#DREAM;Headcanon (Beyond the REM)

[sinisterexaggerator]

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 16

Explicit: Semi-slow burn, gratuitous smut /pwp, canon-typical violence, rough sexual elements, angst, Tatooine Slave Culture.

This chapter: Contains smut involving two tentacle-like Duros dicks. Blowjobs. PiV sex.

Word count: 4.9+

Notes: Hope you like weird, alien genitalia! Also, I headcanon it is Hondo Ohnaka who helped Bane regain his health and had a physician fit him for his metal plate. I am "borrowing" an OC made by @allsystemsblue, though she remains unnamed in this story and is mentioned only in passing. Mizu will be included in Annals of an Outlaw when the time comes!

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous chapter ||

The bottle would suffice him, no need for a glass, he’d drink straight from the container held within his hand. Top shelf, dark, and biting on his tongue, the liquor went down, down in deep swallows, urged by smooth suprahyoid muscles. His mattress had been just as good a hiding spot as any, the pungent whiskey housed beneath its firm, yet springy shape—it had been stashed there for ease of access, as it often helped him to achieve a good night’s sleep.

Bane was no stranger to vivid dreams and nightmares. His past was colorful enough that he was prone to restless fits, accompanied by cognitive distortions—all those things he bore throughout the day would plague him when he drifted into REM. His mind only allowed for short, spasmodic bursts; he was on guard by default. In this day and age, there was hardly anyone left to trust except himself.

He had left his bed unmade, messy, and unkempt, though it was luxurious and soft, like that girl he had partaken of. He didn’t like it when the droid came in here, unless absolutely necessary. He feared he might misplace something important, or simply try to reorganize his things in a way that did not please him.

After a double shot, it all came flooding back: a deluge of unwelcomed memories. First Jango, and then Boba, never once able to rid himself of his past transgressions, as if they would haunt him until his dying day—whenever that might be.

But Zulara—she had been there, sometime after his ordeal at Jabba’s Palace, yet that was impossible—he had left her back at Slave Quarter’s Row before answering his summons. She was safe and sound, and far from him. It was as it should be, as he would not have her involved.

And Boba, this was all his fault. He could not remember what had happened after he had followed him out into the dunes. He only knew one thing—Todo had somehow rescued him, just like when young Fett had put a bolt into his head.

The Duros sighed; he understood it hurt to breathe, stepping to the single viewport that overlooked his ship’s right wing. He pressed his forehead to it, the transparisteel cool against his scales. He growled as he realized he would need to clean this too, as he had left a gluey imprint on the glass.

It was sundown. Bane lingered to get a good look at what lay beyond his window, no bigger than twice the size of his own face. He had lost more time than he had thought, people roaming to and fro as they prepared to close up shop, bought dinner, or talked amongst themselves.

He had picked this dock for the fact it was open and quite spacious; there was plenty of room to park his ship, and he had a bird’s eye view of the happenings down below. He had rented it from some other Duros, one he had come to trust, as whenever he visited this dry ball of dust, him and Ohwun De Maal did business.

A sharp ache flared just behind his brow ridge, extending up and beyond to where his scar resided; it was reminiscent of a bolt of lightning splintering, though it was pain instead of light that spiked. He grit his fangs until he thought he might crack them into pieces, for some reason the smiling mug of that damned Weequay overtaking his mind’s eye, as if he had a choice.

It had been Hondo who the droid had commed, anxious to help his master, who appeared to be on the verge of death after that ordeal involving Fett. Bane had more enemies than friends, but Ohnaka had been his droid’s first thought—a poor one, but it had saved his life.

Cad reminisced as he took a swig, the infernal pirate playing more than gracious host. He had answered to his every need, and beckoned his own doctor to patch him up. The tiny woman had been professional, her hands steady and her disposition sour—it was no matter, as she had done her job, and then some; it was unfortunate that Hondo had seen him vulnerable.

And yet the rapscallion had never mentioned this to anyone. For that he was quite thankful. Bane hated to think he owed him one, though Ohnaka did not seem to think so. At least that’s what could be concluded from the scoundrel’s lack of boasting, Cad often irked by Hondo’s potential to be a decent man—and for no good reason—what had he ever done for him? Why had he stepped up? The hunter refused to ask, harried every time that they crossed paths, though he was awfully good at hiding things.

Bane might threaten him, but he would never turn Ohnaka in, nor would he kill him, despite the thought having crossed his mind numerous times before.

Bane would set the bottle down; he had been out cold for a full rotation. Still, that was not time enough for him to forget just who the cause of all of this was—that lamebrained governess who had laid her claim to Tatooine, despite the slug-like Hutt’s overwhelming chokehold on its denizens. There was no doubt Cad Bane would call her; he had a mind to change the terms of their arrangement, but first he needed to wash and clothe himself.

Ignoring Todo’s bleating in the hall outside, the Duros was used to his mouthy droid complaining about every little thing. Why he put up with it was for him to know, but he knew better than to disturb Bane once he was in his room.

The aching hunter trailed the wall, finding the door to his refresher. His legs were wobbly; what a pathetic sight he must have been, Cad grateful that no one was around to see it.

---

Water, in abundance, could be heard, like rain falling to splatter on some planet that was unlike hers. It echoed, reaching her ears just beyond the door, Zulara’s mismatched eyes gleaming at the absorbing sight before them.

Bane’s room was homey, yet in a state of disarray. It was cozy, but disheveled. She had not known what to expect, though what she saw was somehow fitting, yet she could not help but think this was perhaps too intimate a place for her to be. Her nerves tingled; Zulara forced herself to move. She hadn’t made it this far just to stand there, though her heart thundered feverishly inside her chest.

There was a closet, holding a sparse amount of clothes. He had a hat collection, lined along the wall on metal hooks. His bed looked soft and comfortable, though the sheets, the blankets, were all tangled. He had a plethora of pillows, but there were things scattered amongst them—credits, coins, and gold medallions. They were on the floor, stuffed inside of drawers, some still stored in cases that were open, jutting out from varied crevices and corners.

Zulara had never seen so many pretty things, shiny jewels encrusted with more gold or silver—rare objects that looked like they belonged in a museum. There were little statuettes, baubles, trinkets—ticket stubs, bounty fobs, and books; they were old and made with flimsi; they had gilded spines and were in a language she had never seen. She desired to touch these things, but there was one thing she wanted more—the man himself.

She spied a mirror, and next to it a table with some personal effects; these items were all in order and arranged just so. She stopped to inspect herself, noting that she looked exhausted. How she was feeling was wrought indelibly into her expression, though she was easily distracted, as a single thing of his had caught her eye.

Before her was a small leather pouch; it had once been of a darker coloration, but now it was tawny and rough from years of use. Her thumb traced where it was worn and faded; etched on it were a few scant words. She could not read them, yet held inside were toothpicks.

The girl was tempted—she heard a noise, like the Duros had coughed or groaned—her heart fluttered. Zulara turned, making her way toward the refresher after setting the pouch back down.

She had softened her footsteps, unsure of when to announce her presence. It was clear that Cad Bane had temporarily lowered his defenses, as he had not yet detected her. She could not decide if this was good, or bad. She did not want to cause him any undue stress, yet her heart and brain were not communicating, as it was in her best interest to follow his droid’s advice.

Zulara’s index finger grazed the button to the sliding door; it was silent when she pressed it. The room was warm and steamy, the transparisteel before her partitioning him off from her. It was opaque, leaning toward obscure. The glass was frosted, the Duros nothing but a vague blue outline to her as she steeled her courage. Her hand lifted to knock, but then everything went wrong.

The bypass door had vanished—slipping backward—and so had her resolve. There was a flurry of sudden movements, Zulara discovering herself pinned flat against the refresher wall. Her throat had closed; there was a large hand obstructing her, Bane’s hulking fingers tightening as he cut off her air supply—he was choking her, she realized.

Zulara whimpered, as she could not speak. She kicked her feet, the hunter having lifted her some few centimeters off the floor. She gasped for air, then Bane loosed his hold; his bold red eyes were full of something. It wasn’t anger so much as remorse, but alongside that was an inkling of horror.

Bane did not speak to her as she inhaled deeply; she stared at him as her chest heaved and she tried to adjust her breathing—she would stiffen once again—the Duros’ fingers traced her windpipe, Zulara’s eyes agog as she dare not move. 

For that single moment, he had looked terrified—afraid he’d hurt her—but now his gaze had hardened. His lip pulled back to reveal pink gums; he bared his fangs. “Must nahtta heard when Ah told ye te go home.”

So, she hadn’t been a dream after all, he thought.

Zulara reflected on his words, that thing he’d whispered. Bane retreated back into the shower, the half-Twi rubbing her neck where it was sore, acknowledging that even in his weakened state he had tried to get rid of her.

For most, that would have been enough, but not Zulara, not like before. She knew he liked her. Though closed off to her and the rest of the galaxy at large, Bane was multifaceted, like an Ojomian onion with a myriad of layers, though just how many was unknown.

She appraised his body before he could shut her out; he had bruises over every inch of his lapis-colored scales. They were green like nephrite, just like his blood; it was still present on her top, though long since dried. Her eyes watered, though she would not cry for him—she had already done that. He was alive; he would be all right.

Then, an idea came to her, a bad one, but one she would entertain, her judgment poor and heart full of something akin to affection for him. Zulara tugged off her boots, followed by her simple garments; her shirt, her skin-tight, light-weight pants, leaving her just as naked as the Duros who kept his silence. His place was once more behind the single sliding door that barred him from having to look at her.

Did he expect her to leave? To exit his ship and not return? The girl was getting gutsier, taking a deep breath before she once more pressed the switch to give her access to where Bane quietly resided; his eyes ballooned into two elliptic ovals—he studied her—drinking in her buxom breasts and her admirable shape.

Zulara would do the same; her gaze traversed the lean muscles of his legs and thighs, taut and thin, with an abdomen that was refined though flat. His hips were streamlined, sleek, and well-nigh graceful; his ribs mildly protruded, Bane’s pectorals well-defined though they lacked mamilla as they were not present—Duros physiology was different in that regard, the girl inferred, not having seen him fully nude before.

The contours of his clavicles might as well have been hewn from marble, Bane all scales and sinews, his cheeks chiseled, and his jawline sculpted like some rugged work of art—she had seen his face already, yet she found him so oddly beautiful.

She knew to stare would be disrespectful—Zulara tried her best not to ogle him as he was injured, though she was highly inquisitive. Her eyes dropped to below his waistline—Bane’s genitals were covertly covered and nestled inside himself, unlike prior—he was bare but for a three-inch slit. She longed to hold him.

“It ain’t just yer eyes dhat don’t werk, it’s yer ears,” the Duros jeered.

Zulara would cursorily recover; she blatantly ignored him, feeling that what came out as bitterness was a mechanism used to defend himself, Bane’s acerbic tone not bothering her one bit—to others it might as well be acid.

Zulara’s face betrayed her, her worry for him, his dark contusions setting her brow to furrow inward in a show of pity with a total absence of tranquility. She felt disquieted to see him entirely disrobed—he had so many scars, so many scrapes and scratches—the claw marks of the rancor had raked him across one shoulder; it extended to the middle of his sternum. Would it scar too, she wondered? The thought displeased her to no end.

He seemed surprised to see her be so brave, not predicting this course of action, but the one thing he did not do was outright protest. Bane’s lack of a rebuke, to her, was an open invitation, Zulara taking one step up to join him. The halfling would tilt her head, letting the water flow down over her in rivulets, raven strands being tossed just over her shoulder’s edge; she had given him a look that thawed his heart, yet he refused to be enamored by her.

Zulara did the unthinkable once again; she touched him without his permission—yet hadn’t he done the same to her many times before?

Mauve digits freely roamed the length of Bane’s cool neck, tracing its long column to find the thrum beneath his pulse point.  It was for her own peace of mind, detecting that it was strong and hardy, perhaps the hunter’s heartbeat having minutely accelerated.

Zulara nuzzled him the best she could, just below the atrium of his right hearing organ; he had no auricles, only a small pinna-like protrusion, her warm breath licking cobalt flesh with her increasing closeness. “Let me stay,” she begged, the girl’s earnest marked by the imploring lilt of her sweet voice.

Cad Bane might as well be speechless, the girl’s breasts pressed flush up against him; she had whispered beguilingly, her plea alluring, if only for the way it had been administered. He was trying and failing to be upset; he would not reprimand her, yet she would also not receive his full encouragement.

Zulara did not need it, lithe fingers of the opposing hand rising to cup the back of his bare head. She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on his battered lips, the girl unable to help herself; she was inextricably drawn to him.

The man enjoyed this, though he would not return her kiss, instead surveying her with the intensity of a punctilious avian. An Edgehawk would come to mind, native to her home on Lothal, and just as deadly a predator as he could be, preying on small things.

Zulara began to shy away, variable hues of gold and blue skirting past his face down toward his throat and chest. Her hands found their own path, the tips of mammalian fingers warm and tender; he barely felt it as she traced one of his many fresh abrasions—the girl was as gentle as could be.

“I hate it,” she whispered to him—her touch—the stripe she feathered down past his stomach—it caused him to seize her wrist. Zulara gasped as he had startled her, the girl’s meager confidence shattering like Chandrilan glass that had been mishandled. She had no words, fearing what might befall her next.

Cad Bane kept his grip cinched around her arm, rough and weathered fingers tucking a few strands of her hair away behind her ear. Zulara would peer upward, the Duros guiding her to fully look at him by a tilt of her trembling chin.

He kissed her on his terms, soft, slow, and with a method that caused the girl to moan. He had barely touched her, but she was already beginning to come undone, as if he could put the blame on her.

Bane’s tongue joined in, wet and rosy pink; Zulara readily accepted it, hers hot and lush inside his mouth. He was careful of his cuspids—he did not wish to hurt her—the fangs that filled his maw were not entirely for show, as they could rend flesh from bone should he choose to do so. Zulara had learned of that firsthand during the time they had spent together, yet she had only suffered bite marks, the evidence clearly present by welts that blossomed. It was possible the hunter felt a mote compunctious, only due to one or two being a mite too deep.

The girl’s desperation was palpable, Bane feeding into it as it fed his ego. At the same time, his core enlivened; Bane’s body was self-lubricating, yet he did not feel that feeling that demanded he act on it. It was strange; sex was meant for one thing in his book: a way to get his rocks off, a way to clear his head before the next hunt began. And yet, this was different. This girl was different; she did not try to woo him, she simply did. He found this fact disturbing, knowing one day it might ruin him.

Bane could feel the rise and fall of her full bosom against his ribs. The ache was there, but it did not matter; he found himself absorbed by her enticing narrative.

The one where he was not all bad, but worthy of attention; the one where she was concerned for him. He allowed himself to be engrossed by the notion he was not such an awful man; it was too self-indulgent combined with the cocoon of her warm flesh; Zulara was hugging him again even as they kissed—he seized her throat once more, albeit gently.

Zulara would not flinch; Bane retreated from her lips to flash his teeth. The girl’s eyes would lock on his, bewildered, though transfixed.  Then, she felt it: the Duros’ cocks had slipped outside himself. He was toying with her, the spongy tip of one tentacular-like appendage having grazed her clit. It had inched its way between her folds; the girl would gasp, pleasure radiating from the place where he had touched her.

Bane’s depthless eyes narrowed; his fingers slightly tightened. Zulara would reach for his mouth again with hers; Bane held her steady, finding she now appeared alarmed.

“Dhis is what ye came fer, innit,” Cad Bane seethed, his cocks not hard but soft and cool, slick, and resembling the limbs of a cephalopod. It was the result of his subdued arousal; He packed prehensile tendrils instead of pricks as hard as bone. They only solidified when he was notably stimulated, and for now he wasn’t.

He would take care to thank her should she give him the right answer.

“I came for you,” the girl breathed out, tears welling in her two-toned eyes. She was distraught; Zulara could not fathom why he would presume to think that, though her mind began to overanalyze and search her feelings. She knew the truth; it was her worst fear coming to fruition: the idea she was just some cheap lay, another slave who would do anything for freedom. A girl who wanted to seduce him. A whore, for lack of a better word—perhaps he did not trust her or her words.

Zulara covered his hand with hers, grasping at his fingers. She plucked them free, like ripping off a necklace in a throe of passion, this set of actions a paroxysm on her part. Bane stared at her, though he relinquished his mindful hold, until he realized she meant to take her leave of him.

One arm scooped her back, extending to curl around her tapered waist. Zulara would set about to struggle, but even so, she was heedful of his wounds, his cuts and bruises—the rancor’s claw marks. Her tepid hands only pushed at his sore arms, but that was nothing compared to everything else that hurt, or the many other near fatal injuries he had endured throughout his lifetime.

“I’m not what you think I am,” Zulara pleaded, her words having a double meaning, though it was lost on him. “I only wished to help,” she would argue quietly, though her body settled, the girl’s head tipping forward so she could rest her nose against the Duros; he felt her balmy flesh make contact with his rostrum.

“Dhen what are ye,” came Cad’s raspy-voiced reply; he let her stay right where she was, though compelled to know her answer. He knew nothing of her, just that they had shared her bed; that she was Kayson’s slave; that Hondo vied for her affections, yet here she was in the refresher with him, naked.

“Just a girl—I’m no one special,” she lamented, “but one who hurts seeing you like this,” she added, one of her kindly hands moving to cradle his strong jaw where it met his chin. “I can’t force you to believe me,” she said, defeated.

Cad Bane was moved, though he would never easily admit it. He soaked her up, her honest sentiments and her unmatched beauty. He returned the gesture, the pad of his long thumb rubbing a small circle into the round of her soft cheek.

“Dhat’ll do,” he stated gruffly, his tone bordering nonchalance, yet it was a front; he would not make her aware of the effect she had on him.

The silence was filled with the sudden onset of Zulara’s disjointed moans, Bane had introduced one of his cock’s inside her. The motion had been smooth and fluid, his member pliant and able to inter itself snugly. It did not need an easy introduction, as Zulara’s plush insides would expand to accept his supple girth, Bane slick with his own secretions; he knew just where to target her.

His length would pulse inside her, like the writhing of a worm, languid, and patient with her. To Zulara it felt like the lapping of a tongue, impossibly large, and buried deep within her. She was a liquid, her legs desiring to fail her. Though Bane was not at his full strength, he kept her standing, taking the brunt of her slack weight.

“Easy,” he muttered low; the girl would search out his mouth again. In doing so, he was fed her gasps, Bane absorbing them like sustenance to fuel himself.

Zulara could not speak as Bane’s second cock licked her clit, its swirling tip fondling her with peculiar purpose. The girl’s brain filled with sporadic images—nothing clicked—she heard Bane rattle out a fricative hiss. She was coaxed by an open palm; Bane drew her toward his throat, reedy fingers entangling themselves in her black locks.

The Duros held her there, his oil sacs emitting an aroma that would only entice her more; they were fine slits beneath his ribs, and she had not noticed them before. They were camouflaged, blending in with the rest of his blue scales; he had nearly inked himself because of that damned rancor, their main function not one of pleasure but of defense.

“Breathe, hm?” he emphasized, his voice taking on a harsher shade. The girl obeyed, though it was difficult. She regained her footing, yet still needed his support.  

“Bane,” she uttered his name, but he would not go any faster; he would not let that persuade him. Cad was dutiful in his undulations, having already found that special place that made females forget themselves. He would prod it gently, coiling against the underside of her anterior.

It was too much, the syncopated rhythm of both his cocks. While one felt like it was eating her, the other viciously teased her, Zulara’s piteous moans and whimpers like music to his ears; he pressed her head against himself.

The girl relaxed into an orgasm, her warm heat clenching, Bane letting Zulara ride him until its completion, though he had not been in it for himself; he would withdraw as soon as she came down.

Bane would unhand her, freeing her of a rare embrace, the Twi falling gradually down onto both her shaky knees. Bane watched as she descended, not of her own volition; her legs simply would not allow her to keep standing anymore. Her hands trailed his stomach, his thighs and calves, until they dropped and rested in her lap as she breathed deeply, appearing to be starved of oxygen.

Zulara would cant her head, gazing up from the few square inches of space her body now occupied. Met face to face with Bane’s foreign genitalia, she would extend her tongue to taste the tip of one.

She could smell herself, and discern the flavor, yet not overpowering the Duros’ own brand. The sheen of sticky that coated both his cocks was both sweet and sour, and not by any means unpleasant.

Bane shuddered, finding his place along the wall; the girl did not stop there, his reaction the catalyst for what she would do next.

Zulara guided him inside, her mouth hot and textured like choice velvet. The girl found it easy to intake nearly the whole of him as he was not rigid, yet this introduction to the tight confines of her throat would not come without its consequences, should he not be able to keep himself in check.

She moaned, the hum vibrating against him from within her gullet; his belly quivered, Zulara allowing him deep passage—for a girl who had never done anything quite like this, she was adept, or effortlessly able to adapt.

Her lips would pucker as she sucked, Bane’s cock glossy, all the while thickening though frictionless, like candy made sleek from the constant roiling of one’s tongue across its surface. His other member mobilized itself, caressing Zulara’s cheek with its ability to touch and molest, like the curving of a finger as it followed a path down toward her chin.

In reality, it might seem monstrous, a thing that was hideous or atrocious to those not of his species, but Zulara was not disconcerted, nor was she intimidated. Bane’s anatomy did not so much frighten her as it was intriguing, assuming all males throughout the galaxy had their own way of being that she wasn’t privy to—the women too—enjoying what she could of him.

Zulara picked up the pace deliberately, one hand rising for its underside to palm Bane’s second phallus. She would run her fingers along the length of it—she was unbelievably delicate with him—it might have tickled had it not felt so delicious.

Bane could feel the telltale signs, the ones where his scales bristled, and his cock was on the verge of hardening; he was nearing the point of no return, forcing the girl to stop her suction; it was regrettable, but he knew himself. Though he would recuperate, currently his energy was depleted; he was tired, he desired to do nothing but relax, yet he had a call to make to that damn governess, and the hunter wished to hold onto his anger as it would serve him.

To allow himself release, to cum inside her pretty mouth—Bane knew nothing else would matter after that.

The Duros would withdraw his hips, pushing his buttocks to the wall of the now cold shower. This whole scenario had been a waste of water, but he would quickly forgive himself as Zulara was coerced to give up on her task. His cock had slid from out her throat, retreating back through her open mouth, the other slithering across her fingers joining its companion. The girl was frowning, her eyes two sorrowful, sparkling gemstones of varied chromaticity; she gazed at him like he had hurt her feelings.

“Did I do something wrong?” the halfling asked, her voice soft and peppered with notes of worry. Bane only stared at her as he allowed his breathing to even out; he swiped her bottom lip with the pad of a harsh thumb, dragging it slowly downward, exposing her bottom row of teeth and gums.

“Gotta comm te make,” he offered by way of an explanation. With that, he opened the bypass door, stepping past Zulara to touch down upon the refresher’s floor. Bane would leave her there to take care of herself, knowing that he could find her easily when he was ready— besides, Todo would keep an eye out.

[quindolyn]

Can I have a 🦦 baby blurb of Sirius cuddling with you while Remus reads to you both- sick anon

Hiya baby, I hope this helps a little bit and I hope you like it. You’re beautiful and I love you.

Word Count: 1176

You sat curled up into a ball, nestled into Sirius’ lap, who smelled of smoke and the expensive cologne you and Remus had bought him for his birthday the year after you’d ll graduated from Hogwarts, he’d never changed it, not even after all of those years spent both as a free man and in Azkaban.

“Hey there Princess,” Sirius cooed into your ear, wrapping a single lock of your hair around his long, slender finger as he continued playing with your hair as he had been for the past half hour. “Are you still awake my love?”

You hummed affirmatively, nestling your face even further into his neck, the two of you sat on one of the plush sofas that were littered throughout the wretched house that had been Sirius’ childhood home, sitting lazily in front of the fire as Sirius nursed his scotch.

You heard the distinct clink of glass as Sirius set his now empty tumbler onto the coffee table that was positioned next to the couch.

“Come on baby,” His voice was scratchy as he looped his arms underneath your form, one under your back with the other supporting you from the crook of your knees.

“Siri,” You whined into his shoulder, throwing your arms around his neck so that you didn’t slip from his grasp. Despite your insistence that you had been awake, you had actually been slipping in and out of consciousness slowly falling into a blissful sleep. “Where are we going?”

Sirius smiled down at your truly beautiful face, taking in every ridge and bump, the way your eyelashes cast shadows on your cheekbones, the parting of your lips as you took deep, slow breaths. He was absolutely enamored with you and if he didn’t know that house like the back of his hand then he probably would’ve bumped into something, being too caught up in your beauty to notice the numerous obstacles laid out ahead of him. But thanks to his familiarity with the melancholy house Sirius was able to take it from the first floor to the third without ever lifting his gaze from you.

“S’sleep time baby, m’taking you up to bed,” He explained his voice never rising above a murmur as e reached the floor of the bedroom you shared with both him and Remus.

“No,” you protested pathetically, wriggling in his grasp in attempts to escape his strong, tattooed arms, “Too early, still got so much to do!”

“You gotta be quiet for me Princess, Rem might already be asleep and we don’t wanna make him,” The long haired man commanded as you approached the door to your bedroom, he pressed his ear to the door before pushing it open, stepping backwards into the cozy room, arguably the only room in the whole house that could be described as “cozy”.

But as both you and Sirius looked over to the sprawling four poster bed you didn’t find a sleeping Remus but rather one propped up in bed, cradling a book, with his reading glasses perched on his nose. As Sirius appreciated the fact that Remus was shirtless, displaying his strong chest littered with pretty scars you admired the way his thin lips quirked up into a smile as he reluctantly lifted his gaze from his page to meet the two of you.

“Had to carry her up here Pads? Was she falling asleep on the sofa again?” Rem asked, slipping his bookmark into the book before dropping it onto his lap.

“Yeah,” Sirius grunted as he gently dropped you onto the bed, you immediately flopping into your side to curl yourself into the fetal position, Remus’ comforting hand finding its way quickly to smooth up and down your arm. 

“Oh baby you can’t quite go to sleep yet, we gotta get you into more comfortable clothes,” Remus’s voice was low and quiet as he crooned at you.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” You huffed, turning onto your other side so that you could make eye contact with the male, “Still have so much to do!”

“And you can do it all in the morning Puppy, for now, we’ve gotta get you changed.”

You pushed yourself up on the bed so that you could take Sirius’ invitation to get you dressed for bed before quickly following himself. You were even too sleepy to shiver in pleasure as Sirius’s sturdy hands ran up and down your body. By the time you were done you were lying on the bed, wearing only a pair of your underwear and a t-shirt that might’ve been Sirius’ when it was first purchased but after years of owning it the lines between Remus’ clothing and Sirius’ blurred beyond recognition. Sirius spooned you from behind wearing one of Remus’s sweaters and a pair of his own boxers, brushing the hair away from your neck to press kisses to the delicate flesh.

“Hey, there sleepy babies,” Remus cooed at the both of you, brushing a strand of hair behind Sirius’ ear, the male closing his eyes in contentment at the contact.

“M’not sleepy,” You managed out through a yawn, undermining the point you were so desperately trying to make, “M’awake.”

After years of being together, Remus knew you far too well and knew that the only way he was gonna get you to fall asleep and like it was by tricking you into it.

“You want me to read to you (Y/N)?” He asked, moving his hand to bury itself in your hair.

Feeling Sirius nod into your neck you verbalized his response, “Yes please.”

Remus’ hand left your hir to pick up his book, scooting himself a bit closer to you so that you could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he cleared his throat before picking up on his page at the spot where he had left off.

Given your exhausted mental state you picked up about every third or fourth word, he said as he spoke, his low, soothing voice not working to revitalize you, but rather sedate you into the sleep he knew you so desperately needed.

As Sirius too was dragged closer and closer to a dream filled oblivion you felt his grip on you tighten, pulling you closer and closer until there was no space left between your two bodies, his hand finding its way past the hem of your shirt to rest in the valley between your breasts, not caressing or groping. Just resting there.

The combined noises of Sirius’ slowing breathing and the voice of your other lover which seemed to drop an octave as he read had you no longer resisting that dreaded monster you’d once called sleep but instead embracing it, falling into the dark expanse of nothingness that you once had called sleep.

You didn’t even have time to notice Remus discarding his book to cuddle up to you from the other side, pressing a kiss to your temple before he too succumbed to exhaustion, leaving the three of your curled up together in bed. Just like it should be.

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @amourtentiaa @kittykylax @superbturtlemakerathlete @oliviashea05 @gxtitobxby @pinkandblueblurbs @gubleryum @zzzfour @itsmentalillness @dracofknmalfoy  

Thank you for celebrating 800 with me, this celebration is no longer open but all blurbs and headcanons from this celebration and others can be found linked in my master list which you can find on my navigation page!

[queen--of--maggots]

☾ - sleep headcanon and ▼ - childhood headcanon for Misa?

Hi, anon! Thanks for asking <3

Childhood

Misa was the second child of her family. She has a sister who five years older than her. They were pretty close when they were kids despite having different personalities. Misa was louder and often did what she wanted to do. Her sister was quieter and more responsible.

Her parents spoiled Misa a lot more than her sister and allowed her more freedom. She could stay up late, meet her friends more often, and do whatever she wanted to do as long as her grades didn't drop. Her parents loved both kids equally. But everything was new with the first child, and they wanted to do everything right. After gaining some experience, they were more relaxed with the second one. Misa was also manipulative at times and knew how she got what she wanted from them.

Misa had several pets as a kid. Hamsters, guinea pigs, budgies, and a cat (the one she still had in Tokyo). She loved to play with them, but her sister and her parents usually ended up with feeding and cleaning.

She was a popular kid at school with the other kids. But the opinion of the teachers was divided. One half loved her, and the other found her incredibly annoying.

She was a good student and got mostly As, rarely Bs. Good grades and the advantages which came along with them were a great motivation to learn. But she was never interested in gaining knowledge without external incentive.

Her favorite subject was art, and her least favorite was history. She thought it was beyond boring to learn about the past because the times are over. The present time and the future are much more exciting.

Misa was in a drama club in her school. She also took music lessons, where she learned to sing and to play guitar.

Sleep

Misa is a night owl and usually stayed up late. In her teens, she talked to her friends forever on the phone and slept until noon the following day as long as she didn’t have to go to school, of course. After she moved to Tokyo, she tried to go to bed early when she had an appointment the next day. But often, she still stayed up late because she can’t fall asleep if it's too early. Once she moved together with Light, she waited until he came home to spend time with him before going to bed. Misa loved falling asleep while cuddling with Light.

She hates sleeping alone. When she still lived with her parents, she would sometimes sleep in her sister’s room. Her sister wasn’t overjoyed about it because she was tired, and Misa wouldn’t stop talking. Also, Misa often invited her friends for sleepovers. When she moved to Tokyo, she took her cat with her, so she doesn’t have to be alone in her apartment. Misa cuddled with her cat a lot before sleeping. The cat even slept in Misa’s bed.

Misa hated sleeping while Rem was still around because she found it insanely creepy if someone watches her during her sleep. The same goes for Ryuk at first, but she got eventually used to it.

She hasn’t dreamed after the death of her parents. It didn’t bother her too much. She was even thankful for not having nightmares about this day.

After Light’s death, sleeping was more or less everything she did. At some point, she wasn’t sad anymore, just empty. She had no motivation to do anything and only got the necessary chores done. Misa would spend most of the time sleeping because she didn’t know what else to do with her time. She also started dreaming again, at least occasionally. And her dreams were the only places where she could see Light once more.

Answer for this ask game (X)

[shindxi-blog]

9. Does your muse believe that being unique, different, or weird is a compliment or an insult? Why?

Getting under Shindi’s skin is a miracle and a half. Even though he’s fully willing and capable of turning those phrases into effective insults, he himself finds himself indifferent to the concept when he is the subject of it, or he’ll make it seem like he finds it to be a compliment.

Like if someone calls him different to try and anger him, he’ll just turn it around and be all don’t project your own insecurities on me, you idiot. And the like.

Basically, he just doesn’t care if he knows someone is trying to insult him. Depending on the subject, he’ll turn those phrases into an insult.

[13eyond13]

Hi! Hope I’m not bothering you, but do you have any B x Misa headcanons (not in a romantic way necessarily, but more as bros)? I have this prominent mental image of Misa being hyped about having a “shinigami eye buddy” and doing cute things with Beyond like going shopping, doing each other’s makeup, murdering people together, the whole shebang. I’d be curious to hear your thoughts! :3

Hi @rmglawliet, you are most certainly never bothering me, thank you so much for wanting to hear my thoughts lmao! Yes, I do love thinking about these two together. It seems like such a shame that they never got the chance to actually meet.

B x MISA BROTP HEADCANONS:

- I love @puropoly​’s headcanon that B is a big fan of Misa’s music and modeling career! That’s such a cute idea. He fanboys hard over her when they first meet and flatters her with his intensely accurate and detailed knowledge of her entire discography and every single magazine spread and straight-to-VHS movie she’s ever featured in. This is how they first click and become BFFLs

- B and Misa both enable each other’s bad behaviours like crazy.

Misa’s like: “hmm so Light said I have to stay in hiding for the next week because it’s a matter of life or death but I miss him soooo much already and IDK WOULDN’T IT BE SO CUTE IF I JUST SPONTANEOUSLY SURPRISED HIM AT HIS SCHOOL INSTEAD??” and B’s like: “YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, CHASE YOUR DREAMS HONEY, HE’S LUCKY TO HAVE YOU AND THE WORLD’S YOUR OYSTER!”

B’s like: “Soooo I sent L 34 texts and left him 16 voicemails last night but he still hasn’t gotten back to me yet and idk, maybe his phone is dead or I’m just being paranoid but it almost feels like he’s ghosting me, do you think it might come off as clingy if I tried him one more time?” And Misa’s like: “pffft no that just shows him you’re super sweet and romantic, here let’s use my landline and we can group dial him together!!” Yeahhh, poor impulse control to the max. Rem’s the aggravated mom-friend in the background trying and failing to be the only voice of reason, she’s definitely not a big fan

- Misa learns makeup tips from B, and B learns a billion fashion tips from Misa. They also swap and share clothes and give each other acting advice all the time. B helps Misa learn her lines for her new movies and Misa often brings B to hang out with her on the sets. He loves to lounge around in her private trailer and mooch the desserts off the craft service tables and has a lot of fun making up tons of bullshit identities and stories while schmoozing with the cast & crew

- I think they’d relate over their tragic pasts and orphan status for sure. B would probably be good at helping Misa talk out the fairly recent death of her parents, not to mention have a big mental back-catalogue of helpful coping strategies for living life with the Shinigami eyes. He would be like: “you know if you deliberately unfocus your eyes and clench your jaw and sing this annoying jingle in your head repeatedly whenever you’re looking someone in the face for the first time it’s often possible to avoid seeing their name and lifespan altogether!” Or: “sometimes baseball caps and visors can help you obscure the numbers without looking too conspicuous about it if you’re walking around in a crowd during a sunny day, plus always use an umbrella during rainy ones.” Of course they also have a ton of inside jokes about the stupider names they see when out in public, and whisper speculative conspiracy theories together about the surprisingly short lifespans they see, too

- I feel like B would be Misa’s shoulder to cry on about Light’s meanness for sure. I think he would sympathize with her and resent Light for treating Misa poorly, probably tell her she should dump the jerk more than a few times. Doesn’t matter that Misa initially stalked and blackmailed Light in order to date him, to B that’s just a totally reasonable thing to do 

- Misa probably had a way fuller social life and relatively normal home life / school life growing up compared to B’s weird isolated and tragic one, so I bet he’d love to live vicariously through her stories about her wild dating past and some of the more ordinary shit she got up to as a kid with her family and friends. B probably also often half-jokingly presses Misa for details about her bedroom life with Light, and she always gets unusually flustered and defensive about it and refuses to divulge any deets

- B also might actually hate knowing that Misa willingly halved her lifespan for the same eye curse that he was born with and always detested having, though?? Mostly he’d probably be glad to have someone else to relate to about it, but I’m sure subconsciously that would bother him a lot at times. If they ever got into a big dramatic friendship-ruining fight, it would probably be over something like that

- I think they might confusedly think they have feelings for each other sometimes because of how well they relate to and support each other? I love the idea of them awkwardly trying to kiss or something during a slightly drunk sleepover and then both immediately being like: “yuck woah no offense you’re super lovely and a fantastic kisser and everything but this feels wayyy too much like I’m making out with my brother/sister, whoooops ok bad idea let’s never speak of this again”

[heroesarelife]

Headcanon that Aizawa sleeping schedule is thought out on the basis that he has wicked nightmares due to his PTSD. So he manages his timetable in such a way that the moments he can get sleep, it’s just for barely long enough so he will get long wave sleep but won’t go into REM (stage in which you have dreams). That is, never beyond 2 hours at any given time. The guy has it figured out to a science.

If he’s going sleep deprived for too long, he has to reorganize his schedule as to allow less hours of sleep, because he knows he will go into REM faster and jump stages of sleep.

He has a stash of Melatonin for when he needs to reset his clock and keep pushing, and will take benzos or even weed when the situation is dire.

[shindxi-moved-blog]

Shindi’s Dream Corruption ability is an automatic, but slow process. Basically, the more you talk to him, the more his demonic presence starts to corrupt your dream. So the trick is to just shut him out as fast as you can if you don’t have a strong mental fortitude.

[shindxi-blog]

Considering this dude spends, like, all of his time asleep and so he’s probably pretty secluded/isolated in the demon realm I’m just thinking that in that realm he’s probably some urban-legend version of Sleeping Beauty?

Like, other demons aren’t even sure he’s real? Because he’s sealed himself behind a protective barrier in a secluded place where no one can kill him while he’s sleeping and he’s just been asleep for so long?

He’s the ultimate hermit.

[shindxi-blog]

Considering his enjoyment of botany or flower arrangement, it’s safe to say that he might be a fan of the visual arts as a whole. So if he finds a good artist, he might actually give them inspiration instead of torturing them.

[shindxi-blog]

Much like an STD or whatever, the only way to stop Shindi from messing with you in the dreamscape is by having proper protection when you sleep.

(He’s not exactly someone you can physically harm, considering his means of interaction... Best you can do is shut him out and make grow bored of you.)

[shindxi-blog]

I didn't mention this in the verse info, but one of the reasons he feels this sadness and pity for humans now is because the human he used as a catalyst infused him with this very powerful and very odd form of empathy.

Now, you see, before all this he didn't care about getting hurt or feeling pain because it would be in places or forms where he himself wouldn't actually feel it or actually get hurt, but now...

Not only can he get hurt, but every time he sense the dreams of someone being twisted in some fashion (malicious, depressed, the stuff of nightmares and what he used to revel in, really), he feels this very real pain throughout his body and what do you know? He hates feeling the pain.

So even though it's pity and sadness, it also a very selfish desire driving him to eat nightmares and memories: he just doesn't want to feel pain.

[shindxi-blog]

Considering he’s all about dealing with the mind, him taking anyone to the Demon Realm involves him just take their mind and putting it inside a body for them to use - kind of similar to how his Dreamwalking skill works. Their OG body is there left behind and is dead as the soul and mind is moved to a new body in the Demon Realm. 

[shindxi-blog]

Why, yes, he does enjoy possessing children more than other people because they make such easy hostages.

[shindxi-blog]

☘ : Does your muse believe in luck? How about fate?

In both verses, he only believes in luck. Even then that’s only when it’s applicable and he doesn’t rely on it at all for anything.

[shindxi-blog]

You wouldn’t think this guy likes anything aside from the pain of others but you’d be wrong there. Dude loves flowers (especially because of their symbolism). In fact, his little den in the Demon Realm is surrounded by flowers, making it seem pretty ethereal and out-of-place if my mental image of what it’s like is anything to go by.

It’s one of the reasons why his Dream Corruption effect looks like flowers: he just really really likes them.

[shindxi-blog]

Considering the Demon Realm has royalty (king and queen, at the least). I like to think that Shindi would a noble of some sort (or equivalent). Which is why his eccentricity wasn’t all that noticed? They were like “those eccentric nobles” and what not.

He was also probably pretty popular with the ladies (and maybe even some men) before he became an urban legend and maybe even then that only added this weird-ass appeal-