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hairstevington · 8 months ago

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call me when you get this

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve are best friends, but even the best of friends have secrets.

WC: 3K

Warnings: Story told through voicemails, mild angst, coming out to each other, secret feelings, friends to lovers, kissing, swearing, light angst very brief, references to Robin and Gareth, drunk shenangians, idiots in love, set in 1991 but it doesn't matter too much, no mention of the Upside Down stuff

A/N: I have like three other WIP's happening and zero time but this idea was given to me by the beloved @tinytalkingtina in the discord and then I couldn't get it out of my head. Ao3 link here for those interested!

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 12:52am

GARETH hi yes I know it’s late but HAVE YOU LISTENED TO THE ALBUM YET? I need all of your thoughts immediately. Like, all of them. Every thought. Dude, my head is spinning. Ohhh, man. Kurt is a fuckin’ legend. Woooow. Okay, I could talk about this shit for like three hours but I don’t want to run out your tape so just call me back when you get this and then talk to me about it for three hours. Can I come over a little early tomorrow? Yeah, I’m gonna come over a little early tomorrow. Maybe a lot early. Alright, catch ya then.

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 3:40pm

Uhh, ha. Hey Steve. Thiiiis is Eddie, obviously. I, uh, I just realized I called you in the middle of the night last night on accident, and - uhh, sorry about that. It was just - ah, screw it. You know what I am. Byeeeeee-

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 7:30pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eds, how many times do I have to tell you to change your answering machine message? What if, like, the president calls? Okay, maybe not the president. But an employer or something. Or, like, what if you give the girl of your dreams your number and she calls you and hears THAT? Food for thought. Uhh, anyway, it’s fine. I wasn’t even home when you called me. Robin was, though, and so you’ll probably hear her wrath next time you come over for movie night. Good luck with that. Oh, wait. You’re at a show tonight, right? Damn. I swear I’ll make the next one. Okay, bye, dickhead.

Wednesday, September 25th, 1991, 1:12pm

“You have reached Steve Harrington. Figured I should say that in case whoever is calling me thinks they’re calling someone else. Anyway, I’m busy right now so I’ll call you back. Bye!”

Ha, ha. You are so funny, Harrington. You ever think about being a stand-up comedian? Jesus, and you say I’M the dramatic one. Uhh, the show last night went well, by the way. Not that you were THERE. Seriously, what kind of friend even are you? I’m hurt, Steve. I’m hurt. Anyway, see you tomorrow for movie night. I get to pick. It’s only fair, right?

Thursday, September 27th, 1991, 4pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

You’re not picking the goddamn movie. No way. Last time you did that we got scarred for life. Also, um. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not about me and your shows. I didn’t realize you - uhh, you’re probably joking. Forget I said anything, and see you tonight. I’m at work right now, so I’m gonna rent some backup options just in case.

Sunday, September 30th, 1991, 2pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dustin says you were being a total dick last night. Good. That shrimp deserves to be humbled every once in a while. Your answering machine message still sucks, by the way, and yeah I’m gonna tell you every time.

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:21pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steve. My guy. I can’t believe you make fun of me for my bullshit message all the time and now you’ve created and advertised THAT abomination?? I’m - wow. I forgot why I even called.

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:23pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Okay, I remember now. I know you said you have that date tomorrow with Heidi or Melissa or Samantha or whoever is currently obsessed with you, but I really do want you at the show if you can make it. You can bring her, if you want. Actually, it might be a good test. If she hates metal, she fails. I only want the best suitors for you, Steve Harrington. Be there or I’ll be REALLY annoying about it forever.

Tuesday, October 2nd, 1991, 11:45pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Hey, it’s Steve. So, uh - I saw your show tonight. You’re probably not home yet, but I don’t know where you are. Cuz like, I tried to find you after your set but you disappeared. I hope everything’s okay. You sounded great, by the way. I mean, you all did. Remember me when you’re playing at the Garden? Oh also, I heard like three women talk about how badly they wanted you, so…I dunno, just figured you’d like to hear that. Hey, maybe you got with one of them and that’s why you’re not answering. In that case, hope you’re having fun? Okay, now it’s weird. Bye, Eds.

Wednesday, October 3rd, 12:54am

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steeeeeeeeeeeve. You absolute buffoon. You beautiful, oblivious man. Why’dya think I wanted you there’so badly t’night, Steve? T’wasn’t for the girls. Ha, girls. Yeah, okay. I may have had several alcoholic beverages, Steve-o, but you’re still the dumbass. Cuz you’d have to be an absolute idiot t’think I have any interest in those women. ‘Specially yours. Your women, I mean. Sandyyyyy. Ugh, she was perfect for you, Harrington. Juuuust perfect. So perfect I didn’t wanna stick around to see any more of it. I hope you two have beautiful children. Name one after me, will you? Uhhhh I think I might puke. So, I’m gonna go, but - but do you get what I’m saying? Do you - do you get it? Tell me you get it. Steve, I - Oh, hey Gareth. Do you wanna talk to Steve? Wait why are you - Dude, I’m FINE. I’m handling it! Stop! Gareth, don’t hang up the phone, I haven’t -!

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 9:05am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dude, did you fucking break into our apartment last night? Robin and I came home this morning and found a broken lock and some shitty note we could barely read next to the answering machine, and - what the fuck, man? You wiped the damn thing clean. Just - call me back, okay? Jesus.

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 11:36am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eddie, come on. We really need to talk. I’m not - I’m not mad, honest to God. Call me back, as soon as you get this. Got it?

Thursday, October 4th, 1991, 3:47pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

It’s movie night, but I’m assuming you won’t be here considering you’ve pulled your magic disappearing act. Thanks for that, by the way. You know you really piss me off sometimes? All the time, actually. I’m getting real tired of you constantly poking fun at me, and then you pull this breaking and entering shit and just take off? Just like that? We’ve been friends for years, Eds. You and me. But you never want to just be serious, not once in your goddamn life, and I’m over it. So, uh, thanks for that, I guess. I dunno what I did.

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:12pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

Huh. You know what? I kind of miss the old message you had. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m impossible to please, yada yada yada, and now I’m doing the avoiding with humor thing again. Shit. Uhh, hi. Listen, I’m sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth for a while. Really, really fucking sorry, if you can believe it. I was just, like, mad embarrassed, and I didn’t wanna - uh, can we meet up soon? Alone? Like, without Robin even? I know that’s - like, unheard of these days, but I figure maybe you’d make an exception for me. Or maybe you won’t. Just let me know, yeah?

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:30pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

See, I would just hop on over to your place to talk but the thing is, I’m a total chickenshit and it’s not like I did super well the last time I showed up to your place unannounced, so…Uhh, while we’re on the subject, I’m sorry about your lock. If you haven’t replaced it yet, I will. I’ll at least pay you back. In my defense, that thing was like two seconds from falling off anyway. But still. Anyway, I know you always spend Sundays at home, soooo…hellooooo? Come on. At least pick up the phone and tell me to fuck off. I know you’re listening. At least - I hope you are, anyway. Just pick up, man. I - I really gotta talk to you.

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:37pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

So, quick update, I called Henderson. He confirmed you are at home, which means you are DEFINITELY listening, and either you’re trying to punish me or a part of you still finds my piece of shit ass charming somehow. Look, I know I fucked up, but - but I can explain. Shit. I mean, I’m not good with words or anything and I’m a total asshole but I - just, please. Pick up. Pick uuuuup. Come on. Now you’re just being a dick. Ha. Figures, I’m apologizing and calling you a dick in the same message. Dude. Seriously. Your tape is gonna run out of space and then what? You stop hearing from me? I’ll find other ways to annoy you, promise. This is a threat. Steve. Steeeeve. Pick up pick up pick up pick upppp -

“Will you just shut the hell up already?”

Eddie dropped the phone and heard it clack against the floor. He would have recognized that voice anywhere.

He turned around and there he was.

“Steve, what are you -?”

“You would just be yapping on that damn answering machine my whole drive here,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why I expected any less. And, thanks to you, we had all the space in the world for you to take up, so -”

“H-how did you get in here?” Eddie stuttered.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What? You think you’re the only one who’s not afraid of breaking and entering?”

They hadn’t seen each other in five days. Hadn’t even talked, aside from a few voicemails. And those never told the whole story.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie began.

“Yeah, you should be,” Steve replied, taking a step closer to Eddie in the kitchen.

Eddie winced, his heart racing a million miles a minute. He just had to get all of the words out, while he still could. While Steve was listening.

“I left you this really stupid voicemail,” Eddie explained. “That night, after the show. I was drunk off my ass, and - and Gareth told me I’d said shit I shouldn’t have said, and then I panicked, and the two of us went to your apartment and I - well, you know the rest.” He slumped down into the chair at the dining room table, putting his head in his hands. “Which is all just so dumb. And I didn’t wanna deal with the aftermath, so…”

“So you stopped talking to me?” Steve said, taking another step closer. “Because you thought that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back in our friendship?”

Eddie shook his head. “I dunno, I -”

“You’ve done some real weird shit over the years, Munson,” Steve continued. “Sneaking into my apartment doesn’t even make the top three.”

Eddie buried his face in his hair. No amount of boyish charm would get him out of this one. Jesus H. Christ.

He sighed. “Okay, so I overreacted, what else is new?”

“I heard the voicemail, dickhead.”

Eddie’s heart went from breakneck speeds to stopping entirely.

“What?”

Steve sat down in the other seat at the table. “I heard the voicemail. It was 1am, again, so yeah I was at home.”

“I thought you would have been with Sandy,” Eddie muttered.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, Sandy was - she’s great and all, but she isn’t - she’s not -”

“So you heard the voicemail, but you weren’t home when I showed up,” Eddie noted.

“Right,” Steve said. “Because I was headed to your place.”

“What?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I just - I didn’t understand why you never told me you were queer. Like, you know I don’t care about that. You know about Robin…”

As Steve talked, Eddie realized that Steve only heard half of what that voicemail was trying to express. So, it was time for Eddie Munson to face the music.

“I didn’t tell you I’m gay because I knew that once I did, you’d figure out the rest of it,” Eddie blurted out.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “The rest of it?”

Eddie groaned. “Oh, God. See, drunk me had the right idea saying this kind of shit over an answering machine. Christ, I’m so bad at this, but I’m just gonna say it, because if I don’t I think I’ll lose my shot with you and I - I can’t deal with that. So, here we go.” He squeezed his eyes shut and powered through. “Steve, I - ha, shit. I love you, dude. I’m - I’m IN love with you. I have been since, like, forever.” He opened his eyes, but kept them fixed on their feet against the linoleum kitchen floor. “Which is, uhh, a lot, I know. But it’s the truth. So if there’s any chance -”

“Oh, my God,” Steve interrupted. His voice wasn’t angry, or scared, or anything like that. It was soft and understanding.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Wait, what are you thinking?” He looked up to see Steve staring off into the distance before meeting his gaze.

“I’m thinking,” Steve replied. “That I owe Robin twenty bucks.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and felt his heart skip back into rhythm. “You do?”

Steve nodded with a slight smile. At some point, his hand had ended up on Eddie’s knee. “Yeah, I didn’t believe her. Told her no way, not possible.”

Eddie didn’t know how to feel about this reaction. It wasn’t the worst possible response, but it certainly wasn’t Oh, Eddie! How I’ve longed for you all this time! Take me now!

A middleground, if you will.

“Oookay,” Eddie said. “Well, I don’t really know what to say now.”

“I’m queer too, ya know,” Steve continued.

"Wait, really?" Eddie balked. "Steve Harrington, ladies man?"

Steve chuckled. "Uh, yeah. Turns out, not so much," he said. "I feel like I’m pretty open about it. Guys, girls, whatever -”

“Yeah, but we all do that,” Eddie reasoned. “Me, you, and Robin all talking about how hot everyone is on our movie nights. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Except that it totally does,” Steve countered. “Because, like, what do we all have in common?"

Eddie thought about it, and he didn’t have any other defenses.

“O-okay, so you’re queer too,” Eddie said. “And the other thing I said?”

Steve took a deep breath and looked Eddie directly in his frightened eyes.

“Eds, obviously I love you too,” Steve admitted at last. “Come on, seriously? After all I’ve put up with? I’ve been waiting around for like five days for you to call, like some lovesick puppy, and the moment I heard your voice I drove here instead of picking up the phone like a normal person. I’ve got it so bad for you that Robin is sick of it, and honestly, I’m sick of it too, because I hate having feelings. It blows, dude. I swear to God, if you try to bolt again when things get tough -”

Eddie lunged forward and cut Steve’s words off with a kiss. Their first kiss, even if it didn’t feel that way. Eddie had cupped Steve’s cheek in the past while he teased him. Steve had curled his fingers in Eddie’s hair in the past the night Robin taught him how to braid. Eddie and Steve had all kinds of physical contact in various ways over the years, and it was as if all of that was just practice for this.

Eddie broke away from Steve’s lips purely out of necessity, because he needed to catch his breath. “Okay, woah,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Woah.”

Everything changed after that. But also, nothing changed at all.

Tuesday, October 16th, 1991, 4:12pm

“Hey, this is Eddie Munson’s phone. Leave a message and I’ll call ya back.”

Hi, Eds. Okay, I was wrong. This new message you have is, like, super boring. Anyway, I’ll see you at the show tonight, Rockstar. Love you.

I did have a taglist way back when but the tagging system is super annoying on tumblr, so please reblog this if you liked it and follow me or my Ao3 for other works! Masterlist is the pinned post on my page for those interested. Thanks for reading!

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #writing #st fanfic

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bumpkinbayouthief · 18 days ago

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🂱 › Oh, Christmas Tree .

The holiday season can be hectic but nothing helps more than spending the day with your Cajun partner picking out and decorating your tree.

pairing : remy x reader a/n : my first actual fic on here and just in time for Christmas! while this is Christmas centric I did try mention a few of the other holidays celebrated this month. I hope you enjoy <3 ps was too tired to edit so any mistakes you see . . no you don’t

Remy Lebeau had never been a fan of the cold that took over upstate New York in the winter months, but he would always bear it just to see that smile on your face.

Unlike your Cajun lover, you loved the winter time, especially the first snowfall of winter, when that delicate white blanket would cover the mansion lawns and dust your hair whenever you walked outside.

There was always an excited energy that would settle in the mansion around the beginning of November and would only pick up its intensity the closer it got to the twenty-fifth. You fully embraced the holiday festivities, including the students of the mansion in them. You did your best to sprinkle some instruction time but by the time December first rolled around, you were in full celebration mode.

You knew it was important to these kids, many of whom would be missing families that had kicked them out due to their powers manifesting or simply sent them to this mansion for their safety and education. Whatever the circumstances were, you were determined to make the month enjoyable for everyone.

You tackled decorating the monster of a mansion, recruiting many of your students to help with the small bribe of extra credit. You made sure every holiday was represented alongside the traditional Christmas decor you remembered from your youth. Blue and silver decor was hung and proudly showcased alongside a Menorah that you had picked out with help from the students who celebrated Hanukkah. One of your students even taught you about Kwanza and helped you decorate and area in the mansion that they could use to celebrate and show their friends the December holiday that they celebrated.

And Remy, your dear Remy, was supportive the whole time. He climbed tall ladders to adjust garland and lights, even climbed up on the roof with Kurt to help make the mansion shine outside just as beautifully as you had made the inside.

But when the time finally came to get a tree for the room you shared with the red eyed mutant, it was a bit harder for him to keep his grumbling to himself.

You walked in front of him down the path between the rows of Christmas trees. The snow under your feet crunches with each step of your boots.

He watches as you study each tree, trying to pick the perfect one. He would find it more endearing if he wasn’t so focused on keeping his teeth from chattering loud enough for you to hear. No matter how many northern winters he went through, he still never full acclimated.

He pulled his trenchcoat tighter to his body, hands stuffed in his pockets and he can’t help the little sigh of relief that escapes when he sees you stop and turn to him with a huge grin. You proudly stated that this was the one. The way your face lit up made his almost briefly forget the bitter cold nipping at his nose.

“Dis th’ one you wan’ Chere?”

“Oh it’s perfect Remy, its going to look so cute in our room!”

You grabbed his hand and waved down one of the workers. Once your beloved tree was brought to your car, Remy got to work securing it in the truck bed. He strapped it down with ease and you couldn’t help but stand and watch the show, especially when the sweater he wore rode up just a smidge and gave you a view of his toned stomach.

The sound of him hopping down from the truck bed brought you out of your little world you had sunk into.

“Alright, let’s get you out of the cold my little Cajun.”

That got you a smile out of him as he pulled you in close and pressed a kiss to your lips. His arm slipped around your waist and he guided you to the passenger side and opened up the door for you.

His arm slid away and took your hand, helping you up into the cab of the truck before he made sure your coat was completely inside and closed the door.

Back home, Remy wrestled the tree up the stairs and into your shared room. With your guidance, he set it up in the perfect spot, right in front of one of the windows, far enough from the fireplace to limit the risk of it catching on fire.

While you focused on fiddling with perfecting the branches of the tree, Remy drew out one of the playing cards that he always carried in his pockets. Purple sparks jumped from his fingertips, charging the card before tossing it amongst the wood in the fireplace. The charge went off, flames erupting and a fire filling the room with warmth.

You can’t help the chuckle that escaped your lips as you shook your head.

“Show off.”

He sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes of Christmas decor, the soft sound of Christmas tunes filling the air accompanied by the crackle of the fire. It was your first Christmas together as a couple and while you had done this for years, it was his first time seeing these decorations.

He dug through the boxes, looking at each ornament with intrigue in his red eyes. Old glass icicles and candy canes, ornaments clearly made by a much younger you all made the sight of the whole scene rather endearing and if he was honest, completely foreign to himself.

The lavish decoration you put out around the mansion was what reminded him of his youth. A mansion like this one, decorated perfectly full of things that he and his brother Henri were told not to touch.

You turned when your outstretched hand was left empty for a bit, used to him handing you ornaments at a steady rhythm as you placed them all over the tree. You noticed he was sitting there staring at an ornament you had made back in kindergarten with a tiny school picture of 5 year old you in the center of it.

You quietly walked over, crouching down beside him, not wanting to break the quiet that had surrounded him.

His own red eyes looked up and found yours, a small loving smile coming over his features.

“How old were you in dis?” he asked you.

“I was in kindergarten, so five,” you replied fondly, reminiscing on the memory of your parents always happily putting up the ornaments you made, each year the newest one going front and center. “Did you ever make ornaments when you were little?”

He glanced away, looking back down at the delicate keepsake of your childhood. Eventually he shook his head.

“Didn’t have a home till I was ten an’ den wit’ my pop, he let a decorator deck ou’ th’ house.”

Your reaction was mixed as you struggled to balance the emotions this brought out in you. On one hand, you were excited that he had shared something from his past with you. It didn’t happen that often so these little peeks were always special, but it also was bittersweet as you took in the sadness that coated the edges of the memory.

How could something so warm as the holidays have such a layer of frost over it? But soon an idea came to mind. You got to your feet and quickly crossed the room to the closet you and Remy shared.

The red eyed devil watched you with curiosity as you dug around in the walk in closet, finally emerging with your craft tote.

“Chere?”

You set the tote down and sat down beside him. You opened the tote and pulled out various things.

“We’re making you an ornament.” You declared.

He was a bit floored, seeing the adorable determination in your features as you spread the various craft supplies out onto the floor. This small gesture from you had him smiling while he leaned over and gently kissed you.

“Merci chere.”

You always surprised him with how well you knew how to show him your love.

So for a brief intermission in the decorating, you sat with him, making the homemade decoration. He had chosen to make a snowglobe one, using fun scrapbooking paper and stickers you had. Once done, you found one of the polaroids you had of the two of you and helped him stick it in the middle.

“Oh Remy! It’s perfect,” you exclaimed, standing up and taking his hand in yours. “Come on, let’s hang it on the tree!”

He smiled and took your hand. Standing up, he let you drag him to the Christmas tree. He took the ornament and decided on a spot in the center near the top. The soft, warm glow of the lights surrounded the decoration commemorating your first holiday season together.

You stood and leaned into his side, a happy and content smile on your features. You felt his arm wrap around you and pull you close as you two basked in the warmth of holiday cheer that filled the room.

It was the sudden cold chill that broke the bubble and Remy snuck his fingers under the hem of your sweater, his ice cold fingers seeking out the warmth of your skin. It caused you to squeal and try to get away from him but that only made him tighten his cold grip.

His laughter surrounded you, mixing with your own squeal and giggles as his fingers slipped to the front, resting on the soft skin of your tummy, stealing the warmth. He pul;led you flush against his chest, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“God your fingers are like icicles!”

“Dat’s wha’ you get fo’ draggin me ou’ into th’ cold petite.”

You got him to finally let go with the promise of hot chocolate and cuddles in front of the fire. So in the kitchen you made two cups of warm hot chocolate, slipping in a bit of peppermint liqueur and topping it with fluffy marshmallows.

You walked back in, seeing him already stretched out on the small loveseat that faced the crackling fire.

“Your coffee darling,” you said with a smile, handing off the mug to him.

He smiled and opened up the blanket. You climbed in with him, settling down and laying back against his chest, his legs framing your body. He pulled the blanket over you two, creating a warm cocoon neither of you planned to leave soon.

As with the warmth of the hot cocoa filling his stomach and the glow of your Christmas tree filled the room, Remy knew that this Christmas would be one of his favorites.

love, elizabeth

[ center image i found on pinterest but the artist is dan veesenmeyer | other images were found on pinterest | divider credit: @/strangergraphics ]

#✎ ・ beth writes #🂱 ・ remy lebeau #remy lebeau #gambit #gambit xmen #remy lebeau x reader #remy lebeau x you #gambit x reader #✎ ・ beth writes

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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Kurt fucking you in the back of his spree my beloved <3

Always sets a towel down for you because if he’s gonna cum inside you, and eat you out till you squirt, the least he can do is make sure it’s sanitary for his passengers. Kurt will lick most of the mess up. Just at least him him record you licking the mess he can’t reach off of his face. Your mess, while he’s red and panting and his tongue is fuzzy out of his mouth. (He may even have a million recordings from his dash cam, of him and you fucking in every available position in that Prius)

holy shit.

this post is 18+, minors dni.

"Look at this," Kurt breathes, chest heaving with deep breaths as an after-effect of his orgasm, "You're- god, you're full. You're leaking."

"Kurt," You whimper, hips squirming in sensitivity as your cunt remembers the feeling of Kurt's hard cock dragging against its insides, "Please, just do something!"

"I will," He croons, angling his camera closer towards your dripping pussy, spreading his free hand over your stomach, "I will, babe, just- wow."

You're sure your cunt is a sight, sticky and dripping with obscene amounts of Kurt's cum. He cums hard, he cums fast, and he cums a lot. You're almost worried he'll wait to eat it out of you until he's regained a proper breathing pattern, but you know he'd rather suffocate in your pussy than hold himself back from it.

"Here," He sets the camera on the center console, turning it to face him as he hikes your thighs up over his shoulders, "Sorry, babe, I just- I had to get a good shot."

"Mhm," You nod, watching him with desperate eyes as he adjusts your positioning, teeth digging into your lip, "Quick, Kurt, please!"

"On it," He mumbles, nose bumping your clit as he dives in. His tongue presses flat to your slit, collecting the smears of his own cum that had oozed out from between your lips. It puts pressure against your slit that only makes you ache more for penetration, reigniting a slowly dying fire from after he'd pulled out.

"Oh my- god!" You gasp, hips jerking upwards into his face and thighs squeezing his head. His tongue prods sharply in through your slit, a gush of his cum mixed with your slick pouring onto his tongue. He nearly chokes on it, teeth scraping your clit and jolting it with a zing of electricity where his face had been unceremoniously smashed into your cunt.

He whimpers against your warm, wet cunt, the sound reverberating around your insides in a vibration that shakes you to your core. You're shamelessly squeezing his head with your thighs now, and you're not sure he can breathe, but you are sure he doesn't care whether he can or not. He's happy, and he'll want 'died eating pussy' on his tombstone.

Needy, rampant moans flow from your throat with all the grace of a man on fire, but that's exactly how you feel, Kurt's tongue dragging a trail of heat from just below your ass to the hood of your clit. You're not sure if it's the leftover high from when he'd cum, the sound of his release squelching inside of you as he tongues it, or the way that he whines into your pussy, but maybe it's a combination of all three that makes you squirt.

The feeling of your cum splattering his face doesn't deter Kurt, it might even make him more eager. He cleans you up until your legs tremble, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

"Kurt," You beg, tugging on his hair, "Please, please too- too much!'

"I'm not done," He begs, tongue sweeping a glob of cum off of your inner thigh, "Please, just- just a little more!"

"I can't-!" You cry out when he dips his tongue back between your folds one last time, lapping up the last smear of cum from inside of you and leaving you a sticky, drooly mess.

"Sit up," He urges you, slipping his hands behind your back and making sure you're in the camera's line of sight, "And- and clean me up, babe."

He takes your chin in his hands, tilting it so that you're slack-jawed and panting only inches from his face. When you arch upwards and drag your tongue along his cum-stained chin he moans, a similarly sticky tongue on display as his jaw drops.

You lick him clean with a series of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that eventually land on his tongue, gathering the sheen of slick that lays on its surface and smearing it between your own tongue and his.

He lets it transition into a sloppy kiss, all drool and tongue and teeth until your lips are bitten raw and spit seeps down your lips.

It's only when you break away to slump your forehead onto his face and breathe that he remembers the camera, reaching for it and showcasing the shine of your spit on his chin.

"Love you," He murmurs, positioning the camera in his lap so that it gets a shot of your sweat-beaded, fucked-out face.

You nod, lips stinging and slick with drool, eyes drooping shut as you breathe, "Love you too, Kurt."

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