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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall.

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place.

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long.

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train.

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive.

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles.

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus.

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear.

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories.

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk.

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?”

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone?

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape.

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93.

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.”

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin.

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar.

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two.

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors.

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work?

That was sure to go over well.

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift.

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils.

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar.

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility.

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one.

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier.

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn.

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire.

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase.

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet.

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot.

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile.

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you.

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended.

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back.

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.”

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line.

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you. Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again.

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied.

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions.

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again.

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

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phagodyke · 8 months ago

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I slept rly deeply last night even tho it took me a while to get to sleep but I think that was bc I had acid reflux and I'd been playing videogames too late not anything else.... still only got 6 hrs but doing pretty okay all things considered 😚

#and not feeling sick this morning so im sticking w the higher dose for one more day. my heart rate does feel a little uncomfortably fast #but its tolerable. just gonna make notes of how it goes through the day and ill submit my review form to my dr this evening #and hopefully she'll give me the green light to drop back down instead of continuing to titrate up #this is making me think of those heartrate fetishists... do u think i could make money selling tachycardic heart recordings online #i do wanna try to exercise this morning while i have energy. might take the bike out it looks like a gorgeously sunny day #maybe ill try to map my cycle route to work so i can consider cycling there instead of taking the bus in a couple weeks..#i cant atm thp cuz they have scaffolding up and its blocked off the bike racks sadly 😔#i think making myself eat + drink as much as i can has helped control the nausea too. just need a lot of fuel to process meds properly ig #and a lot of sleep.. its a bit stressful to think abt how rigid im going to have to be abt my daily routines if i want to stay medicated #but to be honest i have a pretty rock solid sleep/meal routine already bc its the only way i can function with the hours i work #so like. i dont rly need to worry too much. i think i reacted badly the first couple days bc my base anxiety was high #and then bc that feeling was heightened by meds -> made me not eat/sleep properly -> knock on sickness the next day #but yeah still the side effects arent very nice and i dont wanna take the risk of it exacerbating every difficult emotion i deal with #but fingers crossed bc 30 worked rly nice for me and i had barely any side effects so hopefully i can settle w that long term 🤞#we will see....#ANYWAY. sorry for making the same post over and over the last couple days. talking abt it on here has helped me feel a lot calmer #i dont wanna bother ppl irl w every thought and physical symptom i experience hourly. but this is my blog i can do what i want #hope everyone else has a nice sunday <3 #.diaries

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impish-baby · 4 months ago

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Ummh... Vampire caregiver story?... Like how they took you...? (Please)

-👀✨

Mothers come, she is the night (vampire caregiver x reader)

(trigger warnings: creepy behavior, mentions of stalking, kidnapping, mind control)

You've been working the night shift at this stupid convenience store for months now, and you've known Valerian just as long.

There wasn't really anything off about them at first, maybe a little eccentric with how they insist on wearing clothes straight out of a fantasy novel even in your dingy shop but it's not like it's your business to judge anyone's fashion choices. No, it started small. You always find them staring, drilling holes into the back of your head. You can feel their eyes on you constantly, even as you're clocked out and walking to the bus stop. It's unnerving, really. And it doesn't help that there's this weird smile they always have. They look at you like you've hung the stars in the sky, but you barely know them

Valerian's behavior would slowly but surely ramp up. They'd try to keep a conversation going with you as long as possible with that chipper smile that never seems to leave their face. ("What's your favorite color? Oh, mines mauve! Say, how many blankets do you like to sleep with?") They'd stack item after item up on the register when you'd comment that there would be other customers throughout the night. There's no way they're eating the ungodly amount of candy they've purchased. Valerian has told you that they aren't a fan of sweets, so it's impossible to know where it's actually going.

One night, they bought a little bat plushie and practically shoved it into your arms, refusing to take it back no matter how much of a fuss you made about it. "It's yours, darling. Come now, you aren't too old for a plush friend... I think you look rather cute with one!" You did end up sleeping with it, much to your chagrin. The next night that you see Valerian, you're sure there's a knowing smirk on their face while they prattle on about nothing in particular.

It all comes to a head a couple of weeks later. You had missed a few days of work from being sick, and you're still ill by the time you're back to your post. Valerian greets you with the same smile they always have, but it looks... strained almost. You can't help the boiling irritation that rises up when they start to scold you, like they're your parent! Seriously, you have bills to pay, you can come to work just fine.. (doesn't matter that you're all shaky and clammy, you can manage)

Except... Valerian doesn't seem to agree. They're glaring, face settled into a scowl instead of the smile they constantly have. It's scary almost, seeing the usually giddy man look so serious and unhappy with you. But then it's gone in an instant, face lighting back up as they tut and wag a finger at you. "Oh well, it's about time you come home anyways, dearest.."

There isn't much time to react before they're leaning past the counter, cupping your face in a surprisingly firm grip and making you look them in the eyes. It's... strangely pretty. If you weren't tired before, you're definitely sleepy now as you gaze into Valerian's pools of red for what feels like ages. When you're eventually released, you feel.. dopey. Slumping into Valerian's side immediately once they've rounded the counter to you.

Their words are far off, but you're pretty sure they're cooing at you as they start to drag you by the hand out of the store. You don't know when they grabbed your things from the break room, but your bag is slung over their shoulder. Huh... that was nice of them. Valerian leads you to a car, far fancier than anything you'd usually see in a crappy parking lot. Once you're safely inside, they're buckling your seatbelt for you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and tucking the bat stuffie into your arms. "Rest, alright, my love? Papa will take great care of you. Just dream for a while.."

(a/n: this is my first time trying to write a proper fic, so hopefully, I did alright! Valerian is so goofy.. they promise to be the best father a little one could want!)

#famial yandere #platonic yandere #forced age regression #yandere age regression #yandere agere #forced agere #platonic yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere vampire #oc: valerian 🥀#i love voltaire #his music is great for spooky little ones #👀✨️ anon #apologies if you didn't mean it as a sign off!

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icarusredwings · 3 days ago

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Succubus /angel au lore drop

@nuggetpool-hi thanks for some of the ideas.

Tw: mentions of sex, death and negitive treatment of sex workers/ forced prostitution (if you think about it)

Logan does often sleep. His vessel needs it. Wade doesn't need it but hes obsessed with napping in Logans bed.

It conviences both of their brains they're more then just casual and hook ups. But something more. Because even demons dreams about a semi settled life.

They physically sleep together, cuddle, share a singular bed, share a room, kiss all the time, and shower together. But (most days) this is stuff that happens before or after at least a quick blow job/rub/ or hump session.

It used to only be bjs but Logan actually, lovingly and passionately fucks him towards the end and this is when Wade decides to stay forever.

Wade "what do you mean you wanna keep the lights ON for sex and want to strip me and kiss my body??" Wilson

And yeah, logan calls him mouth. For verious reasons. In which wade IS the blowjob queen.

Logan thinks "feeding him just to keep him alive" is the most ethical thing (at the start) so like clock work once every 5 days he'd let Wade suck the shit out of him.

Ngl, logan kinda likes watching him so desperatly swallow it all- hes a bit selfish and greedy for an angel... though maybe thats why wade likes him.

Logan is definitely still gruff wife beater and jeans guy (but goes to church in button ups and ties) who still smokes his cigars and enjoys reading.

Sometimes, since wade cant touch the bible, logan reads it to him.

Logans spent so long on earth that he genuienly forgets hes an angel sometimes. Guy is like "ugh food is so expensive" and Wades like "You dont have to eat idiot."

Logan often forgets that he has a flaming sword and actually lost it at one point in time. Thats how he Met Kurt actually, because he asked Kurt for his sword back (that cloaks itself as a regular sword unless wielded by a winged angel, but logan never shows Kurt his wings. It would blow his cover)

Wade definitely has empathy- AND REJECTION SENSITIVITY

So TECHNICALLY wade can be fed by Logan just teasing him and telling him sexy things, rubbing his thigh and whispering how sexy he is, but this is more of a snack and logan would have to do it daily, while a good sized Load can feed him for a solid 4-5 days (but this is the bare minimum, Wade would gladly take a load daily, it would probably finally put some weight on him actually. Wade is very thin because of how unsucessful he is in finding prey that will sleep with him)

This is what people dont understand, though. They think they're just sexy monsters who want to take your soul (maybe idk), but Wade is genuinely caring and empathetic and very much capable of love.

It's not his fault he needs sex and to seduce people to survive, but Hell KNEW he was a burn victim, assumed he was on the playboy bus and decided to "Make him beg for it" for eternity, just like all the other girls on that bus (Succubai are originally female and can change their sex how ever they please- do what you will with this information COUGH trans wade COUGH)

Hell KNEW hed struggle to survive and still did it simply because they thought he was a sex worker. But Wade wasn't, he was a merc just trying to buy groceries when hit by a damn bus.

The bus hitting him isnt what killed him. It was the fire and explosion that happened afterwards. He was trapped underneath of the bus when it caught fire and blew up. He was screaming for help, sobbing and begging for anyones attention to the fact he was still alive.

What's even more not fair is that most of the girls died on impact to the brick wall rather then the fire or explosion so they are still very pretty and can manage a good amount of prey.

Aka, Wade got fucked (not literally unfortunately) just for being a bystander.

Yeah, hes killed people but he's heavily mentally ill and needed to find a way to put food on the table some how. Even if that way is by killing for money.

Oh and yes, Wade still has nightmares about how he died. Especially if Logan is laying on top of him, Wade dreams hes trapped under the bus, on fire, screaming for help and crying.. the thing about crying while on fire is though your tear ducts get burnt closed.

So now when ever he cries, it's not tears. More like blood.

So he will literally wake up to blood with a dash of tears on his face and it hurts to remember. This mans phantom pain is torture alone, let alone having to grovel at peoples feet to please fuck him or else he'll die..

Logan will kiss and hold him close, "its okay. Im sorry. Im so sorry. I didnt mean to squish you, i promise. Youre alright. I got you."

And yes, Logan is afraid of water. Not in the sense of showering but if wade asks him to take a bath with him he will shy away, he also dosnt like pools or the ocean, lakes or even ponds. He dosn't like water. Period. It reminds him of his death (and his wings get all soaked and puffy frim humidity)

Funfact: Both can become tiny. Imagine tiny Crowley.

Wade is 6'2 and becomes 6 inches. When hes tiny he's invisible to the naked eye and he chooses who can see him. This is how its so easy to be on kurts shoulder without getting caught. But logan cant be tiny unless he has his halo on, and thats a no no if hes having sex. So no tiny sex for them, but this does not stop wade from trying.

Sometimes he rides around on logan if Hes bored or clingy, but most times it goes like this.

Teeny wade: *spreads legs* Put it in me!

Logan, who can barley hear him: What??

Wade: IN!

Logan: WHAT!? NO!! That is not gonna fit you stupid idiot

Wade: hmmm.. youre right. What if i hump it? My big giant bean stalk! Gonna milk this cow too!

Logan: ... Im leaving... *walks away*

Wade: *sighs* Angels are so vanilla. Dont even wanna kill me with his cock <:/ does he even love me then??

Logan, from across the room: DUDE. YOU. WILL. DIE!!! It-its literally bigger then you!!

Wade: I know!! Thats the fun!

(Quick reminder that wade does not have a healing factor- hes insane.)

Technecally- Wade can eat logans ass and still be fed. Any sort of sexual desire or pleasure kinda makes him fed so this opens lots of new things. Hell- Logan can savagely dry hump him for 20 minutes and it would be enough for the day. This being said Logan dosnt have a refractoary period (angel stuff) so if he really wanted to be kind, he could give Wade multiple loads and have him fed for a month. Wade would still be hungry but not as much, seeing as if Logan wanted to feed him properly they'd have to have sex at least once a day, if not more for Wade to be fully taken care of meal wise.

OH! I dont think I mentioned this before either but they all live in the ministry together. So yes, there literally is a demon living in the church. With his angel lover.

Logan: This place is full of priests so dont do anything. Be on your best behaviour.

Wade @ the humans cause he knows Logan wont let them actually do anything to him:

Logan just walks in to see Wade twerking on the bed and the oldest of the fathers is like "Repent! Begone! Get off my bed you fowl fiend!!"

Logan: 😮‍💨🤦‍♂️

Imagine kurt comes over knocking on the door and is about to go on a date with Logan, and Logan tries not to moan while calling out "h-hold on! Im feeding my- EERR m-mY PET!" and ofc this only makes Wade deep throat him better with a purr and a tail wag cause YEAH. He is kinda feeding his pet aint he?

But NOW they have to get a pet or else itll blow logans cover so they get mary puppins, who is also an angel who unironically wont stop barking at them when theyre fuckin cause she thinks theyre fighting or something.

Along with their tiny forms, they have their true forms:

Logan: A big feathery fuck who you should INFACT be afraid of. Wade thinks hes gorgeous and really wishes he could fuck eyeballs but is aware of how much that would hurt.

Wade: Wade is very... curly from mouth washing in his true form. He dosn't like it. He has no lips or nose or ears, his eye sockets are engorged, his eyelids are practically gone, hes bleeding everywhere, mushy soft, in pain, crunchy and gummy-fied.

His earth form is much more healed looking and hurts less, but still does, to make himself feel better and more pretty, wade will paint hearts on his skin, giving himslef heart nipples, a belly button, and will paint on a happy trail of hearts. He has them on his shoulder, his forehead, hips, cheeks and tail, his legs and if he really thinks he looks ugly today, he'll draw them on his hands and ask Logan to paint them on his back too.

Wade has an extremely long tail, no its not as strong as kurts so he cant hang from it but he can hold coffee cups and jack someone off with it with ease.

Wade is also very thin and lean. His muscles on his arms are small, his calfs are barley there, his ass is there yeah, but two of his lower ribs are showing. (He has the sluttiest waste ever man)

Wade also has horns (blowjob handles!) Sharp teeth, dark fingers, ankles, toes, he has sharp ass claw feet, two large talons and one small one in the middle like a raptor. He also has claws on his fingers that he sometimes scratches logans back with but angel blood burns him (it hurts a lot) so they try not to do so much blood play in this au.

Logan also does not have claws in the sense of it comes out of his arm, but he does have nails. He also looks like a tired youth pastor whos lowkey about to leave the church if they make him tell little kids about abstinence one more time. Or a camp counceler whos TIRED of everyone's shit and just in general.... for.. obvious reasons..

Something something I really love my bed, but, man, it's hard to sleep when he's with me Olivia Rodrigo 😩😉

#succubus au #angel au #angel logan #demon wade #logurtpool #logurt #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #logan howlett #wade wilson #deadpool #wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadclaws

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