says. "He probably knew and did it anyways 'cause he knew he could take it."

The Little Lady lets out a breath like she'd been holding it all night. "You think?"

He nods and eats another slice of capicola. "Ask him in de mornin'," he says. He levels a finger at her. "Regardless, ya owe him one."

She nods. "I know." She examines a slice of meat. "Are you gonna tell Momma?"

"What's it worth to ya?"

The Little Lady narrows her eyes. "You're seriously asking for hush money?"

He gives her a wry smile. "Doesn't have to be money. Could be time, could be a favor..."

"I already owe Bambi a favor," she grumbles. "And I don't like owin' too many people favors at de same time, so I got no choice. How much ya want?"

It always makes him laugh when he sees himself in her. The voice of an old crook, coming from the mouth of a young teenybopper. "Most I'll ask for is yer allowance," he says. "Somethin' like thirty creds?"

She curls her lip, but snatches her purse from its hook and roots through it. She finds the credits and plunks them down on the table. Shoving a piece of capicola into her mouth, she glowers half-heartedly at him as she chews.

He chuckles and pockets the money. "Pleasure doin' business, li'l lady."

"Up yer nose," she grumbles.

He decides to let that one slide.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

I love how Cad call Irno and his daughter “lil’ lady”, so I bet sometimes he would call one of them shouting “lil’lady” from where he is and both of them would come to see what he wants.

That happens SO MUCH. Making things worse is that the little Little Lady doesn't learn to respond to her given name until she's in preschool.

Eventually, Irno gets upgraded to "my dear ol' lady,” said in the most loving of tones. Even if she does chafe a bit at the 'old' part.

---

Far and away the best thing about having a child is the unbridled enthusiasm when he returns after a job. Your kisses are hot and sweet, but the light in the Little Lady’s eyes as he walks in is nothing short of wondrous.

She trots over to him on little legs and wraps herself around his shin, chirruping loudly. “Daddy!” she purrs.

“Evenin’, li’l lady.” He pries her off of his boot and lifts her into his arms, holding her close to his chest. She’s bigger than when he left. “Yer momma know yer up?”

“Yup!” You pop up from your lying position on the sofa, a broad smile on your face. “I said if she was good today, she could stay up to wait for you.”

The Little Lady nods. “I cleaned my room an’ helped with laundry an’ read all by myself an’ everythin’.”

You stand and walk over to him. “Like I said: very good.” You give her a little kiss on the head, and she lets out a chirp that turns into a continuous purr.

He gives her an approving nod before turning his attention to you. “How ‘bout you? How’s my l’il lady been?”

You open your mouth to respond, but your daughter cuts you off. She stiffens and stops purring. “I thought I was your li’l lady.”

He blinks at you and you blink back. He returns his attention back to her. “Y’are, girl. Yer momma is too.”

“But that’s my name,” she says.

“Your name is Mezerel, donnina,” you say. “It’s just a nickname.”

Her brows scrunch up and she puffs her cheeks out at Bane. “Then how come that’s the only thing you call me?!” she demands.

He’s about to deny it when he realizes she’s right. He can’t remember the last time he actually used her real name. Maybe the time he... No, he didn’t. But what about-- No, not then, either. She’s always been the Little Lady.

It’s not his fault. Some Zeltron superstition dictated that babies not be given proper names until their first birthday and he wasn’t going to call her ‘girl’ or ‘the baby’ the whole time.

He turns to you. “Dis is yer fault.”

You give him a cruel smile. “Excuse me?” you ask flatly. “You’re the one who calls every young woman ‘li’l lady.’”

The Little Lady doesn’t take that knowledge well. She lets out a hiss like a tea kettle and squirms out of his arms. On the floor, she crosses her arms and glares at him.

And here’s the worst thing about having a child: reasoning with a ridiculous being. He looks to you for help and you shake your head, still smiling.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

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a scenario: the kids are very young and have been put to bed, and Cad and Irno have some alone time in their room. maybe one of the kids has a nightmare / cant sleep and walks in on them? (theyre covered ofc)

This was a fun one! Thanks!

The Bounty Hunter's Guide to: Homecoming

Summary: In which the Little Lady and her brother have impeccably poor timing.

Pairing: Cad Bane x F!Reader

Words: 1.6k

Rating: Semi-Explicit

Warnings: None!

Cad Bane has always lived for the chase. The thrill of putting a laser bolt between his quarry's eyes, the satisfaction of seeing the numbers in his account go up, and, occasionally, the sadistic glee of stabbing his employer in the back to make those numbers go even higher.

He used to feel empty when a job was over. But now he has something to look forward to, something to fill in the gaps.

Namely, his dear ol' lady and a pair of happy little accidents.

He lands silently on the balcony of the bedroom and peers inside. You're fast asleep -- on his side of the bed, he notices. He smiles to himself as he slides the door open and steps inside.

He pulls his boots and breathing apparatus off and hangs his hat on the bedpost before sneaking over to you. You sleep so peacefully. He's often envious.

He brushes your silky hair away from your ear. "Yer in my spot, missus," he rumbles.

You let out a peep. "Sorry," you say. You shimmy over to your side with no fuss.

Bane is a little disappointed. He was hoping for a happy squeak and a fat kiss and a frantic, lusty fuck.

Ah, whatever. Morning sex is better anyways.

He slips in beside you, sliding one arm under your neck and the other wrapping around your waist. He buries his face in your hair and breathes deeply. He missed your smell--

You jolt away from him, a surprised shriek escaping you as you whirl around. You stare at him wide-eyed with your hand on your chest.

"Hi," he says, giving a lazy wave.

You don't waste a second. You fling yourself on him and slam your mouth against his, immediately shoving your tongue between his lips.

"You -- scared -- the shit outta me," you say between kisses.

Your mouth is so hot and warm that his cock immediately springs to attention. "I missed ya too."

He rolls his hips against yours, making sure you feel his entire length. Every ridge, every throb, every last bit of him that was deprived of you.

"I was about to go crazy," you say. You sit up on your knees and ruck up the hem of your nightgown. "I was just so... So desperate!"

You're about to toss the garment over your head when there's a knock at the door. "Momma?" a little voice calls. "You okay?"

"Just fine, pumpkin!" You glance at the door, then back at him. "Should I let her know?" you whisper.

He shakes his head. "Fuck no. Yer mine tonight," he purrs. He wraps his arms around you and presses his face against your neck, inhaling deeply.

So feminine. So flowery. So familiar.

His tongue is out of his mouth before he even realizes it, sliding up the sinew of your neck to your earlobe. He's so used to your pearl studs that it's strange to see nothing adorning them.

You squeak again. You clap your hands over your mouth, but the damage is done.

"...are ya sure?" the Little Lady calls again.

You give him a mildly annoyed look. He shrugs and you roll your eyes. "Yes, honey. Go back to bed."

An even littler voice joins her. "What's goin'..." Bambi cuts himself off with a loud yawn. "What's goin' on?"

"Momma was makin' noise. I got worried, but she says she's fine."

"An' ya believed her?!" Bambi asks in alarm. "What if one o' them changelings got in or something?! It might not be her!"

You raise a brow at Bane. "I didn't tell him about that."

Bane thinks. It must have come up when he told them about breaking into the Jedi Temple... He sincerely hopes that it wasn't the origin of a deep-seated fear for the poor kid.

He rubs the bridge of his rostrum. Now he's definitely not getting any. "Mighta slipped out on my end," he murmurs.

"Bambi, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," the Little Lady says. "Let's go back to bed."

"But what if we're next?!" His teddy bantha squeaks as he, presumably, clutches it. "What if ya get up tomorrow an' I'm not me? Or you're not you?"

You let out a snrrk sound and Bane glances at you. You're biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. It's a cute look.

The Little Lady is quiet for a few long seconds. "Well, alright," she says. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to check."

Old habits die hard and Bane jumps off of the bed to hide. But he pauses. This is his place. Those are his kids. What's he doing?

"We can't go in there! Momma and Daddy said to never go in without knocking," Bambi says.

That actually makes Bane snicker. Polite to a fault, that one.

He can practically hear the glare in the girl's voice. "Bambi, you're a moron," she says.

"Yer a moron!" he fires back.

You heave a massive sigh. "Guess we're having company," you mutter. You glance at him and toss your chin at his still hard cock. "Might wanna kill that."

Probably a good idea. As you climb out of bed, he lays back and thinks unsexy thoughts. Third-degree blaster wounds. A six-figure bar tab. Your mother in a bikini.

...Actually, that one's not so bad. But it's actively defeating the purpose of the exercise.

You open the door and dim light spills into the room along with the sound of bickering siblings. "Enough, you two," you say. "I'm not a changeling."

Bambi jumps in front of his sister, holding his teddy bantha like a shield. "Prove it. What's my... Um..." He glances at the Little Lady. "What's somethin' Momma knows?"

"I dunno. How her and Daddy met?"

You let out your chirpy laugh. "Nice try, kid. You're not getting that one until you're older. Try again."

The Little Lady slumps a bit, but purses her lips in thought. "What's Momma's pistol say? The one that Daddy gave her?"

And there's his cue. He hops to his feet and strolls over to the door. "'Anytime, any place, anywhere,'" he says, placing his hands on your waist. "Proposed to her with dat line."

Two little faces light up like Coruscant in the evening. "Daddy!"

They spring into his arms and he's just barely able to catch both of them. The Little Lady throws her arms around his neck and Bambi clings to his chest like a baby monkey lizard, both purring loudly.

You smile and put your hands on your hips. "Wish I got that kind of welcome when I get home," you say.

"You're never gone as long as he is," the Little Lady says.

She grabs his cheek and turns him towards her. She presses her rostrum against his hard enough that he feels the cartilage flex.

A fuzzy, golden warmth fills his chest, overflowing into his belly and seeping into his toes. Such a sweet girl.

Bambi is next, smooshing his rostrum into the hollow of Bane's cheek. "Missed you," he says quietly.

He basks in the warmth for a few moments. Such sweet little things came from him, he muses. Less than a day ago, he shot a man in the temple just because he got a little too close at the cantina bar.

The galaxy is such an ironic place, he thinks.

You clear your throat. "Where's my kiss?" you ask in mock offense.

"Ya already got one," he says.

"Yeah, one. You're getting two. Where's my second one?"

He chuckles. Carefully, he pries the little ones off of him and sets them on the ground. Placing his hands on your waist, he swings you into a dip and gives you a firm kiss.

It's a great kiss. Loving and warm and passionate.

Both of the kids make sounds of disgust. He pulls away to chide them, only for you brush your hand dismissively at the kids and pull him back in.

---

He wakes up to the light thump-thump of two small feet hitting the floor.

"I'll help," the Little Lady whispers.

He opens an eye to see her lifting her brother off of the bed and setting him on the ground. They tiptoe out the door, closing it behind him.

"Where're dey headed?" he asks.

You roll over to drape your arms around his chest. "Making us breakfast, I think," you murmur into the space between his shoulder blades. "So we've got at least ten minutes before they figure out they don't know how to make pancakes."

You hook your leg around his as your hand drifts down to his rumpled trousers. His cock twitches from the warmth alone, and he lets out a deep rumble.

"Careful, missus." He pushes up against your hand, letting you feel his hardness. "Might get me randy."

You wriggle upwards to whisper into his ear. "Is that a promise?"

You always know just what to say. He rolls over and on top of you, pinning you to the bed. You grin up at him.

"Ya really don't know what yer playin' with." He grabs his cock through his trousers, fondling it gently.

"Don't I?" you ask, batting your lashes. "A desperately horny man who hasn't seen his lovely woman in weeks?"

He licks his lips, letting out another rumble. "Get dat gown off 'fore I rip it off."

"Yes sir," you say. You try to sit up and move your arms, but he refuses to unpin you. "Cad, move."

"Nah." Grabbing the front of your gown, he yanks. The fabric tears easily, and he's left holding tatters. He dives in before you have the chance to object.

Home sweet home.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Cad’s fertile cycle and Irno’s estrus sync up 😏

dual wielding leveled up! sorry it took so long!

99 Problems: Entry #78 (Cad Bane x F!Reader)

Summary: An unstoppable, incredibly dangerous force meets an immovable, incredibly horny object.

Pairing: Cad Bane/F!Reader

Rating: 🌶 Explicit 🌶

Word Count: ~7k

Warnings: Graphic violence, PiV sex, breeding and pregnancy talk

<;<< | masterpost | >>>

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list1.hpd

LIST OF REASONS YOURE A PAIN IN THE ASS AND I SHOULD TURN YOU IN

#78: I HAVE TO BEAT THE OTHER GUYS OFF OF YOU WITH A STICK

---

Bane finally takes you up on your offer to teach him about analog locks. You’re giving him a crash course at the galley table over a pot of caf and some donuts.

You spread out your whole kit over the table. He picks up what looks like a miniature drill. "What’s dis one?"

"That's a grounding pick. You can run a current through it for magnet locks," you say. "Right now, all you need is the rake and the tension wrench. Remember which ones those are?"

As he scans the piles of metal, you dunk the rest of your donut into the caf. You do it correctly, too -- a quick little dip to soften it up, then you plop it into your mouth.

He picks out the tension wrench and the rake, and you reward him with a smile. You lay your hands atop his to gently position them. They're so soft and dainty compared to his. You've never worked a day in your life and he hopes you never do.

"Hold it like this,” you say. “Then stick the wrench inside and press on it with your finger. Not too hard, but enough to set the binding pin."

He swallows thickly as you talk. You've been closer to him than this. You've laid more skin on him than this. And yet here he is, his heart in his throat and a butterfly flitting around his ribcage.

He tries to focus on your pretty red lips, but he gets distracted by your words. Sweet Maker, you're gorgeous when you talk about locks. You're not the type of woman to hide her intelligence -- you know your stuff and everyone else is going to know that you know. It’s captivating.

He manages to shake himself out of his distraction as you withdraw your hands and slide the rake towards him. "Give it a try."

He curses inwardly. He's not one to zone out, but you are such a distraction. Time to wing it.

Laying his finger along the wrench, he slips the rake into the lock. He hesitates a moment, looking up at you.

"Real quick herky-jerky back-and-forth motions. You're trying to bump as many pins as possible," you say. You give a wry smile. "I'd compare it to brushing your teeth, but I'm not sure you'd get the reference."

If anyone else spoke to him like that, he'd shoot them. But with you, it eases his nerves and feels like an invitation to play.

He quickly drags the rake through the lock, trying to mimic your motions. "Clean enough fer ya to let between yer legs," he replies.

You rest your chin in your hand and smirk. “Never said I didn’t like your filthy mouth,” you say with a wink.

The little bow of your lips, the bat of your thick lashes, the glitter in your eyes...

He presses a little too hard on the rake. Snick. It snaps clean in two, leaving the crooked part in the lock and him holding the handle.

He frowns. "Hope dat wasn't expensive."

You don't look upset, fortunately. You look a little amused, even. "Guess those are getting a bad review," you say. You pick up your holopad. "I’ve got plenty more. Just glad it happened here and not in a..."

You trail off, staring at your holopad. Your brows knit and your head tips to the side like a curious massif pup.

He stares at you, waiting for you to say something, but nothing happens. He speaks up. "Yer erotica stories go up in price?"

He expects a glare and a retort, but you just purse your lips together. "Your fertile period is twice a month, right?"

"S’posed to be once a month," he says, "but yer Zelty pheromones have it all messed it up."

"I see..." You tap a few times. Your frown deepens. "So I have... interesting news."

His eyes narrow at you. "Thought ya had an implant."

Finally you react to him. You roll your eyes and turn the pad around. "Look."

It's a calendar showing the last few months and the current one. A few days are highlighted in pink each month, and a few are highlighted in blue. They never overlap, until next week.

And if that means what he thinks it means...

His brows rise. "Dat certainly is interestin'," he says.

"It is." You set the pad down and sit back, crossing your arms across your chest. "It'll be fine, but..."

You trail off, nibbling your lip. He eyes you. "But?"

You give him a pointed look. "This place is going to absolutely reek of sex."

---

You both make preparations. Land somewhere safe, stock up on food, make sure anything that could come up won’t.

It’ll start any day now. Bane has set up his “nest,” swept the entire Justifier from top to bottom, and yet he’s still squirming and gnawing on his toothpick like a gill-goat chewing its cud. His skin itches like he’s wearing too-tight clothes.

He’s rearranging his pillows for the dozenth time when he realizes: it’s all blacks and grays. Your teal throw pillow is gone. You must have taken it up to clean.

He moves faster than he cares to admit, practically tripping over himself on the way to reclaim the piece de resistance of his courtship display. His nest is the biggest. His nest is the coziest. His nest is the safest for you to stay in, to grow in, to keep the baby in--

Bane freezes midway down the ladder and gives his head a good shake. This cycle is going to hit hard. He can tell already.

He hits the floor and turns to see you slinging your purse over your shoulder as you open the hatch and drop the walkway.

Despite knowing that you’re probably just running a last-minute errand, he bristles. His words come out more threatening than he intends. “Where d’ya think yer goin’?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “I forgot that I have to wire some money to my brother-in-law,” you say. “So I’m running to the bank before you trap me in your bed for the next three days.”

He wants to be petulant. He has every right to be. He worked hard on his nest. He wants you to see it and he wants you to see now so he can sleep with you already.

But you’d never let him live it down if he whined for sex, so he bites his toothpick so hard it nearly snaps. “Be quick.”

You give him a mirthless smirk as you stick your face in his. “Think I might stop to smell the flowers,” you say.

Bane inhales. It’s like sticking his head in a bouquet of roses. His cock stiffens immediately, and he swallows a groan.

“This is just as hard for me as it is for you,” you grumble. “Sit tight and try not to touch yourself. I’ll be back before you know it.”

His eyes are glued to your ass as you open the door and stroll into the afternoon light.

---

An hour passes.

He retrieves your throw pillow. And while he’s at it, he steals all of your pillows, even the ones off your bed. He rearranges his nest to perfectly accentuate the space. Dark, comfy, and cozy.

Two hours pass.

He gets antsy. Itchy. Hot and scratchy, like he’s wearing a wet woolen coat. The only thing stopping him from ripping his skin off is Vincenzo, who hops up onto his lap and starts purring.

Three hours pass.

He’s ready to boil over with rage. He makes up his mind. He’s going out to find you and to fuck you right where you stand.

“If she shows up while I’m gone,” he says to Todo, “tell ‘er dat if she ain’t face down, ass up on my bed when I get back, dere’s gonna be hell to pay.”

Bane doesn’t find you on the street. He doesn’t find you at the bank. Nor are you looking around the stores and stalls hawking fabrics and jewelry.

He’s on his third lap of the marketplace when a good-sized pit opens up in his stomach. Something isn’t right and it’s all his fault. He let you leave the nest and something horrible happened and there goes the one good thing in his life--

He grits his teeth. He needs to find you while he can still think straight.

He scans the ground. Footprints in the dust. Mostly boots, some bare feet... but only one set of heel prints. He follows those. They end abruptly, but less than a meter away, he finds heavily disturbed dirt. Streaks and scuffles in the dust, localized to one patch, but a pair of boot marks lead away.

So you got snatched off your feet, put up a fight, then either got stunned or whacked over the head. Poor girl.

He follows the boots to a landing bay and into a hangar. A small freighter rests there, the ramp still descended. A number of aftermarket guns are mounted all over the ship, some legal and some definitely outlawed by the Republic.

He knows a bounty hunter’s ship when he sees one.

A chill goes up his back. This is bad. Very bad.

Had he a clearer mind, he would do some more reconnaissance, try and suss out who it might be. But his sanity is hanging on by only a rapidly-fraying thread, and the faster he retrieves you, the quicker he can let it go completely.

The area seems deserted. Blaster drawn, he sneaks aboard. He tiptoes through the passages. If you're anywhere, it's the cargo hold.

He finds it quickly. The hatch is open, and he steps inside. It's big and musty, the dim orange light doing a piss-poor job of actually illuminating anything.

He squints in the darkness, trying to identify the shapes. Shipping crate, fire suppression rig, you, some kind of cage, another crate--

Wait.

He can't stop your name from leaving his mouth as he runs to you. "Irno!"

You don't respond. He holsters his blaster and drops to his knees, tipping your head up. You've got a nasty shiner and a split lip -- he's not sure which one you'll be more pissed about once you're fully conscious.

If you're not dead, of course. The thought makes his guts churn. Please be alright. Don't die on me. Maker, please, not this one.

"Wake up, girl," he hisses. He gives you a weak shake. "C'mon! Wake up!"

He's this close to slapping your face when mercifully, thankfully, your eyes flutter open. "Cad?" you murmur weakly. "What happened...?"

Oh, thank the Maker. Relief turns to rage.

"Stupid bitch," he hisses. "Goin' an' gettin' yerself caught by some no-name! Yer better’n dat!"

"Wasn't my fault--" You cut yourself off with a groan. "Ugh, my head..."

Your head slumps forward. Possible concussion. He holds your face. "Stay awake. Don't close yer eyes."

You blink weakly at him. "What do you care?"

He looks over your shoulder. You’re clipped to a pipe with a pair of top-of-the-line binders... But he knows the fatal flaw of this model.

He quickly gets to work. "Yer worth more to me alive than y'are dead." You raise a brow at that, but he ignores it. "Dis'll hurt."

Before you can say anything, he twists the binders and your wrists. You let out a pained cry. It brings him no pleasure, but the click of a faulty metal spring brings him relief.

Taking your hands, he gently rolls your wrists. "Keep twistin’ 'em like dis. A metal piece'll slip between de magnets and break de seal."

He pulls away to see tears pooling in your eyes as you nod, grimacing. Poor thing. He did warn you, though.

Before he can stop himself, he brushes them away with his thumb. “Get to work, girl,” he says gently, “before whoever snatched ya gets back--”

The reflection in your eyes of the light coming through the door vanishes. Too late.

He whirls around, but a shot goes off before he can clear leather and pain explodes in his shoulder. He's thrown onto his back, and his LL-30 goes clattering across the floor.

A helmet-modulated voice speaks. "Leave, bounty hunter. This is family business."

A thickset male steps into the hold, clad in sleek armor, pointing a blaster at him. It looks Mandalorian, but an emblem of a roaring, serpent-haired beast adorns the chestplate.

Bane recognizes the symbol. "I didn’t realize de Gorgone accepted Humans," he states.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees your brows rocket upwards.

The man chuckles. He sounds young. "They don’t. Getting this was my initiation," he says. "Make yourself scarce and I'll let you live."

Bane reaches for his second blaster, but the man fires off another shot that clips his wrist and makes him drop the blaster. There’s definitely going to be a bruise there.

The scent of flowers hits his nose. He glances at you. Your jaw is locked tight, and your pupils are huge. A strand of hair falls in your face. His breath catches in his throat as his cock twitches in his trousers.

He also notices the slightest movement in your shoulders and elbows. Time to buy you time.

"What's a crime syndicate want with a burglar?" he asks again. "Her bounty is chump change compared to Gorgone coffers."

Even behind the helmet, he can feel the man eying him. "It's not her head I want," he says. "It's her hand."

He scoffs. "Times must be tough if de capos are gettin' into larceny."

The man laughs. Not mocking, but of genuine amusement. "No," he says, "I'm her fiancé."

Cad Bane didn't think that simple word could get his hackles up. But boy oh boy, does it make his blood boil. The thought of you with another man... fucking him, holding him, calling him dear and darling, pressing your pretty lips to his brow, cradling your child-swelled belly...

And there's his fertile period talking.

Fortunately, you look just as shocked as he feels. You look at the man with huge, astonished eyes. "What?"

The man turns to you, his head tipping. "Did your mother not tell you? It was arranged last month."

You blink at him like an orbak in the headlights. "I thought that was a threat, not a statement of intent!"

Bane’s blood pounds in his ears. He lets out a low, guttural warning rattle. "She is mine," he hisses.

He hears you suck in a breath, and flowers hit him again.

The other man notices the smell too. His helmet’s modulator crackles as he takes a deep breath. "Nothing quite like a pretty girl's estrus," he says.

He wants to rip this man's throat out with his teeth. He lets out another rattle, peeling back his lips.

The man scoffs. “That supposed to scare me?” He gestures at the door with his blaster. “Leave. She isn’t worth your life.”

The hell you aren’t. You’re his score. His bounty. His woman. His.

He growls again, but before he can move, you clamber to your feet. Your arms are still twitching. The binders should be almost off.

“Let’s not be hasty,” you say smoothly. You turn to the man. “Let’s turn him in to the Republic and we’ll consider that my dowry.”

Bane stares at you, trying to keep his expression neutral. He knows you’re a minx, but to sell him out that quickly... that isn’t you. You’re not greedy for credits -- you like gems and jewels. You’re playing a game. You have to be. Not to mention that this guy doesn’t seem like your type at all...

The man chuckles. “Now that’s a clever girl,” he says.

He forces out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Over my stinkin' corpse,” he says.

“That can be arranged.” The man levels his blaster.

Your binders clatter to the ground as you jump at him, grabbing his arm and pushing it upwards. The blasts hit the ceiling.

Bane snatches his own blaster off the floor. He squeezes off a few shots, knocking the man onto his back. You kick the snatch up his dropped blaster and scamper backwards.

The man scrambles upright -- he’s definitely wearing beskar -- and lunges at Bane.

Bane can take a hit, but the man has forty kilos on him at the very least and he’s knocked right off his feet, his hat popping off his head as he hits the floor. The man wraps his massive hands around Bane’s neck and squeezes tightly. The breathing apparatus whirs to life, and Bane feigns helplessness just long enough to evaluate the man: his armor is thick, but ill-fitting in places -- neck, armpits, where his legs meet his groin. The Mando he killed was much smaller than he was.

He steals a quick glance at you. You’re gripping the pistol tightly, aimed squarely at his attacker, but... you’re not doing anything. You’re rooted to the spot, your eyes wide and your chest heaving.

Letting out a little growl, he shimmies his foot upwards. There’s a knife in his boot, and if he can just grab it...

Clank. The man’s head snaps to the side as a laser bolt hits it, but he doesn’t go down. Your jaw drops, looking between the pistol and the man.

The man stares at you, then lets out a growl. He says something in Zeltrian, then slams Bane into the ground by his neck. Pain explodes in his head and he sees crimson for a second, just long enough for him to lose track of what’s going on.

When his vision returns, he sees the man stalking towards you. You keep firing the pistol, but the man doesn’t even flinch as his armor diffuses the bolts. Horror fills your eyes.

The man snatches the blaster right out of your hands. He grabs your wrists and lifts you clear off the ground. You kick your legs, but weak flesh is nothing against beskar.

You try to keep a defiant snarl on your lips, but the tears welling in your eyes betray your emotions. You keep kicking as the man presses you up against the wall. He lifts his hemet and whispers something to you. The snarl vanishes, and your mouth drops open.

“Cad!” you scream.

Bane has heard you make so many sounds. Laughs, purrs, agitated shrieks. Pulled all sorts of howls and moans out of your mouth. He’s heard delight, fury, contentment, lust...

But never fear. Never blood-curdling, bone-chilling, pure, utter fear.

He hates it.

Driven by pure rage, he clambers to his feet and leaps onto your assailant’s back like a monkey-lizard. The man yelps in surprise, releasing you from his grip.

Bane doesn’t have a plan. Between his hormone-addled mind, the knock to the head, and the close quarters, he can’t come up with anything clever -- his stunners would zap him too, the flamethrower would roast you all alive, the man’s too tall to try for a neck snap...

Growling, the man slams backwards into the wall. The wind knocked out of him, Bane releases his grip and hits the floor with a pathetic thud.

The man picks up one of the dropped LL-30s and looms over Bane, fingering the trigger.

“Nice blasters,” he says. “I’ll keep them to remember you by--”

Now it’s your turn to play piggyback. You leap onto him, jamming your dextrous little fingers into the seam between the man’s helmet and his chestplate. You yank the helmet off and throw it to the side, nearly hitting Bane.

The LL-30 goes off right next to your face, blowing a hole in the ceiling and nearly scorching the curl that hangs across your forehead. You shriek and lose your grip, landing on your ass.

Bane growls. How dare he ruin your hair.

The man is rugged, if not a bit babyfaced. He sneers as he whirls on you, spitting something in Zeltrian that makes your face screw up in disgust. You scrabble backwards, trying to get away.

“Cheltru,” he spits.

Bane clambers to his feet. He doesn't know what it means, but he knows an equivalent of 'bitch' when he hears one. How dare he call you that.

The man leans forward and steps on your already-injured wrist, making you cry out.

Bane grabs the helmet and pulls the knife from his boot. How dare he hurt you.

“Your mother was right,” the man says. “You really aren’t worth the trouble. I oughta just turn you in for the money.”

How dare he steal his bounty.

Bane brings the helmet down upon the man’s head as hard as he can. A sick, wet crunch sounds, and the man buckles. Bane brings up the helmet to hit him again, but the man grabs his foot and yanks.

He falls to the floor and the man jumps atop him.

Right where he wants him.

Bane plunges the vibroblade into the man's throat as far as it will go. Bright red, oxygen-rich blood sprays outwards. The blade vibrates harder as he pulls it to the side, carving up muscles and cartilage as easy as slicing through roast nuna.

The man lets out a wet, burbling gasp. Bane withdraws the blade and kicks him in the stomach, knocking him to the side. He cuts the straps of the man’s chestplate and slams the blade into his belly.

Once for hurting you. Once for kidnapping you. Once for ogling you. Once for insulting you.

All for you.

By the time his rage has subsided, the floor is painted red and the man moves no more.

The adrenaline wears off, and he slumps. But he can’t rest yet. He staggers to his feet and turns to you.

You gaze up at him. Black-eyed and bloody, a scorched coiffe, and a sprained wrist. And yet your eyes shine like emeralds as you climb to your feet, the scent of flowers wafting off of you like fog off a lake.

He stares back at you. Blaster wounds on his shoulder and wrist, an aching head, and his arms and front covered in blood.

All for you.

You place a dainty hand on his face, dragging your thumb along his cheekbone. Your lips are parted just enough to see your pretty little teeth, flat and white and blunt. He's always thought that they were cute.

He leans into your touch, placing his hand on yours and stroking your little knuckles. “Y’alright, li'l lady?” he rasps.

You nod. “Uh-huh,” you reply. You swallow thickly, your cheeks flushing red. “Are you?”

“Been in worse scrapes,” he says. Your hand is so warm and soft and gentle... His eyes drift closed. He could melt right into you. He just might.

You’re alright. You’re safe. You’re still here with him and not in the arms of some jerk who can’t appreciate a good thing. A really good thing. A fantastic thing. A smart, clever, feisty thing with beautiful eyes and pretty hair and soft hands--

Your grip turns hard. You tighten your fist around his breathing tube and jerk him towards you.

You shove your tongue into his mouth, kissing him violently and passionately. He has no choice but to kiss back, matching your intensity.

Your mouth is a cool sip of water in the heat of the desert. Sugar in a bitter cup of caf. Fuel for the fire roaring to life in his belly.

You throw your arms around his neck and he grips you tightly, one arm around your hips and the other around your neck. He sweeps you into a dip that would have made you gasp if your mouth wasn’t full.

Your heel catches on his boot and you fall to the ground, taking him with you. He lands on top of you, just narrowly avoiding smacking his head against yours.

He could stand up. Help you to your feet. Walk with you back to the ship and ravish you properly.

But every second it would take to do that is a second he’s not buried deep inside you.

He flips your dress up and holds your legs apart. You’re not wearing panties under your garter belt, and your clit is visibly swollen. Normally, he’d tease you, but he’s too grateful to have nothing in the way.

Being covered in blood isn’t terribly sexy. But he doesn't care. And based on the way you hump the air, neither do you.

He fishes his cock out, already fat and leaking. He slicks himself up, rubbing it between your lips for a bit of extra slide.

His glans brushes your clit, forcing a massif-like whine from your lips. You try to form words, but they get strangled in your throat.

He fares no better. He can hardly think now, what with all his blood being used to puff his ridges up.

After a few moments of sputtering, he manages to grind a few words out. "Ya want me?"

You nod, squeaking out a desperate "uh-huh!"

He wants to tell you to beg. To see your forehead knit up and hear pathetic little mewls escape you. Make it all the sweeter when he finally pushes into your scorching hot pussy. Slowly, slowly, slowly, savoring every centimeter until he's perfectly sheathed inside you.

But Cad Bane is a greedy man.

He gasps as he stuffs himself into your soaking wet heat. The sensation overwhelms him and his vision goes dark for a second. Maker, how are you so damn tight?

You cry out as his ridges rub against your clit. “Oooh, fuck,” you hiss. “Right there!”

He thrusts a few times, as slow as he can bear to go. And then you put a hand on his chest to push him away and he whines.

“Why?!” he spits.

And then he sees. You, flexible little lady that you are, practically fold yourself in half. Your thighs press against your chest and your knees are up by your head. It leaves your pussy wide open.

“Fill me,” you demand.

The sight is so beautiful, he could cry. And he does, in a way. Humiliating, obscene sounds escape his lips as he pushes back inside you, pumping his hips back and forth. His balls bump deliciously against your tailbone.

You clench and release in time, tightening as he thrusts and squeezing as he pulls back. Perfect synchronization. Two pieces of well-oiled machinery. A lock and its key.

And the look on your face... Your brows knit tight and your eyes squeezed shut, little grunts and groans escaping you. "Harder," you demand. "Faster!"

Bane doesn't have the presence of mind to do anything but obey.

He buries his face in your neck and inhales deeply. So sweet, so floral, so feminine. He wishes he could bottle it up and carry it with him everywhere. Though he supposes with you on his arm, he already does that.

Now that's a thought. Showing you off to everyone. Let everyone know what catch he reeled in. A scruffy old bounty hunter with a sweet little sticky-fingered socialite.

You grip the back of his head with said fingers, digging your nails into his skin through his flight suit. You stare at him with wide, frenzied eyes.

"I said harder," you growl. "Faster!"

He sneers at you. "S'fast as I go, girlie," he says between thrusts. "You could stand to be a li'l -- more -- grateful!"

Your nostrils flare in agitation. He's never noticed you do that before. It's cute. "For what, a half-assed screw?! Fuck me like you mean it!"

He hits something soft inside you. Your sharp squeal deafens him for a moment.

"Sounds like I'm doin' a damn good job," he rasps. "Now shut up or I'll make ya shut up."

You go stiff. You stop pulsing. You glare at him, chest heaving, with a venom he's never seen before.

Suddenly, he's on his back. Pain shoots through his shoulder and head, and he lets out a pained grunt.

You either don't notice or don't care. You impale yourself astride him with an obscene moan. It's an amazing sight.

And then you start bouncing, and he wonders if that shot to the back killed him and this is Paradise. Your little breasts lift and fall under your dress, and he can just see the outline of your nipples, all perked up.

He sits up to try and lick them, but you shove him back down. Pain explodes in his head and he's dazed for a moment.

Your hair flows and quivers with every movement. "I don't know why I put up with you," you hiss.

He swallows thickly. Between the pain and his throbbing cock, it's hard to think. "'Cause if it weren't fer me--" He groans and bucks upwards, making you yip. "--you'd be screwin' dat pink meathead!"

You laugh cruelly and it only makes him harder. "Oh please. I had a plan."

He gives you the toothiest grin he can manage. "Ya really think you could resist this?" He gives your belly a poke. "He shoulda offered to make a baby wit' ya. You woulda come quietly -- an' den loudly."

The simple word baby makes your breath hitch and your core flex, and you almost double over. But you don't, and you straighten back up to glare at him.

"He did," you say, "and I said no. And I kept saying no, and then he stunned me."

His lust-addled mind clears for just a moment. "Ya said no? Why?"

You look at him like he'd just sold the ship for fuel money. You give him an indignant snarl and lift yourself up. "Because I don't want his babies."

You drop down so deep that he can feel his balls against your ass. You squeeze so tight that he can feel the blood pressed out of his ridges. He moans so loud it rattles the screws holding the ship together.

You lift yourself up far enough that he feels cool air on his glans. "I don't want some meat-headed..." You drop down hard enough to force the air from his lungs. "...no-name..." Lift. Drop. "...two-bit..." Lift. Drop. "...Gorgone palooka!" you growl.

His pounding heart skips a beat. That butterfly comes back and tickles his ribs a moment before he shoos it away.

He stares up at you. "Didn't realize ya were just dat horny fer me," he says with a grin.

You roll your eyes. "I'm riding your cock, aren't I?"

He moves quick. One roll of his hips and you're the one on your back again. He grips your cheeks, squishing your lips into a pucker.

"Say ya want me, li'l lady," he croons.

You growl and grab his wrist, digging your nails into the blaster wound. The sudden pain knocks him off guard and you surge forward, shoving him onto his back. You slide your pussy off of his cock with a wet schlick she perch on his chest. He gasps at the sudden chill.

"I want you," you hiss. "Do you want me?"

This woman, he thinks to himself. "Killed a man fer ya."

Your breath catches. "Don't I know it," you moan. You bring your hand down to touch your clit. The way you roll that little red pearl around makes his mouth water. "But do you want me?" you say breathily.

He grits his teeth and tries to roll you over -- but you're prepared. You grab his wrist and dig your fingers in again. His pained growl makes you rub yourself faster.

"Say it, Cad Bane," you say.

He licks his teeth. "I want ya."

You suck in a breath. "Want me to what?"

With one hand, he adds his fingers to your stroking. You grind against them, making breathy little noises. He grabs his cock with the other and starts pumping.

"I want ya to take every last drop o' me," he rasps. "I want ya squirmin' as it drips down yer legs. And den I wanna see ya get fat wit' our baby."

That does it for you. You clap your hand over your mouth as you reach your peak. It does nothing to muffle your delicious moans. But it does give him the opening he's looking for.

Bane pushes you onto your back, folds you in half, and stuffs his cock inside your still-pulsing pussy. You're too dazed to even let out a squeal, and somehow that makes his cock throb just as hard.

In and out and in and out of you. You're so tight that he has to get on his knees and pump his thighs.

He didn't expect that phrasing to get him, but it makes sense: you need two to tango, after all. A little part of him mixing with you -- hopefully the good parts, however few he has.

Our baby.

He buries his face in your neck as he climaxes. Rope after sticky rope, coating your insides. You clench around him, squeezing out every last drop.

His arms give out, and he collapses atop you. You throw your arms around his neck and squeeze him tight. Oddly intimate, but he's too dazed to say anything.

After a few moments, he eases himself up onto his elbows to look at you.

Your eyes are lidded, your lipstick is smeared, your hair is a mess, and you're covered in blood. He feels a twinge of regret -- getting that out is going to be expensive.

After a moment, you lean upwards and press your lips to his. No tongue, no push, just a surprisingly chaste little peck.

"Thanks," you breathe, "for saving me again."

He swallows thickly. "Couldn't let my meal ticket get away."

You shake your head, but smile. Gently, you push him off of you. His cock slides out with a wet schlick, coated in semen.

You stare at it a moment, then reach for his cock. He jumps away -- the thought of another round so soon makes him flinch away from you.

You roll your eyes and lean in anyways. You wrap your lips around the softening member and, with a slurp, suck off the extra cum. You hold it in your mouth for a moment before swallowing.

He stops going soft. "Stars above, woman," he mutters. "Ya tryin' to kill me?"

You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand in an unladylike manner. "Just being practical."

You climb to your feet and offer him your hand, only to wince. He watches a thin blue trail drip down your leg. He ignores your hand and climbs to his feet himself. He tries to dust himself off, only to smear around the blood practically coating him.

That's going to be even more expensive to get out. “Let’s get back to de ship,” he mutters.

You look around at the mess. “What do we do about...?”

“Leave ‘im,” he says. “We’ll come back later fer his armor later. Beskar’s expensive.”

Your brows rise, and you nod. “Smart thinking--” A gasp cuts you off and, with a burst of flower-scented air, you buckle at the knees. He catches you, and you grimace. "Karkin' pheromones..." you mutter. "...you might have to carry me."

His cock twitches, and he winces. Deja vu.

---

Back at the ship, he pulls you to his “nest,” leaving a trail of clothing through the hallways.

What follows is hours of fucking.

Not making love. Not having sex. Fucking. Fucking like frenzied spring ash-rabbits.

Your squeals are sweet in his ears as he pounds into you. Plugs you up tight with his inflated ridges. Fills you to brimming with his thick, ropey seed.

And then you grab him and make him do it again. And again. And again. Sometimes he doesn’t even get the chance to pull out before you’re whining for attention.

And despite his cock being rubbed raw, despite his thighs aching, despite his vision swimming, he can’t stop.

Your cloying pheromones fill the air, electrifying his every nerve. Your clit is swollen to an obscene degree -- just brushing it is enough to make you squirm. You meet his every thrust by jutting your own hips up, howling prayers and mumbling obscenities all in the same breath.

He spills fat, thick, fertile ropes inside you, over and over and over. And when there's no more room, he spills all over your belly, your tits, your thighs. And when you're covered, you flip him onto his back and bounce and grind atop him.

He's shooting blanks by the end of it. Thin, watery spurts that leak out of your pussy, dribble down his cock and soak his balls. Yet you still beg for one more round and he has no choice but to mount you like an akk dog.

He’s mid-thrust when he finally collapses, hitting your soaked back with a wet smack. He buries his face in your neck, gulping down the sweet, Zeltron-tasting air.

Darkness overcomes him, and he slides to the side, landing on the pillows. The last thing he remembers is you pulling the blankets over him.

===

You are Irno Favara. You are sore in places you didn’t think you could be sore.

Your head hurts. Your eye hurts. Your wrists hurt. Your pussy hurts. Everything hurts.

You suppose that’s what happens when estrus and fertile cycles collide. Three days of damn near non-stop sex. You both stunk to high hell when you finally came out of your hormone-induced mania, and you spent three hours taking a shower-bath-shower before slinking off to bed to take a nice, long coma.

It’s been a day and a half since then and you’ve seen neither hide nor... well, you haven’t seen Cad's hide. You comm him a few times to check on him, but he doesn’t respond. According to Todo, Cad hasn’t emerged from his cabin at all. You try luring him out with the promise of food, but the only noise from inside is the shifting of sheets and low grumbles.

And so here you sit in the cockpit, sipping a caf and wondering how mad he would be if you turn his body in for the credits. On one hand, if he's dead, he won't care. Obviously. On the other, it would be awful cold of you. Which you think he might approve of, but on the off-chance he doesn't, you should probably get the comm info of Strega Befana from your nonna...

You hear footsteps coming down the ladder, and the moral quandary vanishes. You leap to your feet and follow them to your bedroom.

A haggard-looking Cad is arranging your missing pillows on the bed. He glances up when you enter, but quickly looks back down. For a man with no pupils, it’s obvious he’s avoiding your gaze.

You wait for him to say something, but soon realize it’s up to you to break the ice. “Glad you’re alive,” you say.

He grunts without looking at you.

You step into your cabin proper, one hand trailing along the wall. “How are you feeling?”

Another grunt. He's a man of few words, but talking usually isn't this much like pulling teeth. Time to break out the big gun.

"How's your dick?" you ask.

Finally, he looks at you. There is not a hint of amusement in his eyes as he straightens up, undoes his fly, and pulls out his equipment.

It's not hospital-worthy, but... it looks like the rugburns you used to get on the living room carpet. Ouch.

You wince as he tucks himself back inside. “Should probably put some bacta on that,” you say.

His voice is croaky and sandy. “Already did.”

He plops down onto the bed and, like a punctured balloon, he deflates in on himself. Resting his elbows on his knees, he presses the heels of his palms against his eyes and makes a sound similar to a fathier’s nicker.

You sit next to him, unsure of what to do. You touch his shoulder, only to agitate the blaster shot he’d taken. He hisses and shoots you a glare from behind his fingers, and you pull away. He jabs his index finger at you.

“Don’chu ever let some no-name thug snatch ya again,” he warns.

“Noted,” you say.

Your heart flutters as you recall his... “heroics.” Cold-blooded murder was what it was, but he did it to save you and that’s enough to count it as heroic in your book.

Not to mention how perfectly timed it was. At any other point, you’d likely have been scarred by the experience. But you were in estrus, and every Zeltron woman is aroused by men fighting over her -- even the gay ones, if your old roommate’s reaction to male squabbling was anything to go by.

You make a mental note to give your mother a piece of your mind. What the hell was she thinking?

A low, long grumble interrupts your thoughts. Cad straightens up, only to look down at his stomach, brow cocked.

You suppress a giggle. “Someone’s hungry.”

He scowls, but it’s half-hearted. “Haven’t eaten in four days ‘cause o’ you,” he mumbles. He buries his face in his hands again, sighing deeply. "Could eat a bantha at dis point..."

Now it’s your turn for some heroics. “You like pasta?” He nods without looking up. “You like nuna?” Another nod. “Ya like lemons? Garlic? Nubian onions?” He peers at you, brow raised. You smile. “I’ll get started on dinner.”

Your nonna always told you that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And based on the smile Cad thinks you can't see, she's probably right.

It’s the softest smile you’ve ever seen on him. You hope you see it again.

===

DRIVE B//: User > Me > Documents > Text > Personal > Other > list2.hpd LIST OF REASONS YOURE KIND OF USEFUL AND I SHOULD KEEP YOU AROUND #78: HOLY SHIT THAT NUNA WAS AMAZING

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

A lil request if you’re so inclined:

The day Irno tells Cad he’s gonna be a daddy

Well, see, here's the thing: I can't write that because Irno is actually the last person to find out she's pregnant.

I will not elaborate. Yet.

---

Bane sits on the edge of your bed, tangling his fingers with each other. You've been in the 'fresher for a while now and it's hard not to be worried.

He wants to think your parents are mistaken. That the pheromones were coming off of some other girl and that someone else is in for a surprise later tonight.

But when he hugged you... You definitely smelled like they described. Sugar and spices.

The thought is, of course, revolting. He doesn't want to be a parent. He can't be. How could he be? He's the worst person he knows.

He couldn't raise a child. He doesn't know the first thing about children. Doesn't know how to take care of them or hold them or love them the way a father ought to.

It's for the best if he doesn't have children, he's always told himself. He'd inevitably screw them up even more than he's already screwed up.

...and yet...

No. No. He's not going to even entertain that thought. Not a single shred of it.

Especially since you won't want it either. You're young and have your whole life ahead of you. Sure, you coo over every child you see and most of your dirty talk involves you telling him to put a baby in you...

No. No. Stop. You won't want it. Especially not with him. Stop thinking about these things, he wills himself.

Stop thinking about an infant with big red eyes. Teaching it to walk. To talk. To shoot. To steal. To fly. Stop thinking about being the father who was never there for him. Stop thinking about what a loving, attentive mother you'd be.

Stop thinking about names. Stop thinking about tiny shoes. Stop thinking about programming a childcare routine for Todo.

Stop it stop it stop it--

The 'fresher door opens and you step out. He jumps to his feet, but you stare at the pieces of plastic in your trembling hands. Looks like you used all of them.

Bane stares at your face, trying to gauge your expression. Your brows are knit, your mouth is scrunched up, and your jaw clenches and unclenches.

He knows the answer immediately, but he still asks. "Well?"

You fan them out. All show a positive.

He didn't think it was possible to be both elated and horrified, but here he is. His heart in his mouth and his stomach in his shoes.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

What if Cad and Irno’s third “oops” baby ended up being twins instead of just one? Food for thought ;)

goddammit now the anons have a mindreading ray >:(

---

Sixteen hours. It took you sixteen hours to squeeze this baby out. But it's out, it's chirping up a storm, and Cad Bane is going to murder someone if he can't make it stop.

Bane pushes past Bambi and the Little Lady to get to you first -- you're his girl and you just had his baby. He should be the first to see you.

He can tell from the glassy eyes and the grin on your face that you're zonked out of your mind on painkillers. "Caaaad!" you warble. "Look what I made!"

You hold out the chirping bundle, and he takes it.

He'd been nervous since he found out you were pregnant again. He's an old man at this point; he shouldn't be fertile anymore. What if it wasn't his? What if you'd been unfaithful?

But all doubt vanishes when the itty bitty Duros cracks its eyes to squint at him. Something clicks in its mind and its eyes go wide, anxious little chirps escaping it as it tries to squirm out of its swaddle.

He can't help but crack a smile. "Easy, li'l one, easy." The chirps calm as he holds it to his chest. "Boy or girl?"

"'S a girl," you slur. "Sorry, Bambi."

Bambi, however, is the exact opposite of upset. He pumps his fist and turns to his sister, grinning. With a roll of her eyes, she passes him a handful of credits.

"I tolja," he says. "I tolja I tolja I tolja--"

"Bambi, shut up," Bane says gently. "Let yer momma rest. She's had a rough day."

You giggle. "Bambi. S'funny. Bambi lambi. Bambi pambi..."

Behind a curtain, he hears your mother. "She's been giggling for the last hour."

He hears Dr. Trenma, too. "This one's slightly underweight, but given her size, that's normal," she says.

Bane turns to show the older kids. Bambi squints his eyes at her. "She's... Really green."

"Dilated blood vessels," he says. "She'll blue up in a few hours."

The Little Lady sighs wistfully. "I wish I could have kids," she says.

"Fuck no ya don't!" you say. "Squeezin' you four out hurt like a bitch!"

He chuckles. They must have given you the really good stuff.

The Little Lady smiles a little, but something behind him catches her attention. She furrows her brows. "Uh, Daddy...?"

He's too enamoured with the Littlest Lady to look up. "What?"

Bambi looks up too. His expression mirrors his sister's. "Hey, that's..."

Someone clears their throat. He turns to see your mother holding another bundle while Dr. Trenma dries her hands on a towel.

Bane raises a brow. "Extra blankets?"

The other blankets chirp. Mrs. Favara approaches him, pulling back the corner. A second little Duros is dead asleep, its mouth slightly open.

He frowns at her. "And dis is...?"

"Your other daughter," she says with a smirk.

He looks over his shoulder. The Little Lady is standing right behind him. He jabs his thumb at her. "Mez is right dere," he says.

She keeps smirking. "Congratulations, you're the father of twins."

He turns to the doctor. "What's she on about?"

Dr. Trenma takes a deep, deep breath. "To make a long story short," she says, "the fertilized egg split at one point and two fetuses developed. Hence, two babies identical down to the nucleotides."

"Dat ain't possible. Ain't enough room in de egg fer two. Shell ain't flexible enough."

"For a Duros female, sure." She tosses the towel into a hamper. "Zeltrons, however, have very wide pelvises..."

"Birthin' hips!" you shout. "Thanks, Mom!"

Bane doesn't believe it. Refuses to believe it. He's only vaguely heard of a "twin" and never from a Duros. Some other Zeltron-Dutos couple must be here and your mother thought to put one over on him with it.

The second baby opens her eyes. Crimson peeks out, and she peers around as if to assess the situation.

Intelligent eyes. Hunter's eyes. His eyes.

He suddenly feels like he ate a bag of cotton balls. His stomach, his throat, his mouth, his ears, all filled with densely packed fuzz. He tries to speak, but nothing comes out.

"Looks like vasovagal syncope." Dr. Trenma points at Bambi. "Grab a chair for him."

The boy scoots a seat behind him just as his knees collapse. He flops into the chair numbly.

Two babies. Three daughters. Four kids.

"...Does this mean I get double?" Bambi says.

"No way!" The Little Lady hisses.

He lets your mother place the second baby into his arms. The baby stares at him, narrow-eyed, then gives a single tentative chirp.

Instinct takes over. He holds them both close, let them hear his heartbeat.

Dr. Trenma lets out a relieved sigh. "Paternal rumbling. The bonding process has already begun."

"I ain't rumblin'," he mutters half-heartedly. Two babies. Three daughters. Four kids.

"Glad he likes 'em," you say. You've hauled yourself upright to sit against the headboard. You make grabby hands. "Now tell 'im to give 'em back."

With shaky legs, he stands and deposits the little ones into your arms. "I gotta get some fresh air," he murmurs.

He leaves you and the kids to coo over the little ones while he takes a walk.

Two babies. Three daughters. Four kids.

He needs a few hours to come to terms with this. And a few good stiff drinks.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Alright!! We've seen a bit of how Favara would react to the old man being gone. But how would Cad react if the missus went first?? Would he blame himself?? Accept it fast and all good? I NEED THE ANGST

why ya gotta make me hurt everyone, anon. fuckin sadist. >:|

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING: ⚠️ Terminal illness, suicide, murder.

---

Dementia was the diagnosis. Early onset. Likely hereditary.

It's not fair. He's older. Grizzled. Less careful with his head -- the plate alone is proof of that.

You're a wreck at first. But the days go on and you come to your decision.

He argues with you about it. There are doctors. Medications. Neither of you are hurting for money. He'll grease palms and call in favors and press pistols to heads. You'll get treatment.

But you refuse. You lost your uncle to this and it was horrific. Even the best care in the galaxy only delayed the inevitable. He went from a brilliant man to an ornery, scared, confused shell and it nearly wrenched your family apart.

You don't want that. And, eventually, he comes to agree.

Your whole body trembles as you slip your arms around him. He would think you were cold if it weren't for the fact that it was a beautiful day at the height of summer and the balcony gets plenty of sunshine.

Bane grips you tight. Like a life preserver in a flood. He never wants to let you go. He shouldn't let you go. As soon as he does, he loses you.

Forever.

He wishes he was a religious man. Wishes he could know for sure that you'd be walking with him. That you'd be waiting for him when he met his Maker. That he'd spend eternity burning with you.

But he's not. And he has to live with uncertainty.

He breathes you in one final time. Age made your flowers fade, and now you smell like smoky incense. Different, but still delicious. He wishes he could bottle it.

He doesn't know how long he holds you. A few seconds. A minute. An hour. However long it is, it's not long enough. But eventually you pull away.

His eyes dart to your lips. He wants to kiss them. But he knows if he does, he'll never let you go.

Instead, he lays his hand on your cheek. You nestle into his palm, touching his ragged knuckles with your soft fingers.

"I love you," you say softly.

Bane's throat is so swollen that it hurts. "I know," he croaks through clenched teeth.

He's about to snatch you close to him when you pull away. Tears well in your eyes as you take a deep breath, then turn away from him. You look down to set your pistol from stun.

And, in your moment of distraction, when your chin is pressed to your chest, Bane pulls his own blaster. He squeezes the trigger.

His target is the brainstem. Complete and total destruction. Quick and painless and you won't know what hit you.

He hits his mark. You're dead before you hit the ground.

Bane had made up his mind to take responsibility as soon as he realized he couldn't talk you out of your decision. He hardened his softened heart to spare you the fear, spare you the struggle of having to pull the trigger, spare you the damnation that some religions would condemn you to.

He closes your eyes and adjusts your hair to hide the wound. He carefully drapes you in the blanket you'd chosen, but he tries not to linger.

He fails.

Silky hair he'll never again brush his fingers through. Narrow eyes he'll never again see sparkle with greed. Gentle lips he'll never again make curl into a smile. Soft hands he'll never again hold in his own.

He takes a deep, shuddery breath and staggers to his feet. His eyes sting. His cheeks are hot. He feels like he's breathing through a straw, his breaths shallow and wheezing.

A pretty voice he'll never again hear call his name. A clever mind he'll never again mine for ideas. A dark heart he'll never again make flutter with his tales of gunslinging.

Stop it, he commands himself. He's killed hundreds. He's got enough blood on his hands to fill an ocean. One more isn't anything special.

His heartbeat gallops in his ears. His knees shake, and he fights to keep himself upright. He touches the wall for balance, and he realizes how heavily his hands tremble.

Somewhere deep in his mind, he knows why he feels like this and he refuses to acknowledge it. To acknowledge it would be to face the reality of it.

His left knee gives out before the right one -- it's been giving him trouble lately -- and he leans heavily against the wall.

His ribs hurt. His throat hurts. His lower lip hurts and he realizes he's biting it and that something wet is rolling down his chin and he thinks it's blood but when he wipes it away there's no green on his hand.

He ignores it. He pushes himself off of the wall and limps inside. He has calls to make.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Irno praising Vincenzo and calling him all kind of cute things like “good boy”, but Cad overhears and he thinks she’s actually talking too him and when he finally realizes, he gets jealous because he likes the praise (and because sometimes Cad wants to be Irno’s good boy too)

this is a very very good prompt thank u

He's fixing drinks when he hears something fall off the table. Doesn't sound like anything broke, so he ignores it.

You giggle sweetly. "Aw, does someone want attention?"

...well, now that you mention it, you've been occupied all day. Loathe as he is to admit it, it's got him feeling a bit lonely.

But he'll be damned if he ever says that aloud. So he busies himself with his cocktail mixing and ignores you. You like one part gin to three parts tonic. He thought it was weak until he stole a sip when you weren't looking -- it was like fizzy battery acid.

"Yes, you want attention, don't you?" you coo. “Don’t be stubborn. I know you do. You love it.”

He really hates it when you read his mind. So he continues ignoring you and pours himself some more whiskey. You can wait another thirty seconds.

"You're such a good boy," you say. "My favorite boy in the whole wide galaxy. The mighty hunter. The best."

That gives him pause. He is many things and good is not one of them. Nor is he a boy. Not anymore, anyways.

...but it does feel nice, knowing you think of him that way. He's been putting in effort to be good to you and he's glad you noticed. Makes his chest fuzzy and his cheeks warm. But that's mostly the drink in his belly.

He glances over a shoulder to make a sly remark, only to pause.

Vince is perched on the table, butting his head against your face. You stroke his back and rub his ears, a smile on your face.

"Yes, you're Mama's good boy," you say in a high-pitched voice. "Even if you do push coasters off of the table. She loves you all the same."

Embarrassment pools in Bane's stomach and quickly turns to impudent anger.

He wants attention too.

He pushes the gin and tonic off of the counter. The glass shatters on the ground, making both you and Vince flinch. The cat scampers off while you raise a brow at him.

Bane just smirks.

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Text

Been watching a lot of Psych lately.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Hondo would be that kind of mfer who would show up to Cad and Irno’s wedding despite being explicitly not invited.

So fun fact about Zeltron weddings: you don't actually need an invite to go to one. It's like a big block party! Complete strangers show up, wish the happy couple well, and get fucked up at the bar. It's a beautiful thing.

So it's not really crashing a wedding if there's no cultural concept of wedding crashing.

---

Cad Bane is a very... actually, he's a pretty happy man right now. Kind of impressive, considering the week he's had.

It's mostly because he's almost too drunk to stand. Zeltron liquor packs a punch and people have been sliding him shots all night: your brothers and your in-laws and your cousins and your neighbors and complete strangers that have shown up because Zeltron weddings are apparently a free-for-all...

But it's not every day he gets married. Why not cut loose a bit? You're off doing the same thing, probably.

...Where are you, anyways?

He scans the crowd for you, but the things he usually identifies you by are useless right now. Everyone here is pink, you're not in your usual attire, and he's seeing double.

...well, not everyone is pink. There are some Humans, a few Twi'leks, he thinks he saw Harch a few minutes ago, and a Weequay with a stupid hat...

He gets a stabbing pain right behind his eyes, and he knows it's not the liquor.

Hondo Ohnaka is drunk enough to slur a single word. "Cad!" he warbles. "Small galaxy!"

Ohnaka goes to embrace him, and, for the first time in forever, Bane lets him. He's in a good mood and he refuses to let Ohnaka ruin it.

"Hondo," he says. "Hell're ya doin' here?"

"Same thing as you! Party hopping!" He leans in conspiratorially. "The wedding bars are cheaper than regular ones!"

"Wouldn't know." A Zeltron shoves a drink into Bane's hand and says something that sounds like 'salute ya.' He considers tossing it back like the rest, but he hands it to Ohnaka. "Here."

Ohnaka grins and tosses it back. Over his shoulder, through a part in the crowd, Bane sees little Anthunia, her brow knit up in confusion. She spots him and trots right for him.

Anthunia crawls right between Ohnaka's legs. The pirate nearly trips over himself to get away as she pops up.

"I can't find my mama," she says loudly at Bane.

And here's his out.

"Probably with yer Auntie Irno," he says. "Go find 'er."

Ohnaka's brows shoot up as he hears your name. He lowers one as he peers at Bane.

Bane just shrugs. "Who's weddin' do ya think dis is?"

Both brows shoot up again, and then a grin splits Ohnaka's face. "You dog," he chuckles, shaking a finger. "One last fling before she's gone forever? Or are you the backdoor man?"

Bane wrinkles his rostrum. "Not in front of de kid," he says to Ohnaka. "Why don't ya go find de bride? Steal one last dance off 'er."

Ohnaka's grin grows wide and lecherous. Had he more faith in his coordination, Bane would have smacked him, but as it stands, he's barely standing.

He turns back to Athunia. "Bring dis guy to see yer aunt," he says. "He's an ol' friend."

Athunia appraises the pirate, her little hair puffs bouncing as she looks him up and down. But he meets whatever criteria she had, so she grabs his hand and drags him off into the crowd.

Bane waves him off. She'll be fine. She's a tough little cookie -- if she's not afraid of him, she definitely won't be afraid of Hondo.

Another shot gets shoved into his hand. He drinks this one, praying that it tastes a little bit better than the rest.

It does not. It still tastes like battery acid and it burns going down, adding to the uncreasingly inpleasant burn in his belly.

...unpleasantly increasant. Increasantly unpleasing. Increasing unpleasant--

A short, surprised shriek splits the air. Your shriek. If he sits up straight, he can see you staring wide-eyed at Ohnaka, hands over your mouth. Your mother, standing behind you, looks as confused as you are shocked.

And just like that, Ohnaka is officially not his problem anymore.

Bane throws back the rest of the shot and waves the bartender over for a chaser.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

As we've seen before, the Little Lady likes to do makeup on Todo, so I bet she loves doing makeup on Bambi too (even against his will). And when he goes to complain to his parents, none of them are able to punish her. Because Irno thinks Bambi looks adorable in makeup and Cad finds the situation hilarious.

The Bounty Hunter's Guide to: Makeup

Summary: In which the Little Lady gets a little creative, and Bambi gets shanghai'd into it.

Pairing: Cad Bane x F!Reader

Rating: General.

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: None!

---

The sound of Duros younglings fighting is a very distinct one: lots of spitting and hissing. It sounds a bit like a broken speaker, especially when the ‘fresher bathtub amplifies everything.

Fortunately, they're very easy to break up. Just wait a moment and...

Bane reaches into the scuffle and snatches both kids by the tops of their heads, lifting them up off of the floor. Little spitfires that they are, they both keep swinging and it takes a sharp whistle for them to stop.

"De hell is goin' on?" he asks.

Bambi points at his sister. "She hit me!"

"'Cause ya said I made ya look dumb!" the girl fires back.

They start thrashing at each other again. This time Bane hisses, showing his fangs at both of them. The Little Lady's eyes go wide and she shrinks into her shoulders, and Bambi lets out a submissive chirp.

He feels bad scaring them like that, but sometimes it's the only thing he can do. "Ya gonna start fightin' again?" They shake their heads. He sets both of them down on the floor. He turns to the Little Lady. "Tell me what happened."

She takes a deep breath. "I was playin' with Momma's makeup but my face was gettin' sore so I asked Bambi if I could put it on him an' he said yeah but he got mad when I finished an' said he looked dumb!"

"And dat's when ya hit him?" She nods, and he sighs.

He turns to Bambi to get his side of the story, but before he can say anything, Bane realizes that Bambi... doesn't look right. Red stuff smeared across his thin lips, pink powder covering his cheeks and rostrum, and a pair of dark, uneven lines drawn on the peaks of his brows.

...Yeah, that looks pretty dumb.

He claps his hand over his mouth before his honk of a laugh can escape, but it's too late. Bambi's face scrunches up in resignation and the Little Lady stamps her foot.

"It's not funny!" they both squeak.

They’re right. It's hilarious.

Fortunately, you enter before he can actually lose his shit. You quirk you brow at him, and he jabs his thumb at Bambi. Your hands immediately go to your mouth.

“Bambino mio!” you coo. You drop to your knees and pull the boy into your arms. “Oh, you are the cutest little thing!”

Bambi hisses half-heartedly, but doesn’t struggle to get away. He slumps into your embrace and quietly glares at his sister, who now looks immensely proud of herself.

“Don’t think yer off de hook, li’l lady,” he scolds. “Ya still hit yer brother.”

She slumps, and you raise your eyebrows. “Is that what this is about?” He nods, and you frown at her. “Seriously?” you ask dryly.

“But he said--!”

“I don’t care what he said,” you say. “You don’t hit people. You know better.”

Bane leans against the doorjamb. “How’d ya like it if I smacked you around when I was mad?”

She huffs. “Momma’d kick yer butt if ya did...” she mutters.

He has to bite back a chuckle at that. There is absolutely no doubt in his mind that you’d beat the blue off of him if he laid a finger on either of them. “Ain’t de question, missy.”

She blinks, then slumps. “I wouldn’t like it.”

“You’d be scared of me, wouldn’t ya?” She nods. “Ya want yer baby brother to be scared of ya?” She shakes her head, and he gestures at her. “So what’cha gonna do?”

The Little Lady fiddles with the hem of her dress. “‘M’sorry,” she mumbles.

“Ya didn’t hit me.”

She huffs again, but turns to Bambi. She gently taps his shoulder, and peers at her. “Sorry I hit you,” she says.

Bambi glances at you, and you release him. “S’okay. I said somethin’ mean,” he says. Gently, he bops her on the shoulder. “We’re even.”

The Little Lady smiles, and the tension in the air dissipates. She bops him back, and they start a little play fight, flailing their hands at each other as they giggle.

You separate them before it escalates into another actual fight. “Alright, enough,” you say as you stand. You point at the Little Lady. “You’re still getting punished, though.”

Bane nods. “Todo’s chassis could use some polishin’.”

You nod. “Sound fair, Donnina?”

“I guess,” she mumbles. “...could I do it now to get it over with?”

Bane glances at you, and you nod. He nods back. “I’ll show ya where de rags are. Go grab ‘im an’ bring ‘im outside.”

She slinks off, slipping past Bane. Bambi rubs at his eyes, trying to get the makeup off. “I hate this,” he mutters. You whisper something into his ear, and his brows furrow. “Wait, really?”

You nod sagely. “I know.” You lift him up onto the edge of the ‘fresher sink. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He’s about to ask what you told him when he hears Todo’s whirring. He leaves you to your cleaning, but not before committing the boy’s look to his long-term memory.

---

He promised himself he wasn’t going to “groom” the kids into bounty hunters. It’s a tough life and they deserve better, despite how good your genes and his might match up and create the perfect criminal.

But he can’t help but treat even simple play as training sometimes. Like tossing a plastic ball back and forth. Exactly like throwing grenades, albeit with less chance of losing a finger or two.

“Don’t toss it so high,” he instructs. “Throw it at me in a straight line, right fer my chest.”

Bambi nods. He pitches the ball, an overhand toss that he doesn’t follow through on. It goes to the left and hits the ground, and Bane snatches it up before it can roll off of the balcony.

“Accuracy, kid. Not distance.” He throws the ball at Bambi’s chest -- difficult when the boy is barely a meter tall, but he’s hit smaller targets with smaller projectiles.

Bambi catches the ball easily, but he huffs. “How can ya throw it so straight?” he asks.

“Follow through.” Bambi cocks his head. Bane thinks for a moment. “Ya know how shockballers lift a leg off de ground when dey throw?” Bambi nods. “Dat’s follow through.”

Bambi nods. He winds up the throw and gives it a toss. Better distance, but it still goes to the left and he lifts his leg too high. His foot slips out from underneath him and he lands on his face with a squeak. He pops right back up, though. “I’m okay!”

Bane snickers as he picks up the ball. “Good. Yer momma’d never let me hear de end of it if ya weren’t.” He tosses the ball back to Bambi. “Don’t lean into it so much dis time.”

The boy nods and winds up. The sound of the front door opening catches Bane’s attention, and he turns to look.

Plastic hits metal. Pain explodes in his head and a burst of red blinds him for a moment. His thighs give out and he collapses to the ground, spitting curses.

It’s only a few moments, fortunately. His vision returns, replaced by Bambi’s worried little face.

“I’m so sorry,” he sputters. “I didn’t mean to hit yer head. I was aimin’ at yer chest but--”

Bane waves his hand, partly out of dismissal and partly out of annoyance. He clambers to his feet, using the railing for support. He takes a moment to catch his breath, to try and dull the throbbing in his head.

Bambi watches with his big ol’ eyes, brow knit up in worry. “You okay...?”

Bane nods. He squeezes his eyes shut. Inhale, hold for three, then exhale.

A few cycles of that and the pain ebbs away. He becomes aware of a weight on his leg and peers down to see Bambi hugging his waist. He places his palm on the crown of the boy’s head. He peers up at him, still worried, but it quickly turns to relief.

“Sorry, Daddy,” he murmurs.

“No harm done, kid,” Bane replies. “‘S’enough fer today.”

Bambi nods and picks up the ball, placing it into the basket of toys before opening the door back inside. He follows behind as Bane enters.

And he immediately regrets his decision.

A small cloud of girls is swarming around you as you sit on the sofa with your makeup box, including the Little Lady. You point at her. “You, grab some towels, cotton balls, and cold cream from the ‘fresher.” She trots off down the hall, and you point at a purple Togruta -- Sida, he thinks her name is. “You, move that lamp over here so we have some better light. Everyone else, cop a seat.”

It’s cute seeing you all authoritative, but Bane cocks a brow. “You one o’ dem makeup ladies now?”

You look up at him and blink. “Oh, I didn’t know you were here!” you chirp. “Say hi, girls.” A small chorus of ‘hi, Mr. Hud’ echoes through the living room. “Mez told everyone I was gonna give her a makeup lesson and she brought a few friends. And those friends brought a friend. And, uh, here we are.”

“Shoulda charged admission,” he says, crossing his arms.

Bambi pokes his head out from behind Bane, only to immediately withdraw.

The girls giggle, and you smile. “And little Winnie is going to be my handsome assistant,” you say.

The boy sticks his head back out, eyes wide. “Huh?”

You wink at him and wave him over. Cautiously, he steps out from behind his cover and makes his way over to the sofa. You lift him up to sit beside you.

A few of the girls coo. “Aw, he’s so sweet,” one of them says.

“I know! I just wanna smooch him.”

The sudden realization that he’s going to be the center of all these girls’ attention for the next few hours hits Bambi. His nervous look melts into a smitten smile, his eyes drooping half-shut.

Bane can’t help but chuckle. That boy’s gonna break every heart on the block.

He considers watching the lesson just to have an excuse to stare at you, but the throb in his head is starting to return. “Be layin’ down if ya need me,” he says.

He makes his way to the hall and nearly trips on the Little Lady as she comes hustling out of the ‘fresher, but she dodges him and slips under his arms.

He leaves the bedroom door open just a crack, and he drifts off to the sound of your chirpy voice.

---

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Intruders (I’ll leave their affiliations up to you) break into the family home looking for Cad while he is away and Irno is pregnant with Winrel, so she and Mezerel are the only ones there to defend the house (along with the home security system of course).

oooooh what a fun prompt! thank you!

happy star wars day everyone!

---

You are Irno Favara. You are having a no good, dirty rotten, take-it-out-back-and-put-it-out-of-its-misery really bad day.

First, you spent most of the night dry heaving over a toilet bowl and most of the morning trying to ease your heartburn. You got sick a few times when you were carrying Mezerel, but this baby really has it out for you.

Then, when you felt well enough to try and eat, you couldn't find Mez. It was only a few minutes, but your damned hormones went all haywire and you started bawling when you found her. Poor li'l thing wasn't even hiding, just snuggled up a little too deep in a pile of pillows and blankets on the couch.

You decide some fresh air will do you good. You pick out your fanciest tea dress that still fits, put on your face, and get Mez all sunscreened up.

And now, just as you’re leaving the apartment, you open the door to find a blaster in your face.

You don’t even have it in you to be scared. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” you mutter.

A dour-faced Nikto stares back at you, a grizzled Rodian flanking him. "So you're Bane's bitch," he says.

Nuts.

That's not a good sign. Cad wouldn't breathe a word about you and your baby while he's out doing his thing... and it's not like he has friends to brag to, so someone on your end must have blabbed.

You feel Mez’s little fists clutch your skirt. Without taking your eyes off the Nikto, you gently stroke her head.

"I'm a bitch, but I don't belong to anyone in particular," you reply. "And you are?”

“Here for revenge.” He steps forward and into the apartment proper. He motions for the Rodian. "Grab the kid."

Cad once compared baby Duros to loth-kittens -- they don’t lay down and surrender, they fight. And fight she does, the little trooper. She hisses and spits and thrashes as he picks her up. He nearly drops her when she sinks her teeth into his hand, but a sharp swat to the back of the head takes the fight right out of her.

You were going to try and resolve this peaceably, but now these assholes are going down.

"If it's money you want, there's some in the safe in the bedroom," you say.

The Nikto gives a cruel half-smile. "That's a start," he says. "Then we'll give that man of yours a call."

He follows you up the stairs. You exaggerate your pregnant waddle to buy yourself time to think. What's in the bedroom that you could use to defend yourself? Your holdout is in the nightstand, but that's nowhere near the safe. How can you get over there without arousing suspicion?

You enter the bedroom, the Nikto close behind, and open the walk-in closet door.

The safe is hidden behind a shoe rack. Once you're in there, you'll be trapped...

...But so will he.

You open the closet door. "It's behind that rack there," you say. "Could you move it? I can't exactly squat anymore."

The Nikto enters and shoves the rack to the side. He kneels in front of the safe. "Tell me the code."

...any good criminal knows not to leave your hostage unattended. This guy's an idiot.

You step back quickly and quietly to your nightstand. "Oh, I'm always forgetting the silly thing," you lie. "Try oh-four-two-oh-oh-nine."

The safe buzzes. "Wrong passcode," he says.

"Hang on, I have it written down somewhere."

You slip the drawer open and pluck your holdout pistol from its spot. It's an ELG-3A Cad modified for you for times exactly like this -- still small enough to hide, but now silent as a stone and with enough punch to drop a battle droid.

Time to make your man proud.

"My mistake, it's oh-three-two-oh-oh-nine," you say, approaching the safe.

It buzzes again, and he growls. "Enough games, woman," he says. "Open the--"

As he turns to you, you squeeze off a shot. Then another. Then another. The recoil almost breaks your arm, but the man is knocked to the floor.

You prod him with your foot, and he lets out a groan. You put another bolt in him and snatch up his own blaster. You run out of the closet and close the door. You put a shot into the panel just in case.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you sneak back down the stairs. Peering around the corner, you see the Rodian sitting on the sofa, glaring at Mez as he sucks a spot on his hand. Based on the fact her mouth has been taped shut, you assume she bit him again.

You've never been more proud.

Despite the tape, her agitated chirps are still audible, and she tries to squirm out of his grip.

"Will you just shut up?!" the Rodian hisses. "Maker, no wonder he's always away..."

He sets his weapon to lean against the armrest as he stands, presumably to further torture your daughter. You won't abide by that.

You've memorized every squeaky floor panel in the room, and you deftly avoid them as you sneak over. A rush goes through you -- you missed prowling more than you realized.

Mez sees you as you get close to the couch. Her red eyes go wide and the tone of her chirp changes. You put a finger to your lips as you grab the weapon.

It's strange-looking. Very heavy, with twin barrels and a hinge. But it has a trigger and that's all you need.

You press the muzzle to the Rodian's head and squeeze the trigger.

Nothing happens. The trigger doesn't even budge.

The Rodian jumps up, dropping Mez. He reaches for the weapon, but finding nothing, pulls out his pistol.

You hit the deck, scrambling away to hide behind the other sofa as he starts taking potshots at nothing. You're worried about your baby until a little streak of purple darts into your arms.

You pull the tape off her mouth, but cover it with your hands. You press your finger to your lips, and she nods.

"Stay right here," you whisper.

"Where are you?!" the Rodian spits. "Come out and I might not kill you."

You ease out from behind the couch. He's standing in the doorway, surveying the hall. You squeeze off a shot with your holdout, but the recoil causes you to miss.

He whirls around before you can hide again, pistol aimed squarely at you. He approaches you slowly. "Never handled a slugthrower, eh? That's unfortunate for you."

Oooh, that explains the trigger. Slugthrowers have hammers that need to be cocked...

You stand slowly, setting your weapons on the ground. "Do what you like to me," you say, "just don't hurt my daughter."

Speaking of which, a quick glance out of the corner of your eye tells you that she's gone. You don't fault her.

The Rodian huffs. "I don't think I'll keep that promise," he says. "Little bitch bit me twice."

You bristle. "Don't you dare call her that again."

"Why? Like mother, like father, like daughter--"

A little purple streak darts out and sinks her teeth into the Rodian's ankle. He howls in pain, the blaster slipping from his hand. You snatch up your weapons and jump to your feet just as he kicks her away, only to receive a high-heeled stomp on the foot from you. He falls to the floor.

You level the slugthrower at his face as Mez runs to you, clinging to your skirt.

The Rodian cowers, scrambling backwards until he hits a wall. “It-It wasn’t my idea!” he sputters. “I was just here for the score! I actually like kids...!”

"Mm-hmm." you say, pulling back the hammer. You glance at Mez. “What do you think, donnina?”

She lets out a quiet hiss, the same kind her daddy makes at times like this. “Don’t like ‘im.”

“I don’t like him either.” You take careful aim. “Go to your bedroom, pumpkin. I’ll tell you when it’s okay to come out.”

She hesitates for a moment, but a stern look from you and she scampers off. You count to three, then squeeze the trigger.

It doesn't fire a laserbolt. With a deafening crack, a shower of razor-sharp pellets launches out of the barrel, and the recoil sends you flying backwards. You land hard on your ass -- enough to hurt, but not enough to upset the baby, thank goodness.

Shredded, bloody meat is all that remains of the Rodian's torso. And all that’s left of the windows are a few shards clinging to the frame.

He sinks to his knees, and collapses forward with a wet splat. All over the carpet you'd just vacuumed.

This is gonna take forever to clean up.

---

Bane knows something is wrong as soon as he touches down on the balcony. One window blown out is an accident with a gravball. But the whole row? That's a giant warning sign.

He avoids the glass shards as best as he can, laying his palm on the butt of his LL-30. Tiny, sharp pellets amongst the glass catches his eye. Slugthrower shot. Someone really wanted to cause some damage. If he's calm and quiet, he can scope out what's going on before he's noticed...

A little purple head pops up from behind the couch, blinks once, then breaks into a needle-toothed smile. The Little Lady clambers over the cushions to trot towards him, chirruping happily.

Bane savors the sound. She's getting to the age where she'll stop doing it instinctively. He has plenty of recordings of her, but it's nothing compared to the real thing...

He realizes she's not wearing shoes. "Not another step, li'l lady," he says.

She listens for once, freezing in place and watching carefully as he picks his way through the glass. But once he's in reach, she hops into his arms. He catches her easily and lifts her up, pressing his rostrum to hers. She grabs his tubes to yank him closer, enough to feel the cartilage flex.

His heart squeezes. It's nice to be missed.

He hopes to see a smile when he pulls away, but her brow is furrowed and her mouth set in a grimace.

"Momma's actin' funny. Ever since the..." She stops herself. "Right, not s'posed to tell you 'bout that..."

He raises a brow. "Tell me 'bout what?"

She looks around, then shrugs. "...I forgot."

He really hopes she doesn't stay this bad at lying. She won't last a minute on a job. "Where's yer momma?"

She points to the middle of the living room. You're on your hands and knees, desperately trying to get a questionable stain out of the carpet.

"Fuckin' piece of shit motherfuckers..." you mutter. "Didn't have the courtesy to get their guts on the tile and now I gotta clean it up..."

Bane looks at the Little Lady, and she shrugs. He shakes his head. "Guess I'm too late fer de party," he says to you.

Normally when he surprises you, you yip. Or peep. Or squeak. Either way, you make a cute little noise that makes him smile and you get playfully annoyed with him.

You don't do that this time. This time, you scream. Loudly. Enough that he flinches and it's the Little Lady that lets out a surprised squeak.

But you quickly realize it's him. Your hand goes to your mouth and you break into a grimace. You try to climb to your feet, but your rounded belly stops you. You fall back with a pathetic thud and bury your face in your hands.

Oops.

He sets the Little Lady down and squats in front of you. "Didn't mean to spook ya, missus," he says gently.

You look up. Your eyes are puffy and your makeup runs down your face in colored tracks. Your lip quivers as you bite it.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... With the baby and those goons, I just... And now I can't get this stain out...!" you hiccup.

Goons? His good mood vanishes. "What happened?" he says, voice low. "Someone hurt ya?"

You try to talk, but the words get caught in your throat. You can only blubber as you bury your face in your hands, shoulders heaving.

At this height, the Little Lady is about eye level with him. She gives him a somber, surprisingly mature look. "Momma's had a really bad day," she says quietly.

Bane signs inwardly. He was looking forward to you fussing over him the way you always do when he comes back, but it looks like that will have to wait.

"Ya know how to start de caf pot?" he asks the Little Lady. She nods rapidly. "Hop to."

She snaps into a salute before bouncing off to the kitchen. He pulls your hands away from your face and hauls you to your feet, guiding you over to the couch. He sits and you immediately flop over across his lap.

He brings his hand down to card his fingers through your hair. It's so thick and lustrous now -- something about your hair not falling out when you're carrying, if he remembers correctly. It's gorgeous.

"Let it all out, missus," he murmurs. "Tell yer ol' man what happened."

Between blubbers, you manage a sentence: "There's a dead guy in the closet!"

He blinks. This story is going to be a long one.

---

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#cad bane x reader #cad bane x oc #cad bane #catch us if you can #99 problems #irno favara #reader insert #x reader #x oc #emberly writes #mezerel bane #thanks for the ask!

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

Note

Idea: How would Cad react to Hondo being introduced to The Little Lady, and Hondo immediately claiming her as his goddaughter/niece/future apprentice?

oh my god this is genius

The Bounty Hunter's Guide to: Job Training

Summary: In which the Little Lady bags a little bounty -- with some help, of course.

Pairing: Cad Bane x F!Reader

Words: ~3.1k

Rating: General

Warnings: Mild child endangerment.

---

"Are you sure about this?" you ask.

Bane sits on the edge of the bed, pulling his boots on. "Positive," he says. "Just want her to get a taste of it. See if she can really shoot. If she doesn't like it, den she goes back to appreciatin' her regular life."

You sit up and kiss his cheekbone. "Come back in one piece. Both of you."

He smiles to himself as you lay back down. It's nice to be worried about. He finishes lacing his boots up. "Always do, missus."

You pull the blankets up to your chin and let out a loud yawn. "Just get out of here before I change my mind and drag you back to bed."

He chuckles and stands. "Don't threaten me with a good time."

You poke a hand out to flap your fingers at him. He takes the hint.

He walks into the hallway. Todo hovers outside of the Little Lady's bedroom, clutching something in his fingers. He sees Bane and putters over.

"I tried to wake Miss Mezerel, but she refuses to get up," he says nervously. He holds up one of the Little Lady's shoes. "She threw this at me!"

The jogan really doesn't fall far from the tree. "Go get de speeder warmed up. I'll take care o' her."

"Yes sir." He hands Bane the shoe and putters off.

He enters the room and almost immediately steps on the other shoe. He gently kicks it to the side.

The Little Lady is cocooned tightly in her blankets. He'll never understand how she manages to sleep fully beneath the covers without the stale air getting to her.

He gives what he thinks is her shoulder a gentle poke. "Wake up, li'l lady," he says softly.

She lets out a sleepy trill and pokes her head out, red eyes blinking in the dark. And then a second head pokes out of her side, its red eyes also bleary.

He jumps, but once the shock wears off, he can't help but chuckle to himself. "Boy, what're you doin'?"

Bambi yawns loudly. "I was sleepin'," he says, "an' then ya woke me up."

"Yer supposed to be in yer room," Bane says.

Bambi casts his eyes downwards, but the Little Lady speaks up for him. "He got lonely," she murmurs. "Can I have five more minutes?"

Her eyes drift back closed, and he gives her rostrum a tap. "If ya wanna come, ya gotta get up."

She huffs, but does sit up. She wriggles out of her cocoon like a drowsy moth and stumbles over to the dresser, nearly tripping on toys at least twice.

He chuckles to himself again, then scoops Bambi up. "Let's give her some privacy."

Bambi doesn't say a word, just wraps his arms around his father's neck and buries his face in his shoulder. He lets out a little trill as he settles in.

Bane steps into the hallway. He stands there a moment in the darkness, feeling his son breathe, his thin chest rising and falling. His frame is so narrow now, with his baby fat almost gone. Muscle has yet to replace it.

He smiles a bit, thinking about what a little marshmallow the boy used to be. Chubby little arms with fat wrists and little jogan cheeks that dimpled when he smiled.

How time flies.

He considers putting the boy back in his own room, but has a better idea. He opens the door to the master bedroom and steps inside.

Carefully, he peels back the corner of the blanket, revealing your sleeping face. You don't stir as he slips Bambi inside and tucks the fabric up to the boy's chin.

He steps away into the darkness. Moments later, he hears a string of slurred, high-pitched Zeltrian and a surprised trill. Satisfied, he closes the door and heads for the kitchen.

Breakfast is toast and scrambled eggs. Neutral in acidity, high in protein, and high in carbs, but easy on the stomach.

He's finished his own when the Little Lady trots down the stairs. It's odd seeing her in a simple shirt and pants instead of the loud dresses you usually put her in. But he always insists on neutral clothing -- less to snag on, less to fuss over, less chance of her getting snatched up by a man with ill intent.

"Eat up, girl," he says, pouring himself a cup of caf. "We'll head out when yer finished."

---

It's about as simple of a job as it could possibly get, and he was lucky to spot the listing when he did. Some nobody smuggler on the next planet over that's been undercutting a Hutt grunts' operation. Simply find, shoot, and bring to the middleman alive so they can teach them a lesson.

Perfect for a beginner.

"As soon as you see them, pull de trigger," he says, handing her a blaster. "It's already on stun. Drop 'em like a sack o' flour."

"What if I miss?" she asks. "Or it doesn't work?"

"You won't miss," he says, "and it'll work. Trust yer ol' man and trust yer instruments."

She gives him a cautious look. "It's a gun, Daddy. Not an instrument."

He chuckles to himself. "Just means don't hesitate. And one more word of advice." He places his finger on his lips. "Keep yer mouth shut. Don't let anyone get you talkin'. You'll get distracted."

It's the truth, but the real reason is that she's just too damn cute. Trying to sound intimidating will only make her even more adorable.

---

Warehouse security is non-existent. They walk right through the front door and split up after entering.

And by 'split up,' he means he tails her at a distance. Far enough away that she thinks she's on her own, but close enough that he can swoop in if a Battle Droid shows up.

...Not that a Battle Droid will show up, but now he's irrationally worried. He hasn't discussed fighting droids at all with her. He adds that to the top of the lessons list.

But she seems to be doing okay so far. Walking on her toes, hand on her blaster, scanning and listening carefully before rounding any corners. If anything, she'd make a decent scout. Or a burglar, which she probably gets from you. You oughta take her prowling sometime.

Bane hears the movement before she does. Muffled footsteps and the soft swish of moving cloth, coming right towards them.

He withdraws into a shadow before she doubles back. She climbs up onto a crate to literally get the drop on whoever is coming. Unwise and risky. He docks a few points for that. What she should have done is waited for them to pass and then got them in the back...

She hits the ground lightly, and he hears the click of her blaster.

And then he hears a laugh he could have gone the rest of his life without hearing again.

There's no fucking way. He sticks his head out to confirm. Hat, species, stature...

That's Hondo Ohnaka, all right.

Maker damn it all.

Ohnaka looks utterly nonplussed. "Careful where you point that, youngling. You might hurt yourself."

He's about to step in when the Little Lady replies. "Make this easy for both of us and come quietly, smuggler."

Just as Bane feared, Ohnaka throws back his head and laughs. "Ah, what is the galaxy coming to? Adorable little children threatening me." He crosses his arms. "Tell me, girl, what's your name?"

"None of your business," the Little Lady says.

Bane sneaks a big closer. Better angle to shoot Ohnaka in the face if he has to.

The pirate has changed a lot in the decade since he last saw him. His coat is gone, and he's less bejeweled. He's let the tendrils on his chin grow longer as well. Must have fallen on hard times. Same stupid hat, though.

Ohnaka shifts his weight to his back foot. "Well, Miss None-Of-Your-Business, Hondo is in a hurry. Step aside."

The Little Lady stands her ground, even taking a step closer. Her aim doesn't waver for a second.

Ohnaka stares at her a moment, then laughs again. "Such spunk! If you were a little taller, I might actually be afraid."

He walks around and past her. The Little Lady blinks at him, then chases after him. "Where are you going?!" she says, flustered. "I told you to--"

Ohnaka whirls on her. "Listen, youngling," he says, voice low. "I am in a good mood. Do not test me. Turn around and walk away."

She recoils slightly. Her gaze flits around, likely looking for Bane. "N-No," she stammers. "I'm a bounty hunter and you're my bounty. I'll shoot you. I mean it."

Something like anger flashes across the pirate's face. But it vanishes, replaced with a contemplative look. He strokes his chin. "Awful short for a bounty hunter," he mutters to himself. He returns to his normal voice. "I have a proposal, youngling."

Just shoot him, he wills the girl. He'd do it himself, but he doesn't have a good angle...

She keeps the blaster on him. "If you're gonna try to bribe me--"

"Bribe you? Never! A girl with such conviction would never fall for such a thing," he says. "I am in need of a... Diminutive personage. Hondo is tall, ship maintenance shafts are small, and his joints are not as well-oiled as they used to be. Why not be my cabin girl, hm? Join the crew of the legendary Hondo Ohnaka!"

The Little Lady lowers her pistol, looking somewhat intrigued.

Bane is reasonably certain that you'd never let him hear the end of it if your daughter joined a pirate crew. Time to stop this.

He clicks the safety off of his LL-30 as he steps out of the shadow. "Dat's enough."

The Little Lady jumps out of her skin, but Ohnaka's face lights up like a carnival when he realizes who he's looking at.

"Well, blast me to Corellia!" he chortles. "Cad, my old friend!"

He tries to hug Bane. Bane levels his LL-30 at Ohnaka's gut. "Touch me and I plug ya."

Ohnaka just scoffs. "Glad to see nothing has changed," he says. "Tell me, what are you doing here?"

"Wanted somethin' easy," he says. "Lookin' fer a two-bit smuggler. Guessin' dat's you."

It's subtle, but Ohnaka flinches slightly. "We all fall on hard times now and again," he says. "But Hondo is on the up and up!"

Bane lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. "Not if I got anythin' to say about it."

That seems to put the fear of the Maker back into the Weequay. He pales a bit, but keeps his nonchalance as he stands aside. "Well, you'll have to compete with the youngling for it. Go on. Have it out."

"She's with me," he says.

Ohnaka breaks into a broad grin. He's even more nervous now. "I always knew you had a soft side. Let me guess, a street child you took a liking to? No, no..." He thinks a moment, then snaps his fingers. "Ah! Long-lost relative died and you're her remaining living family? Or perhaps--"

And here comes the migraine. "She's my kid," he says. He hopes the shock of the statement will shut Ohnaka up.

And it works, for a moment. His jaw clicks shut and his eyes widen, but soon he's chatting again. "That Zeltron girl with the nice--?"

It's been so long since Bane has seen Ohnaka sober that he's forgotten how fast the pirate can move when he wants to. He closes the gap between the two of them in moments to grab Bane's shoulders.

"And you didn't tell me?!" He actually sounds offended.

Don't engage. Don't engage. He engages. "Why would I tell you anything?"

"Because I'm your friend!" he says. He releases Bane to pace around. "And I'm the reason you two got together, after all! That practically makes me the girl's godfather!"

The Little Lady tips her head. "You know Momma?" she asks.

Ohnaka laughs. "I do! Very well." The laugh turns... wistful. "Very, very well. If your father hadn't come along, I'd have stolen her for myself."

Bane literally bites his tongue and resists the urge to put a few holes in the Weequay's torso. Even a decade later, that's still a sore spot for him, but it's not worth losing the money.

Ohnaka squats down in front of the Little Lady. "Ah, you look just like her, too. Don't know how I didn't see it before. Let's try this again." He straightens up into a bow. "Hondo Ohnaka, my dear."

Despite not wearing a dress, the Little Lady crosses one leg behind the other and dips. You just have taught her that. "I'm Mezerel. Nice to meet'cha."

"The pleasure is all mine!" Without warning, he scoops her up into his arm. She squeals and giggles as he spins her around, her previous aggression forgotten.

Bane sighs inwardly. He should have just shot him. But, as per usual, just being within a meter of Hondo Ohnaka actively makes him stupider.

"Alright, enough." Ohnaka stops spinning the girl, though he keeps her in his arms. "Drop her."

"Oh, I don't think so. I think I may keep her for myself." The pistol is out before Bane even registers it, pointed right at the Little Lady's head. The poor girl goes stiff. "You let me go on my way or I put a hole in your little girl," he says, voice no less bright.

Bane grinds his teeth, trying to ignore the rage blooming in his chest. He should have seen that coming. It's just so hard to tell when Ohnaka is bluffing. That's why he never played sabacc with him after the first time.

"Ya really wanna piss me off like dat?" he asks. "Her mother would rip ya apart, too."

The Little Lady starts to speak, but he cuts her off. "Daddy--"

"Mez, shut up," he says. He feels bad being so harsh, but it's a necessary evil. "Drop her, Ohnaka."

Ohnaka does not. He starts to step back. "Here's what we'll do," he says. "I walk to my ship. Once it is ready for takeoff, I release little Mezerel. Unless you want to see her cold and lifeless?"

He does not want that. He cannot express in mere words how much he does not want that. But the credits--

He's mentally preparing himself to give up the reward when the whir of a stun round echoes through the warehouse. Ohnaka blinks a few times, then slowly falls forward. He hits the ground with a thump.

Bane pokes him with his boot before letting out a sigh of relief. "Nice timin', kid."

The Little Lady wriggles out from underneath Ohnaka, her rostrum scrunched. "He's weird."

He huffs a laugh. Good judge of character. "I don't like him either." He clips the binders on the pirate's wrists and heaves him up onto his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

---

Ohnaka is still out cold when he tosses him at the client's feet. He gets paid a nice stack of credits -- not massive, but fair.

He had the Little Lady wait in the speeder. She looks up as he climbs into the driver's seat, and her brow wrinkles as he places some of the credits in her lap. "What's this?"

"Yer cut," he says.

She counts them quickly, then compares it to his stack. "This isn't half. Where's the rest?"

He chuckles as he slips his creds into his wallet. "Seventy-thirty split, li'l lady. I told ya dat."

"I thought it was like a bowling term or somethin', not actual math," she grumbles. "I want hazard pay. He almost shot me."

"Ya negotiate dese things before de job," he says.

He goes to give her a little pat on the head, but she flinches away. He frowns. That's not like her at all.

"Y'alright?" he asks.

She avoids his gaze, preferring to stare at her boots. "... why didn't ya shoot him?" she asks quietly.

He has no idea how to answer that. The honest answer will just upset her, but he doesn't want to lie to his girl.

He takes a deep breath. "Sometimes, ya gotta make tough decisions," he says. He starts the speeder, and the engine purrs to life.

She finally looks at him, red eyes burning into him. "Answer the question, Daddy."

He drums his fingers on the steering yoke, trying to think of a diplomatic way to put it... Or he could deflect. "He wasn't gonna shoot ya. He was bluffin'."

"That's not the question."

Maker on high, she sounds so much like you. "No," he says finally. "I trusted ya'd come through. I trusted my instrument."

The poor girl's face falls and it falls hard. She looks away from him, back to her little boots. "Is that what I am?" she murmurs. "I thought ya liked me."

"I do. I like ya a lot." He reaches his hand over to take hers. It's still so little compared to his. "But de job's over," he says gently. "An' yer back to bein' my li'l lady."

After a moment, her little fingers curl around his. She lets out a sigh. "Okay."

He squeezes her hand before letting go, returning it to the steering yoke. "You want anythin' from anywhere?"

She shakes her head. "I just wanna go home," she says.

That's really unlike her. But he doesn't push it. "If ya think of anything, speak up."

"Mmhmm."

---

The sun is just starting to go down when he lands gingerly on the balcony, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl in his arms.

You open the sliding door for them. Bambi is at your feet, peering around your dress. He breaks into a smile and tries to run to him, but you hold the boy back.

"She alright?" you ask Bane.

"Dozed off as we were gettin' into orbit," he says. He gives Bambi a nod. "Evenin', boy."

You smile warmly. "It's the engine noise. Puts her right to sleep." You kiss the crown of her head. "Sweet dreams, sweet girl."

Bane tramps up the stairs and to her room. He sits on the bed and pulls her boots off before peeling back the blankets and slipping her inside.

The Little Lady chirps as she stirs, opening her bleary eyes. "Are we home?" she asks.

He nods. He lifts his hat off and rests it on his knee. "Ya did good today." He gently touches her cheek. She has his cheekbones, sharp and shapely. "I'll make sure ya don't get grabbed next time. Teach ya how to get out of a hold."

She nods, then lets out a loud yawn. Pulling the blankets up and over her head, she rolls over and curls in on herself. A perfect little cocoon.

"Sleep tight, missy," he murmurs. She gives a response, but it's so muffled he can't understand a word of it.

He stands and walks to her door, leaving her to get her beauty sleep.

But, as he walks out the door, he can't resist one last glance at her.

---

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