7 ✨ with any lil steve for me? 🥹 tis your daughter (the first born)
—⭐️🛼
‘don’t think about it, boy leave her alone.
she likes my tone, my cologne, and the way i roll.’
wealthy!steve/pbv!steve
He tucks his hair behind his ears before running over it with pomade, boar bristle brush following up after his deft fingers. It was his grandpa’s, he thought it was the slickest thing ever. His grandpa taught him how to comb his hair like greasers used to in the 50s — his dad didn’t love that. Didn’t love that his son used Farrah Fawcett spray either — but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit.
“Babe, where’s my — oh,” you smile when you catch him styling his hair, plush lower lip tucking in between your teeth, “Hey.”
“Hey,” he smiles back at your reflection while he perfects the swoop of the sides, the top perfectly coiffed. He watches you stare for a little while he continues with his pomade, structuring the top just so.
“Did you come in here to ask me a question or just stare at me, Manhattan?” he asks, snarky grin pulling at his original smile — glint in his hazel eyes.
“Uh — oh,” you shake your head, a breathless laugh coming from your chest, “Where’s my black coin purse? The beaded one?”
He rest the tip of his tongue on his teeth while he thinks, brows contorting while he looks at you through the mirror. After a moment he snaps his fingers, turning to you fully.
You feel silly over how your skin gets hot when he turns around in his Stefano Ricci suit. Black on black, only the flash of a gold tie clip on his sternum to break up the color.
“I brought it to my tailor, honey,” he frowns, “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. Remember the last time you brought it out and some of the beads pulled? I wanted to get it fixed.”
You scrunch your nose, disappointed, “You’re lucky you’re hot, Harrington.”
He snorts, turning back to the mirror to give himself a once over before spritzing himself with his standard Dior Homme. He likes how your eyes darken a little whenever you smell it on him. Steve liked to call it his ‘liquid guarantee’.
“You have ten other black bags you can wear tonight,” he offers, making his way to your shared dressing room off the side of your suite where you stand in front of all of your purses.
“I just had my heart set on that one for this dress,” you shrug, “It’ll be fine. Worse things have happened to me. I mean — you’re here.”
He clicks his tongue again, coming up behind you where his hands smooth over your shoulders, nose gliding up the side of your neck. He can feel the goosebumps raise on your skin, “Bring the silk one, that’ll be pretty.”
“You sure?” you ask, heart fluttering when you hear his deep, bass-y ‘mhm’ in your ear.
“You smell good,” you mumble back, vision getting hazy while he encompasses you from behind. His lips press softly against the base of your jaw.
“Thank you, angel,” he kisses again, voice husky. Steve leans forward, grabbing the black silk coin purse from its spot on the wall and tucking it into your hand while you lean against him — jello, “Now let’s go.”
