#sage Harrington

[sagesolsticewrites]

religion's in your lips, the altar is my hips

in which Steve takes care of you after a bad day

- including but not limited to: praise kink, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), Steve lowkey being a service dom 👀

(this is. very self-indulgent. very veryyyyyy self-indulgent. you have been warned <3)

a/n: huuuge shoutout to @upsidedownwithsteve's (aka Emmy, Queen of Smutty Sunday <3) most recent smutty Sunday event for giving me inspiration to write my very first smutty fic! Obligatory disclaimer that yes, this is my very first smut fic ever, I am an ✨asexual virgin✨ please manage expectations accordingly, yada yada yada. Also so many hugs to my bestie Kenz @fangirl-imagines for looking this over before I posted it ☺️ Kenzie has some incredible fics, go support her y'all!

Word count: 2870

Warnings: THIS IS SMUT. MINORS BEGONE. 🔞

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

You let yourself into your apartment with a sigh, shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit as you step over the threshold into your home and finally toe off your heels.

Bypassing the darkened kitchen and empty living room, you open the door to your bedroom, where you knew you’d find a shirtless Steve in the middle of his post-work ritual of playing some game on his computer.

He looks up as you enter, face brightening with a smile as he greets you.

“Hey baby, how was—”

In lieu of an answer, you flop face first onto the bed with a groan.

You can hear the smile fade from his voice as he hisses sympathetically, “That bad, huh?”

You lift your chin so it’s propped up on the pillow as you explain your terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.

“You know that project that Marie was working on? She asked me for help on it, and I gave her some pointers, but she said she still wasn’t really understanding it so I ended up having to do all of it for her. And she’ll probably take all the credit for it, too.” You grumble, rolling your eyes, “And we had that meeting with our new clients, and my boss basically volun-told me to take notes for it, even though that’s really the liason’s job, and then she criticized me for not taking as detailed notes as Lauren even though that’s literally Lauren’s job! And she was there, she could’ve taken the notes, I don’t even—”

You shake your head in exasperation, shifting topics, “And then I didn’t even have time for lunch because Sara wanted me to help train the interns, and…” You end your rant with a groan, letting your face drop back into the pillow. “‘M just. So tired.”

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice turns soft as the pillow underneath your head, and he gets up from his spot at the desk to climb onto the bed, pulling you into his arms.

You curl into him instinctively, your head finding that space in the crook of his neck that feels like it was made for you personally, one hand coming up to toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, tracing patterns along the freckles and moles dotted along his skin.

“What can I do to help, honey?” Your boyfriend asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Jus’ wanna… I dunno, just. Stop.” You mumble against his shoulder, shrugging and curling further into him.

He hums in understanding, grabbing the hand that’s currently drawing invisible hearts around the moles near his collarbone and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

“You’ve been doing so much for everyone today,” he murmurs, voice layered with understanding and adoration as he leans in and peppers tiny kisses over your forehead, your nose, your eyelids, and you relax even more as his voice washes over you, “Worked so hard.”

He pulls you closer, scattering kisses all over as you finally release all the tension you’ve been holding, letting out a sigh and shifting in his arms to face him. You don’t realize you’re straddling him until you’re pressed nearly flush against him, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

His lips brush over every part of your face, down to your neck and then back up as you become putty in his hands, murmuring soft words of praise to you the whole time.

“You just need to stop working now, huh? Need to stop thinking,” His lips draw a path to your ear, where he whispers, “need to let someone else do all the work, huh, baby?”

A shiver runs down your spine, constantly in awe of the power just his voice has over you. His hand settles on your hip, a comforting, grounding weight while his other hand brushes a strand of hair back from your forehead. His lips work their way back down over your cheek, stopping to hover just over yours, mouths brushing together as he murmurs in a voice like silk, “Is that what you want, honey? Want me to take care of you?”

Warm chocolate eyes meet yours, soft, caring, always ensuring he has your consent before he does anything.

At your near-imperceptible nod, he drags his hand up to cup your chin, thumb dragging along your bottom lip.

“Need your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes,” you breathe, and that’s all the confirmation he needs to surge up and capture your lips with his.

As you brace yourself on his shoulders, his hands move to the thin strip of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up. Your kisses become hungrier, ignoring your need for oxygen in favor of Steve’s plush, kiss-swollen lips, and he slowly drags up the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss briefly to get your permission.

At your eager nod, your shirt is off and tossed to some corner of the room, his mouth eagerly on yours once more.

You can feel exactly how much he’s enjoying this through his sweats, and you instinctively begin to rock in his lap, dragging your increasingly damp core over his.

His hands grip your hips, the familiar feeling sending a thrill through you… but rather than guiding your movements like he normally would, he holds them still.

You pull away, brow furrowed, but before you can voice your confusion, he flips you onto your back, moving to hover over you in one smooth movement.

“I told you,” he murmurs against your lips in a tone that sends a pulse of scorching heat to your core, “I’m doing all the work, sweetheart.”

The whimper you let out is muffled by his lips on yours once more, his wandering hands and hungry kisses making short work of turning you into a moaning, gasping mess.

“Steve,” you whine out his name as his lips travel down to your neck, and you can feel his smile against the hollow of your throat before he returns to licking and sucking dark patches into your skin, the occasional use of his teeth making delicious shivers shoot up your spine.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He mumbles against your skin, trailing his lips along your collarbone. His eyes meet yours, a mischievous twinkle mixed with the searing heat in them turning you molten as he asks, “What do you need?”

Unable to find the words, your hand finds his hair instead — God, that hair — and begins pushing him down towards where you really want him.

“‘M gettin’ there, honey, I promise,” he grins, pausing your efforts to press a kiss to the valley between your breasts, “Lemme take my time and I promise it’ll be worth it, ok?”

He reaches up to toy with the strap of your bra— a simple nude thing you could get away with wearing under a white shirt at work— a questioning look in his eyes answered by a furious nod from you.

He makes short work of the clasp, and that really should not be as hot as it is, but— oh who are you kidding, even his breathing is insanely hot right now.

You throw your head back as he presses kisses all over your chest, mumbling against your skin the whole time about how pretty you are, just gorgeous sweetheart, God, I can’t believe I get to do this for you…

Your head goes deliciously fuzzy with the praise, and you can’t quite form words so all you can do when he takes your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it for good measure, is let out a keening “Ohhh” and instinctively tighten your grip on his hair.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Steve groans, the noise sending heat racing through your body, and you grin knowing you were the one to elicit it, “You sound fucking incredible.” He murmurs more praise as he turns his attention to your other nipple, giving it just as much attention and eliciting more gasps and moans and whines from you before he continues his journey south.

You lift your head and watch as Steve Harrington fucking beams when he reaches your stomach, your pouch poking out slightly more than you’d like over the waistband of your jeans.

He meets your eyes, his own swimming with sincerity as he begins to scatter kisses over your midsection.

“You”

Kiss

“Are”

Kiss

“Fucking”

Kiss

“Stunning”

Kiss

When it seems like he’s covered every single inch of your exposed skin in kisses, remaining stubbornly focused on your torso when what you really want is for him to be significantly lower, he meets your eyes as he plays with the waistband of your jeans, once again wordlessly asking your permission.

And once again, your furious nodding is all the consent he needs to peel your jeans off and toss them away.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, wide eyes on where your jeans once were, “Honey. Baby. Are you trying to kill me?” He says in a strangled voice at the sight of your simple lacy panties in a deep, wine-purple color— a color Steve once drunkenly confessed was his favorite, though he told anyone who asked he preferred red.

You bite your lip in an attempt to contain your grin, “I thought you might like those.”

“Like them?” He murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your inner thigh, looking up through lidded eyes to meet your gaze as his own darkens, “I never wanna see you in anything else again.”

Your toes curl, and your breaths become shallow in anticipation as he scatters slow kisses all along your inner thighs, carefully spreading them apart, stopping when he gets to the edge of the purple lace.

He holds your gaze, gauging your reaction as instead of pulling them down over your hips to toss to yet another corner of the room, he simply…

Pulls.

The lace.

To the side.

You barely have time to let out a quiet, shaky, “Oh my God,” at the ravenous look on Steve’s face before his mouth is on you and you forget how to think, you forget how to breathe, you forget everything except Steve.

Let it be known: Steve Harrington knew how to eat a girl out.

He licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him, his current strategy both too much and not enough.

He pauses just long enough to meet your eyes, pressing a single kiss to your clit that sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine, before diving in.

His tongue finds your entrance with ease, the way his nose pushes through the thatch of wiry hair to nudge at your clit providing extra stimulation as he makes short work of making you fall apart. His tongue swirls through your folds as he lets out a languid moan at your taste.

“So fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your core, “So perfect, lettin’ me take care of you. This is all you needed, huh?” His eyes flick up to meet yours as you shudder and moan underneath him, struggling to keep your eyes on him.

He licks another languid path through your folds, savoring your taste, before continuing, his voice muffled as he licks and sucks at your entrance “Jus’ needed me to give you a break, needed me to tell you it’s okay to turn off your brain and jus’—” Steve punctuates his last words by wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking gently “—be a good girl for me.”

The combination of stimulation to your clit and Steve’s words has your hips arching off the bed, despite your boyfriend’s best efforts to keep you still. You can feel him grin against you and let out a dark chuckle at the moan you let out at his last words in particular, the way your hand tightens and pulls at his hair all the evidence he needs.

Still, he asks you, though he doesn’t quite expect a coherent response.

“Aw, sweetheart. You like it when I call you a good girl? You like bein’ a good girl for me?” He purrs in a voice like syrup, lips still brushing your folds.

“Fuck, I— yes, Stevie,” you whine brokenly, gently gripping his hair in an attempt to bring him closer to where you want him, whimpering softly, “Stevie please.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmurs, scattering kisses frustratingly just outside your core, “Jus’ trust me, I gotcha.”

You resist the urge to move, to just grab him and put him where you want him, even as you let out a frustrated whine.

Just as your patience is about to run out, you feel him smirk against you before diving back in, holding your legs apart as he sloppily licks and sucks at your entrance, his tongue diving deep inside you.

You let out a gasping moan as he attacks your core, practically clawing at his hair in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer, your brain going fuzzy and then melting entirely when you hear the endless praise falling from his lips as he eats you out.

“So good for me sweetheart, just perfect— shit, do you have any idea how good you taste?” He groans against you, his thumb coming up to gently circle your clit as his other hand moves to splay flat over your hips, holding you as still as he can, “Could do this all fuckin’ day, god you’re amazing sweetheart—”

Then he clamps his lips around your clit and moans, and you’re fairly certain you’re going to die of pleasure, both your hands flying to grip his hair and yank as your back arches off the bed, your head falling back against the pillows, mouth open to let out a high, keening moan.

When you come back to your body, Steve is back to gently licking through your folds, and your hands claw at him, needing him to be closer.

“Steve,” you whine, “Stevie please, ‘m so close, I jus’— I need— please, baby.”

As your words turn into incoherent moans and pleas, Steve is quick to assure you, thumb returning to playing with your clit as he mumbles against you, “I know, honey, I know what you need and ‘m gonna give it to you, I promise. Been so good for me today, taken such good care of everyone, now it’s your turn, ‘m gonna make you feel so, so fuckin’ good, baby—”

He dives into you once more, thumb rhythmically circling your clit as his tongue hits every spot inside you in a pattern that has you turning to liquid underneath him, your legs hooking together behind his back to keep him right there, and your vision goes white as Steve brings you towards your release.

You let out a cry as you hit your climax, and Steve dutifully guides you through your orgasm, murmuring soft praises the whole time.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs as he pulls away, mouth glistening and pupils dilated wide. Your hand cards through his soft brown waves, chest heaving as you catch your breath. Steve brushes gentle kisses to your inner thigh, your hipbone, your stomach, following a path up to capture your lips with his own, swallowing the contented sigh you let out.

He pulls away, meeting your gaze with a smile as he pecks your nose.

“Feelin’ better?”

You hum contentedly, “Much.” Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek as you pointedly glance down, “What about you?”

Steve lets out a mock-annoyed groan, forehead coming down to rest on your shoulder.

“Baby, we just went over the whole thing about you not needing to take care of everyone.”

He lifts his head, meeting your gaze, “Seriously, though,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, rolling to lay next to you and pulling you into his chest, “I’m fine. This was about you, and I’m so glad I could help take care of you for once.”

You cup his cheek, turning his face to yours. You hope he can see every sincere, tender thought in your expression as you simply say, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. You know that.” He murmurs in response, lips quirking up into a small smile as he turns to press a quick kiss to your palm.

“So,” he says, fingers stroking through your hair, nudging your eyes closed, “nap time and then appetizer dinner? We’ve got mozzarella sticks and some chicken tenders I can throw in the oven.”

You grin, despite already being half-asleep, “That sounds perfect.”

You can feel his smile as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most.”

“I love you infinity.”

“I love you infinity plus one”

“I love you—”

“Alright, let’s call it a tie, babe.”

Tagging a couple friends! Hi besties @austin-butlers-gf @sassy-ahsoka-tano @dontbesussis

[springtyme]

I wanted to write a little smutty oneshot and now I'm 10k into it and haven't even begun writing the smut yet... 🙃

(it’s childhood friends to lovers, how juicy and yummy)

Edit: it’s posted

[2btheanswertothequestion]

Burning Sage (a.k.a. the Spicy Six go camping)

Part Deux

It begins with Steve and almost ends with Robin, because every time he brings it up she’s quick to respond with a resounding “nope!”

It doesn’t matter how sneaky he is about it. Nor does it matter how long her day has been or how exhausted she is. He can handle both their clean-up duties after their shift. He can ply her with pop and homebaked muffins. He can carry her dozing, dead weight from his car and up to her bedroom – the answer remains. And yes, she loves him. She loves him a lot, probably more than she loves, has loved, or will ever love anyone else.

But she won’t endure blisters and black flies for anyone, not even him. No way.

So, whenever he starts talking about camping, or hiking, or – god forbid – fishing, she’s quick to shoot it down. They’ll argue about it, and he’ll grumble and pout, but she stands firm every time. She successfully holds down the fort for over half a year.

And then.

It happens on a Wednesday afternoon. Business is slow, the only customers two eighth-grade girls whispering in the comedy section and one Eddie Munson up by the checkout. Although, the jury’s out if Eddie counts as a customer. Most of the time he only shows up to talk for a few hours (“enriching your work environment!” says he; “being a fucking nuisance,” says Steve). He’s been regaling them with a tale of how the kiddies utterly failed all their rolls and almost got eaten by a something-or-other because they couldn’t make a fire when Steve gets that wistful look in his eyes.

Here it comes.

Cub scouts. Nature. Knots and s'mores. The taste of wilderness and sound of fresh air. She could stop him already, but if she’ll refuse to tag along the least she can do is let him reminisce about it. It is pretty endearing, the way he lights up, words tumbling out and hands waving with excitement. Were she weaker…

But no. Black flies. Blisters. No way.

“...and it’s the best feeling in the world,” Steve says to Eddie.

Eddie stands draped over the polished countertop, curls spilling past his shoulders and an easy smile on his face. His eyes are glazed, though not with boredom or disinterest. Rather the opposite.

“I haven’t done it in ages,” Steve continues. “I’ve been wanting to! It’s just that it’s not the same thing, doing it alone. But Robin’s not into it, and I never even asked my high school friends since, uh, you know.”

Steve sighs and rests his forearms on the counter. It brings his face closer to Eddie’s, whose eyes grow hazier and ribcage heaves deeper. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Robin would've laughed at him because of it, if her gut hadn't screamed that something terrible is about to happen.

“You wouldn’t be interested, would you?” Steve asks Eddie with a dry tone, like he isn’t really asking because he already knows the answer.

Except Eddie nods, still smiling. Robin’s breath stutters and her gut shrieks as he says, “Yeah.”

Steve gapes. “Wait, really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“HAH!”

Steve slaps his palm against the counter, leaving a smudged print on the wood and making Eddie flinch and reel out of whatever daydream he was stuck in. Steve doesn’t notice as he whips toward Robin. “You see?” he says. “Eddie gets it!”

Robin rolls her eyes but swallows her retort, because the two girls are approaching. They’ve been in here before – many times, in fact – and the last time she tried to serve them instead of letting Steve do it, she was on the receiving end of twin glares during the entire transaction. Whatever. She grabs Eddie by the jacket sleeve and pulls him out of the way.

“You’re a damn traitor, you know that?” she hisses.

Eddie shrugs. “In my defense, he’s hard to say ‘no’ to.”

“He’s literally the easiest person ever to say ‘no’ to.”

“Maybe for you, with your rock heart pumping ice through your veins!”

She rolls her eyes at him, too. “You’re actually going through with this?”

Eddie hesitates only so long it takes him to steal a glimpse of Steve, who's politely ignoring how the girls flutter their lashes and stick their little chests out. Doesn't seem like they'll go further this time either, which is a shame. Robin needs to witness them once they finally gather the courage to ask him out – she’ll take great schadenfreude in their rejection, and she won’t be ashamed about it.

Turning back to her, Eddie nods. “Yeah. Why not? He wants it, and… it’s camping. How hard can it be?”

And that’s how Robin gets roped into a three-day camping trip. Because what else is she supposed to do? Let them go alone? The woods are dangerous! The last time she took her eyes off either of them in the wild, they both ended up strangled and nearly eaten. Also, what would she do in the meantime? Wait for them to come back?

No way.

— ⛺ — ⛺ — ⛺ —

Jonathan isn’t entirely sure why Steve is there. Will and El are out, so it can’t be to pick them up or drop someone else off. His mom was clearly expecting Steve, though, and now she’s rattling away in the kitchen cabinets while Steve hovers in the living room and makes awkward small talk with Argyle. The news anchor is giving a semi-interesting update on the situation in Chernobyl, so Jonathan opts to focus on that, bestowing a mere half-ear to the conversation in the room. He barely catches when Steve says something about a camping trip and Argyle responds with a drawled “camping is awesome, brochacho!”

“You want to come with?” Steve asks, ripping Jonathan from the weather report because, hang on now, what was that?

Argyle and Steve have both turned to Jonathan with open, questioning expressions. He darts between them as he tries to untangle his own tongue. Camping trip? Camping trip? Jonathan has never gone camping before, unless staying the night in Castle Byers counts (it doesn’t). Camping is for people with time to spare and money to spend on equipment. And that means the nice equipment, the waterproof kind that’s too thick to tear after a single use.

“Uh,” he says. “Um, I guess, yeah?”

Argyle smiles his relaxed and late-summer-warm smile, nodding his approval. Steve’s face, however, erupts into a million-watt floodlight-beam. He lets them in on the plans: who else is going, where they’re going, what they’re bringing, that they’re leaving early on the 24th and driving back before noon on the 26th so no one will be missing any possible Memorial Day celebrations, and and and and and-

And Jonathan is going camping for three days with Steve Harrington. What the fuck.

He thumps his head against the sofa’s backrest, begging for the world to stop spinning and make sense again.

“I’m not sure how,” he tells Nancy the next day as they lie sprawled on her bed, she reading and he drawing lines along the patterns of her sweater, “but I’m going to go camping with Steve in two weeks.”

Despite everything, he is going. He’d tried finding a reason not to, but when he asked his mom if she surely didn’t need him to be home during Memorial weekend she told him no and that he should enjoy himself. “You can bring your camera,” she’d said. “I bet the woods at Everdusk are much prettier than ours.”

“You too?” Nancy says, flipping a page of her magazine. “Robin said she dodged it for ages, but then Eddie agreed and she felt forced to go.”

“And then Argyle agreed and I felt forced.” He rolls on top of her, burrowing his face between her shoulder blades until she grunts. “Will you come too? I don’t know if I’ll survive without you.”

“Robin said that, too.” She sighs, puts the magazine down, and wriggles around so they’re face to face. “Camping just isn’t my thing,” she says, as if it’s even remotely Jonathan’s thing either. “I didn’t go back whenever Steve and I were dating. Going now feels strange.”

“Why is it strange? It won't just be the two of you – it’s a group thing.”

“Why not let it be a bonding experience for you boys? And Robin.”

“Nance, you don’t understand. Steve will be there.”

“Oh, yeah.” Nancy nods and knits her eyebrows into mock seriousness. “Very audacious of him to be at the camping trip he’s organizing.”

He laughs. “You know what I mean. He’ll be there, and he’ll have Robin and Eddie, whom I don’t know at all, and I’ll have Argyle. I need you there for balance.”

“What if I go rogue and create a third faction with Robin?”

“We’d still be balanced.”

Nancy heaves a sigh. “Look,” she says, pushing him off whilst grabbing for her magazine, nearly slipping down the bedspread. “I just really don’t want to go camping, okay?”

“Guess that makes three of us.”

Her painted lips twist into an almost-smile. She’s about to speak when a bang sounds from downstairs. She snaps towards her closed door, like a hound catching scent; her shoulders tense and jaw clenches as the noise is followed by voices – Mike’s and maybe Dustin’s? – shouting. Amongst the muffled screams, Karen calls for Nancy to “please come down and help”.

Nancy’s entire face clenches – jaw, mouth, eyes – whilst she rubs at her temples with her middle and pointer fingers. A groan slithers out her mouth. Jonathan sits, offering his hand to pull her with.

“You know,” he says. “There won’t be any little brothers in the forest.”

She glares at him, though her heart’s not in it, and then they both rush downstairs to face the ruckus.

— ⛺ — ⛺ — ⛺ —

“How did I end up here?”

Eddie folds his hands behind his head and stares at the ceiling. There used to be a poster there above the bed, but it’s since been ripped off, the tape taking flakes of paint with it and leaving beige spots in the white ceiling. He can’t remember what kind of poster it was.

“Depends on what ‘here’ is,” Jeff says without looking up from his acoustic. He strums experimentally, and shakes his head at the resulting sound. “My house? You drove.”

“How did I end up being the kind of person who goes camping with Steve Harrington?”

“Luck? Destiny? I’ve no idea, man.” Jeff goes back to plucking scales. “You know I don’t like existential questions – they’ve got no clear answer.”

Eddie scrunches his nose. “I hate the outdoors.”

“So don’t go?”

“But I like spending time with Steve, and Robin. And Nancy, apparently? And I do want to get to know Jonathan and his pattern-christened compatriot.”

“Okay.” Jeff positions the guitar back on its stand, then leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes are gaining that same sharpness as when he’s considering his choices, weighing them on an invisible scale. When DMing, Eddie quite likes that sharpness; right now the hollows of his knees are starting to get clammy. “What do you want from me here? Tell you to go? Not to go? Go and how to survive slash not make a fool out of yourself? What do you need?”

“I don’t know!” Eddie throws his hands into the air. “I’m digesting!”

Jeff hums. Goddamnit, Eddie should’ve gone to Gareth instead. Gareth would’ve let him complain for an hour tops and then thrown something at his head with a “suck it up and shut up”. He would not have tried to help solve the problem (the not-problem – there is no problem). Because Gareth is considerate like that, unlike Jeff, the bastard.

“Why did you agree to do this?” Jeff asks. “And don’t say it’s because you want to hang out with them – you already do. Constantly. Us guys have actually started to feel a little bit replaced.” He cocks his head askew, adding softly: “It’s kinda hurtful, you know?”

It’s instinctual, how Eddie rolls off the bed so fast he nearly brains himself on the side table. His knees thunk against the carpet and then he’s crawling up to Jeff on all fours. He grabs Jeff’s hand, and Jeff lets it be grabbed, fingers curling around Eddie’s.

“Don’t say that! Jeff, don’t ever say that! I could never- you had my back for years, whenever no one else would, okay?” His eyes bore into Jeff’s as he squeezes his hand. “Nothing can replace that. We’re still the same, yeah? I’m yours and you’re mine. It’s just that, lately I’ve needed… ”

“I know.” Jeff waves his free hand in the air. “Whatever went down in March, you need to work it through. With them.”

“I will tell you about it, sometime,” Eddie says but doesn’t quite promise. He isn’t yet sure it’d be a good idea for them to know, now, later, or ever.

He doesn’t have to promise, though, because Jeff is already smiling, placated.

“All right. So. Why did you agree-”

He interrupts himself with a chuckle as Eddie spins around and faceplants on the bed, groaning into the unwashed mattress. It really was a bad idea to talk to Jeff. To be a problem-solver is one thing, but to be so relentless about it, too? It’s rude.

“It was just…” The words come out muffled; Eddie slides his face down an inch to release them. A stray feather sticking out of the down comforter ends up poking him in the cheek. “He was so excited about it. You should’ve seen him! He kept looking at me with these eyes and my brain went frtzz.” He wiggles his fingers by his temple to illustrate. “Next thing I know, I’ve pledged to spend one of my treasured three-day weekends in the wilderness.”

“I get it.”

Eddie looks over his shoulder at Jeff, who’s picked up the guitar again and started playing the intro to Electric Funeral. The feather pokes his ear now. “You do?”

“Yeah. I’m not into dudes, but he’s got this, like, guy-prettiness to him? I’d definitely agree to doing something stupid just ‘cause a hot chick suggested it.”

Eddie grunts in reply. Plucking the feather from the comforter, he starts pulling off the barbs while Jeff plays. Finishing the first verse, Jeff’s eyes flicker from the fret to meet Eddie’s.

“So, did you want survival advice?”

Eddie snorts. “Think I’m better off asking Wayne.”

“Hm, yeah. Or don’t. Play up the helpless angle, let Harrington be the big, manly hero who-”

“Jesus Christ, shut up.”

Jeff snickers. “Okay. Hey, are you nervous?”

Eddie rips the last barb off the shaft. The downy bits lie scattered on his thigh and, without them, the shaft looks unrecognizable. Almost alien. His head is cool, his breaths are slow, and his gut is housing a raging storm. He flicks the bare shaft across the room, shaking his head.

“Why would I be?”

— ⛺ — ⛺ — ⛺ —

La continuation

Tag list: @santasteve, @madaboutmunson

[thel0v3hashira143]

to all the black writers that have been writing eddie munson/steve harrington x black!reader (and feeding my obsession for the past week) y'all are doing the lord's work thank y'all 🛐🛐🛐🛐🛐

[cranberrymoons]

vanilla buttercream

prompt: cake (@steddiemicrofic) word count: 311 rating: explicit (18+) cw: light D/s, spanking notes: i promised metaphorical cake and i delivered 😈 putting the majority of this under a cut lol

Three of Eddie’s fingers press inside, thick and twisting but not quite enough, making Steve’s breath catch in his chest. He plants his feet for leverage, but Eddie uses one of his knees to knock them out from under him then leans down close, covering Steve’s body with his own.

“You’re going to come just like this, baby,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t go thinking you can pull one over on me.”

“Please,” Steve pants, a desperate little noise making its way up his throat. “Please, come on.”

Eddie hums thoughtfully, shaking his head. He sucks at a spot high on Steve’s throat, just enough to bruise, then sits back on his heels between his splayed thighs and surveys him, apparently unimpressed.

“You’ll take what I give you,” he says softly, then tuts, shaking his head in disappointment. “If you don’t come soon, though, I’m going to start thinking you don’t really want it.”

Steve pushes his hips down against Eddie’s hand, grunting in frustration. “If you’d just fucking touch me–”

The smack to the side of his hip is swift and stinging, setting his skin on fire, and it wrenches a gasp out of Steve’s chest, eyes rolling back in his head. A bead of sweat rolls up from his cheek toward his hairline as his head arches back on the pillow.

“Watch your mouth,” Eddie snaps. “If I wanted an attitude from you, I’d ask for it.”

Steve laughs, overwhelmed and buzzing as a vanilla buttercream haze drops down over everything. “I’ll give you way more attitude than–”

Eddie reaches forward and hooks four fingers into his mouth, making Steve choke on them. His other hand presses firm and hard and fast and up where it’s still curled inside Steve, and Steve’s whole brain whites out. 

“Like I said,” Eddie says. “I want an attitude, I’ll ask.”

[also on ao3]

[fangirlwithasweettooth]

Steve Harrington girlies 👀 I posted an excerpt of my latest fic over on my writing blog if y’all wanna check it out 👀

(minors stay away! ‘tis spicy 😏)

[sagevines]

STRANGER THINGS 4 VOL 2: THREE GAYS AND A VAN

[theundeadmetalheadapolagia]

A lot of fics have Wise Queer Elder At Tender Age Twenty Eddie Munson as a trope, and I fucking love that. Particularly since it helps me learn shit too. However. It would be very funny if Eddie knows like the absolutely bare minimum about queer culture & Steve out-ranks him, because he's been doing some research to help Robin & it turns out he's really vibing with some of this terminology & hey Eddie, how do you feel about etc etc

[houseof1000hoes]

I'm thinking of writing a Steve fic, but with Sage ( my oc ) and i want to make a series. BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I SHOULD WRITE ABOUT!!!!! can some one give me ideas? thanks bbg's <3

[loveinhawkins]

When Steve gets to his last year at Hawkins High, it feels like some kind of veil has been lifted right in front him. Or maybe it’s more that the veil’s actually been slowly lifting for years, and he’s noticing it all the more because it’s no longer there.

Either way, when he receives his yearbook, it doesn’t seem like the huge deal that his younger self would’ve made it out to be; he flicks through the pictures half-heartedly, doesn’t even care when the candid ones taken at sporting events catch him in unflattering poses, lip jutting out in concentration.

If he tried to voice his disinterest, Henderson would probably spout off some precocious shit about societal expectations, and Steve would pretend to nod sagely before stealing whatever dorky hat he happened to be wearing—it’s not like he could let the little shit suspect that he occasionally had a point, Steve would never hear the end of it.

The yearbook signings are predictably inescapable: people passing their books back and forth in class or in the cafeteria—and that one’s a risky move, with the threat of drinks spilling on the pages, whether accidental or malicious.

Steve thinks the fever’s dwindled out until he spends a free period in the school library. The seniors typically all bunch together in one of the far corners, the spots with the comfiest seats—loners included, like the perks of age for once outweigh the usual ridicule.

But that silent truce is not exactly being upheld, Steve notes—Eddie Munson is sitting alone at a nearby table.

It becomes painfully obvious when the signing starts up again. There’s a cluster of girls on the yearbook committee who initiate it, and soon every senior in reach is either passing over their own book or signing one.

Almost every senior.

It’s not like Eddie’s the only person ever to be held back. He’s not even the only one to be held back for next year, either: John Nelson off the swim team is in the same position, and he’s still been asked to sign.

But Steve knows that’s not what the source of exclusion is, not really.

He’s gotten good at spotting silent cruelty—good at avoiding it too, before his popularity gave him a temporary shield.

It’s all just bullshit, he thinks. It’s been a recurring thought lately.

He brings out his own yearbook because he knows it’s expected. When it’s finally passed back round to him, he ends up right near the seat opposite Eddie’s, just by chance.

But actually sitting there is his own choice.

He can tell that Eddie has spotted him even though he’s not looked up from whatever homework he’s doing; there’s a silent tension in the way he’s holding his pen.

Steve mulls it over before he asks the question. It could blow up in his face, but what did that matter, really? In the grand scheme of things, it would hardly count as a major embarrassment; it’s not like it’d be any more mortifying than telling his dad that he didn’t get into any colleges whatsoever.

So he pushes his yearbook across the table, because what the hell.

“Wanna sign?”

Eddie glances up. There’s a guarded look in his eyes, and Steve can almost hear him mentally replaying the question.

“Pardon?” Eddie says with pointed emphasis, like he’s daring Steve, let it drop and we’ll say no more about it, Harrington.

Steve doesn’t take it back. He shrugs and flicks open the yearbook, finds a blank spot and taps it once with his finger, a silent offer.

Eddie stares like Steve’s a riddle, like he’s wondering just who the show’s for—but the other students have turned away, have gone back to their seats, yearbooks temporarily forgotten.

Eddie’s hold on his pen relaxes, ever so slightly.

“You sure, Harrington?” he says. There’s still a wary edge to his voice, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, too, like he’s secretly amused despite himself. “Haven’t you heard what folks say? I could curse you.”

Steve scoffs. “That all you’ve got? I’ve dealt with way worse, man,” he says mildly.

A corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a surprised smile. Then it’s gone almost like it had never been in the first place, his gaze turning thoughtful rather than defensive.

And obviously this isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo at the whole senior year thing. Steve wonders if there’s a veil that’s been lifted for him too, wonders if he can see straight through it right now.

The bell rings.

Eddie stands up, gathering his stuff.

Steve thinks that’s the end of it: something that’s neither a success or a failure.

But then, lightning fast, Eddie darts across the table and scribbles something on the open page. Slams the yearbook shut and pushes it back over, and it feels like a challenge, like some of his caginess is back—like he’s just daring Steve to reveal that it had been a joke all along—

“Bet you’re counting down the days till you can hold your own copy, huh?” Steve says dryly, as he stuffs the book into his bag.

It’s a risk; he knows Eddie could easily take it as pure ridicule, could misinterpret it as Steve throwing the failed school years back in his face.

Eddie just shakes his head, but he could be laughing—the moment’s gone too quickly for Steve to know for sure.

“Nah, Harrington,” Eddie says easily, thrown over his shoulder as he leaves, “those things aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

Steve doesn’t check the yearbook until he’s home. He eventually finds Eddie’s signature, simple black ink right in the upper corner of one page.

Good luck, Steve. —Eddie

Some of the letters are bunched a little too close together, drifting upwards on the blank page, as if they usually need lined paper to guide them—left-handed, Steve thinks vaguely.

Within a sea of scrawled nicknames and loudly enthusiastic messages, Steve finds that he kind of likes how mundane Eddie’s truly is. Likes the sign off with minimal fuss. Just “Eddie.” Likes how he was just “Steve”, too.

And yeah, if anyone needed to be told good luck, Steve thinks, with the kind of amusement that only comes from distance—pictures his past self, freaking out about monsters come to life.

He slots the yearbook into his bookcase. By summer he might forget about it altogether, left to gather dust as he works for 3 bucks an hour, but for now he marks its significance: something real, hidden alongside the bullshit.

[sagesolsticewrites]

sagey🥺🥺 my all time FAVORITE SOFTIE WRITER<333 personally i see prompt 8 on the “friends that act like a married couple” IS STEVE AND THE READER AND I LOVE THE CONCEPT OF IT🥺🥺

SHAWNIIII my love!!! That’s ABSOLUTELY a Steve prompt ahhhh I love it ☺️ also at the time of writing this I have had some wine so please excuse any spelling/grammar errors as a result of that fhdkhfjd

(oops this ended up being less “friends who act like a married couple” and more “already established relationship” 😅)

Prompt: "you're like my child, call me daddy.... nevermind, that sounds wrong”

One of the things Steve loved about you was your innocence.

Not in a creepy way, just… the way you didn’t hesitate to drop everything to join in on one of Dustin’s adventures, listened patiently as Eddie and Will rambled to you about their current D&D campaigns, cheered on Lucas at all of his basketball games, and let Max and El drag you around to every store in the mall. On more than one occasion you had been part of the pack of kids giggling as they visited him at Scoops Ahoy, not doing much to discourage the teasing about his uniform so much as being an eager participant — occasions that had more often than not ended with another tally under the “You Suck” heading on Robin’s board.

He shakes his head as the memories run through his head, a laugh escaping him as he returns his attention to playing nurse for the scrape on your knee.

“What?” You question, wincing slightly as he applies antibiotic ointment, “Is me being injured so entertaining to you? For your information, I absolutely could have won that race if it weren’t for that pothole—” you continue, referring to the bike race you had happily participated in with the kids.

“Nothing,” he laughs, nodding to the Band-Aid in his hand, “It’s just… I remember doing this for Will and Lucas and all of them.”

“Awwwe,” you grin, “I’m like one of the kids.”

Steve speaks without thinking as he digs around in the cabinet under the sink, focused on putting away the first aid kit. “You’re like my child, call me daddy—”

His face blanches as he stands, finally processing the words.

“Wait no nevermind, that sounds so wrong…”

You stand from your perch on the edge of the tub and step towards him, a smirk playing on your lips as you neatly brush past him.

“I mean… I can call you that if you really want me to.” you say softly, your voice pitching up into a flirty singsong.

And you’re gone, sashaying out the door, leaving him stunned in the middle of his guest bathroom.

The grin on your face only grows as you hear a muffled “… WHAT?” followed by the unmistakable sounds of your boyfriend scrambling after you.

Send in a request! Sage’s 1 Year Blogaversary Celebration 💚

[artiststarme]

The Corroded Coffin guys could always count on Eddie to write hardcore songs full of angst, songs that could make anyone feel something. It’s what made them such a hit to the drunks at The Hideout. After everything that happened over Spring Break, allegedly or otherwise, they expected to bear witness to the angstiest songs they could imagine. They thought they would hear tunes wrought with betrayal, heartache, pain, and anger.

Imagine their surprise when they came back to practice to a bunch of love songs.

Gareth could only stare at Eddie blankly while he demonstrated the new song on his guitar. He didn’t know what the hell he was hearing. Grant was glaring at the Warlock like the soft notes had personally offended him. Jeff was nodding along sagely to the beat of the music, always an ally to Eddie even when he was confused at the situation.

And Steve Harrington, the newest addition to join band practice, was sat in a metal folding chair looking at Eddie like he hung the stars. He’d never been serenaded before and the fact that it was Eddie doing it? It only made Steve love him even more.

[thel0v3hashira143]

BRO THE DUFFER BROTHERS BETTER STOP PLAYING WITH MY HEART FR, I DO NOT NEED ANOTHER ALEXEI SITUATION🤬😭

FR IF EDDIE OR STEVE DIES I'M RIOTING 🤬🤬🤬🤬

[sugarsfics]

“If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle”

“If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle” 

Summary: Eddie invites you over for a movie night. Movie night is in his room. The only place to sit is his bed. His bed is small 

Trope: Eddie x shy!reader; friends to lovers 

Warning: use of y/n 

30 day challenge: Day 7 Send Request <3 

For the past hour Eddie has been running around the trailer making sure everything was perfect. Why? Because you are coming over, his crush is coming over. He has been crushing on you for a while. Every class he had with you he would find an excuse to talk to you, asking you for a pencil, piece of paper, answers, making a joke, anything to hear you talk or smile. That smile. The first time you smiled at him he was whipped, that smile made him smile, little did you know that when you turned to face the board you took his heart with you. You were very to yourself, only talking when spoken to, you had a small group of friends that he always saw you with. It took time but you eventually got comfortable with him, he was so grateful. P.E was one of your classes together before he sat on the bleachers alone looking at you, now you sit with him P.E became his favorite class. During that class he learned so much about you, this particular class you told him that you love the movie The Outsiders and how you have been waiting for it to be back in the video store. Eddie pulled so string, one of the workers he sells to works there so he told him he would give him a discount if he got the movie once the person returned it. So that brings you to now, he got the movie Monday, told you about Tuesday at school, then made plans to watch it together on Saturday. Since then he has been deep cleaning the trailer. Stressing out a girl is coming over, you are coming over.

You were just as stressed out as much as him. Everything seemed fine in theory of making of plans. But as Saturday came closer the bubblier your stomach got; you were going to Eddie’s house. Eddie what a beautiful man, you had a huge crush on him never in a million years did you think that he would talk to you let alone invite you his house to watch a movie. You triple checked your outfit, sat in front of your mirror in different positions making sure you looked good in all, brushed your teeth, took ten mints, and did everything you could think of to look pretty. When you felt decent you walked out quickly. You try to scurry pass your stepbrother room “Y/N” shit he saw you “Yes” “Where are you going” “out” “where” should you lie or tell him; lie he was way to over protective “To my friend's house” “Which one” think think “Alexis” she will cover for me “Are you going to stay the night” am I? What is going to happen tonight? Those bubble guts came back “I am not sure yet” “ok let me know” “will do Stevie” “Don’t call me that” Yea your stepbrother was Steve Harrington.  

You drove to Eddie’s trying to focus on the road, but your mind couldn’t stop racing. It was a little scary, but you zoned back in when you pulled into the trailer park, not sure how you made it here. Eddie heard a car pull up and quickly looked out the window and saw your sage green car, you said that it was a gift from your grandma when you were 16. He fixed his hair then opened the door for you “Welcome to my castle” he said “hi Eddie” you spoke. There was a small staring contest between you too then Eddie broke the silence “This way to my cave” he led you to his room. You were about to be in a guy's room you thought, she is about to be in my room he thought. “Um movie is in going to grab the popcorn anything to drink?” “Water please” you sounded so sweet and polite he would get you anything if you asked him “Got it make yourself at home” You stared at his bed for a few seconds it was small but there was no other place to sit, so you sat at the corner. He walked in a minute later and was freaking you are on his bed, he tried to hide his excitement and climb into his bed “You can come further in I won’t bite” he joked you crawled next to him didn’t make any eye contact, your bodies were so close together you felt his warmth. Even being so close, your leg was falling off the bed, you tried not to think about how uncomfortable this was going to be. Eddie saw your leg he wanted to grab it a pull it close pull you close, "If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle” Eddie said where did that courage come from “are- are you sure” “Yea I don’t need you falling off” he opened his arms. Your heart started beating fast, there were so many firsts today already and now you are going to be in his arms. Your body didn’t know how to react so you slowing lied on him, he chuckled. As the movie played you slowly melted into him. The movie ended but neither of you moved, if anything you are scooting closer together. Eddie turned you to face him “Hi” “Hi” you giggled “This is nice” “Yea” “Maybe this could be a regular thing” “What do you mean” you asked “Saturday could be movie date nights” “Date? Was this a date” “It could be if you want it to be” there was silence again he thought he messed up “I have never been on a date before” you said shyly “Me either, tonight was a lot of my first” “Me too” you grinned at him. “You were a lot of my firsts” he continued “How” “Well the first girl to come to my house, first girl to be in my bed, first girl I cuddled with” He intertwined your hand together “This is my first time holding a girl's hand and this is my first kiss” he leaned in you met in the middle fireworks explode all around you. He pulled away but you brought him closer “Sorry I um I really liked that” he pecked your lips “So did I” He put on another movie, but you feel asleep “first girl to sleep with me” he laughed cuddling into you more than falling asleep himself . You were awoken by banging on the door. You and Eddie did not want to leave each other’s arms, but it only got louder. “Stay here” he kissed your forehead. He opened the door to a pissed off Steve “Harrington?” “Munson?” “What are you doing here” “Why is my sister's car in your lawn” “Sister?!” 

Tag list: @thefreak0fhawkinshigh let me know if you want to be added

[kimoralov3]

rosie

in high school, steve was known for his hair. and while those days were long behind him, the knowledge was engrained in him like a second language. and it certainly came in handy when it came time to do his girls' hair.

willow was easy to please; a couple of bows and she was jumping up and down screaming how much she loved him.

sage, ever the daddy's girl, was happy as long as steve was the one doing her hair, although she preferred a nice braid or two.

but rose? she would be the cause of many frustrating mornings in the harrington household.

"daddy, it doesn't look right!" whined the little girl as she looked at steve in the mirror. steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. he loved his little girl, very very much, but god, sometimes she was the biggest dive he'd ever met next to eddie munson and dustin henderson.

"sweetheart, i've redone your braid 5 times already. what about it doesn't look right?" he asks as he undoes the braid.

"it's not perfect, it needs to be perfect for auditions." the 4 year old says, waving her hands around like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"you've been spending too much time with your uncle eddie." steve mumbles under his breath as he starts the braid over again.

finally, after 3 more attempts, rose deemed her hair "good enough" and waltzed downstairs. steve groans, flopping down into the chair rose was previously occupying. you pass by the room, snorting when you see the state of your husband.

"what happened to you?" you ask as you stand behind him, running your hands up and down his shoulders.

"i never knew that a 4 year old could care so much about a single braid. and what audition is she even talking about? she's in preschool." he asks as he looks up at you, a tired smile on his face.

"ah yes. her preschool is hosting a talent show, but i don't think she quite realizes that every one else is participating as well." you explain with a laugh.

there's a pause before steve speaks again. "are we raising a mini eddie?" he whispers. that makes you laugh really loudly, shaking your head as you pat him on the shoulder.

"no, stevie. we're being bossed around by a mini eddie."

[luveline]

Omg steve idea!!! Shy and anxious reader and steve are in a relationship and he wants her to meet the kids!!! And it’s super sweet and he calms and assures her that they’ll love her

thank you for your request! :3

You lean against the side of Steve's car, thigh an inch from his thigh and knuckles brushing his as he searches for your hand. 

You tuck your hand behind your back and he makes a grumbling, upset sound, turning sideways to face you. His arm stretches over the roof of the car. 

"It's gonna be fine. I'm telling you, these brats will love you." 

You wrap your arms around your abdomen. You've had a stomach ache all day, worried beyond worry about meeting Steve's younger friends. 

Your boyfriend moves in a little closer, his front pressed into you. He smells comforting, a mix of sage and bergamot that makes you want to hide your nose in his neck and stay there forever.

"You've saved the town, like, ten times. And they all sound so cool. I have about as much personality now as I did when I was their age; none." 

Steve laughs brightly. "Baby, what are you talking about? They're not cool. They're a few nerds and two dorks held together by insecurity and teenaged, undying loyalty." 

"Steve," you chide gently, though you're laughing. Those poor kids. 

"I'm serious. And it's not all of them, anyways, the most intimidating ones live in California. Except for Max. She's the cool one." 

"Don't tell me that. Keep telling me they're a bunch of losers." 

"They're losers," he says agreeably. "And you have personality. Heaps of it. A mountain of personality." 

You huff, annoyed at yourself, closing your eyes so you don't have to look at his pretty face. He sighs and digs through the pockets of his denim jacket for a pack of gum, popping one in his mouth. He takes a second between his fingers and pushes it against your lips. 

"Open up." 

You make a sound of disagreement. 

"Open your mouth," he says, dragging all the syllables out. 

You do as he says and stick your tongue out. He puts the stick of gum in your mouth and you chew without looking at him, trying desperately to think of anything but this impending meeting – you get so wound up before things like this and Steve knows that, trying his best to keep everything settled nicely. The Juicy Fruit does distract you for a while, then the flavor runs out and you wanna spit it out. And cry. And maybe take some loud, shallow breaths.

Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder. "Come on. It's gonna be fine. I promise." 

"You don't know that. What if they hate me? I know I'm… taciturn." 

"Yeah, let's pretend I know what that means. If it's a synonym for, like, extremely amazing and nice, then sure. You're taciturn." 

You groan and drop the side of your head into his shoulder. He rubs the top of your arm and chews his gum obnoxiously. You don't hate it as much as you should. 

"It's gonna be fine," he murmurs. 

"I'm sorry. It's stupid." 

"Don't be sorry. I know I don't always get it, especially don't get why you care so much about my lunch club, but that doesn't mean it's stupid." 

"Your lunch club saved the world." 

"You're generous." 

You dig in his pocket for the gum wrapper to get rid of your sad, juiceless fruit. Steve is watching you with a pout on his lips. "What?" you ask. 

"Nothing," he says, tilting his head back, hand coming off your shoulder. He holds his hands up in a mock surrender. You miss his touch. "Nothing at all." 

You kick your feet into the road. "Harrington." 

"It's nothing, I just don't get why you don't see how amazing you are," he says, pretending to be confused. "But that's my issue, so." 

"Shut up," you murmur, cheeks flushed with heat. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair. You act like you're not watching him out of the corner of your eye, though you are, obsessed with his puppy dog eyes and his pert nose, his smiling grin. Worse, his arms where he's crossed them over his chest, one hand tucked up under his armpit and the other clutching his bicep. 

He checks his watch with raised eyebrows. "They should be here right now." 

You make your own conclusions. They ditched 'cos you sound like a loser. They saw you having your mini meltdown from afar and turned tail. They've died. 

"Do you think they're okay?" you ask. 

Steve nudges you with his elbow. "They're fine. See, over there," he points at a blip in the distance, a small group of teens making their way towards you. 

You feel as though you've been struck, standing up straight, hands pawing at your hair and your clothes. 

"Do I look okay?" you ask. 

Steve purses his lips and brings his hand up to your face, fingers incredibly gentle as he soothes your flyaways. Your eyes close as he scrapes his thumbnail under your eye, cleaning up your mascara like he has a handful of times before. 

"You look great," he says. You smile and go to face his approaching friends when he says, "Wait." 

"What?" you ask. 

He pecks your crown and then rubs the kiss away with his thumb. "Alright, now you're perfect."