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the real deal | steve harrington x f!reader

Chapter Nine - Kissing Clause {best friends to lovers, fake dating over Christmas} or: You forgot about the The Kissing Clause on Christmas Day... 5.3k words ✻ go to landing page CW: just some tooth rotting fluff, kissing, Steve holds a baby for the first time...are you sitting down?

─── ✻ ───

If someone were to ask you what the best thing to wake up to is, you’d have a list for them.

A cup of coffee with cinnamon on top.

Sun streaming through the window at the Cottage.

The smell of Dad’s burnt bacon wafting up the stairs.

And a recent addition: Steve sleeping beside you, his brown hair mussed, snoring lightly on the pillow next to yours.

Nowhere on that list, however, is a flurry of red lipstick and blonde hair barreling into your room at the inn while you’re tangled up half naked with your boyfriend.

You jolt awake, gasping as light from the hallway pours in, spilling across the bed.

“What the—” you squint at the silhouette standing in the doorway, the familiar shape hovering like an assassin come to slit your throat on Christmas morning. “Mom?”

“Mornin’” Kristy says cheerily, then flips on the overhead light.

Steve lurches up in bed next to you, hair sticking up in every direction. His brown eyes flick between you, then Mom, then you again, before dropping to the blankets barely covering his lower half.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie,” Mom says, sending him a wink over her shoulder as she stoops to pick up your clothes from the fucking floor. God, you could strangle this woman. “You got nothin’ I ain’t seen before. Now hurry and get dressed! We don’t have all day!”

Steve yanks up the blankets to cover his chest, squinting over at you.

The message is clear: do something. Well, he’ll find out soon enough it’s impossible to get rid of Kristy when she has her mind set on a plan.

You sigh, rubbing your bleary eyes. “What do you want, Mom?”

“Jenna had her baby last night. Everyone’s waiting, so, let’s go—”

“Wait, really?” you ask, surprised.

Guess those contractions she was having last night were real after all.

“I know! Can you believe it?” she squeals in girlish delight. “Best Christmas present ever!”

She then tries to jump up into a classic cheerleading pose, but stumbles, earning a chuckle from Steve that he smothers with the back of his hand.

You sigh heavily. “Mom, first of all, never do that again—”

“You like that?” she interrupts, “It’s from my cheer days.”

“Yeah, no. Secondly, what do you mean everyone is here?”

“Yeah, I thought there was a giant snowstorm last night,” Steve says, voice rough from sleep, and you have the wildest, most intense urge to kiss him stupid.

Mom rolls her eyes. “You think a little snow is going to keep us from meeting the newest member of this family? Cole has a snowplow, so we’re goin’ around collecting everybody, so, scoot your tushes—”

“Okay, we’ll get up, but you have to get out!” you say, tossing a pillow at her for good measure, which she dodges easily.

“Alright! Alright!” She backs toward the door, grinning. “I’ll be right outside.”

The door shuts, and you fall back onto the bed with a groan. You open your eyes to find Steve smiling down at you, his head haloed by the shine of the chandelier on the ceiling.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

You snort softly. “Hi.”

His fingers brush your cheek, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his chest through the blankets.

Then his eyes drop to your lips.

You reach up and thread your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you. He leans in, chin tilting until his lips brush yours —

“Blow each other later!” Mom calls through the door.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” You shout, shoving yourself out from under your boyfriend with a miserable groan. You look back at Steve, lying there warm and completely indecent under soft linen sheets, wanting nothing more than to crawl back to him.

“Can we do presents in the car?” you ask.

“Sure, Ace.” His eyes drag over your rumpled sleep set like he’d rather be unwrapping you instead. “But I’m just saying, whatever you got me is gonna have a hard time beating this.”

You huff, amused. “This?”

“Waking up to you in my bed?” His eyes soften as you smile back at him. “Best Christmas morning I’ve ever had.”

─── ✻ ───

“Okay, now hold on—” Steve whines. He lifts a finger off the steering wheel and points it in your direction. “You are making this sound so much worse than it is.”

“Steve,” you gasp, still laughing. “How could you not realize—watch out!”

The caravan makes a sudden right turn, and Tiff’s tires kick up a blinding cloud of snow that nearly whites out your windshield in the chaotic rush toward the hospital. Uncle Cole’s snowplow leads the way, while several cars filled to the brim with your family drive behind yours.

Steve recovers the car quickly, then rakes a hand through his hair, white-knuckling the steering wheel with the other. “Just—hear me out, Ace.”

You sit up in your seat, mimicking his ramrod posture and pretending very hard to be serious while you hold up his Christmas present for you.

A little H dangles on a gold chain, catching the first rays of sun as it peeks over the horizon.

“The H doesn’t have to stand for that,” he argues. “It could be for…happiness! Right? Or, fuck, I don’t know. Hamburgers! You love those!”

A grin tugs at your mouth, and you shoot him a knowing look. “Steve, you picked this out for me long before we got together.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, and you actually have to lurch across his lap and physically grab the wheel before you go careening out of line and into a snow pile.

“Look,” he says, hands resuming their place at ten and two. “I just wanted you to have something that reminded you of me, okay? Y’know, since school is almost over.”

“Right. I mean, nothing says friendship like monogramming your best friend with your surname.”

“Listen! I swear, I'm not trying to..." He trails off as you reach over and run a hand through his messy chestnut hair. His eyes soften as he glances over at you, still laughing.

“I love it,” you say.

His shoulders slump in relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And don’t worry.” You smile, patting the cool metal H against your chest. “I’ll tell everyone you were only planning on proposing strictly as a friend.”

“Oh my God—”

─── ✻ ───

The crisp morning air nips at your skin as you step out into the snowy parking lot. You arrived at the hospital before Steve could open your gift.

But he’s soon distracted from his disappointment when an avalanche of your family members pours from their cars and welcome him back with a flurry of hugs, kisses, (Aunt Tiff goes for the lips, the bitch), slaps on the back, and a fuck ton of I-told-you-so’s.

But the person most excited to see Steve…is Sam.

“I knew you weren’t leaving forever!” your brother says, then fist-bumps him so hard Steve actually winces.

The hospital doors hiss open automatically, but your family acts like they couldn’t open fast enough. They burst into the lobby in a flurry of pink and blue balloons, loud Christmas greetings for strangers, and stacks of presents for the little one.

The security guard—a tall, well-built specimen of a man—catches Brielle’s bicep as she prances past, holding three bottles of wine.

“Can’t bring that in here, miss,” he says, voice gruff.

Brielle scoffs, jerking back when the guard tries to confiscate her alcohol. “Listen, my Aunt hasn’t had a drink in nine months!” Brielle argues, “It’s Christmas! The woman just gave birth for twelve hours, trust me—she’s going to need this.”

You share an amused look with Steve, and the conversation trails off in the distance as he gestures over to the elevator.

Somehow, in the buzz of excitement, the balloons have found their way into PawPaw Ben’s hands. He looks quite the picture, grumpy scowl twitching under his mustache, waiting impatiently for the elevator to arrive while holding a mountain of floating latex.

You approach him in a fit of giggles, which quickly earns you a gruff, ‘shut up’ from your grandpa, but his eyes sparkle with laughter.

The elevator ride up to the maternity ward is a sight to behold.

“This is definitely past the weight limit,” Steve mutters, smushed between a bouquet of roses and a stack of presents.

“Definitely,” you whisper back, sending him a small smile as everyone loudly places final bets about whether the baby is a boy or a girl.

The doors open with a chime. Only when your shoes squeak against the hospital floor, do you feel like you can breathe again.

Violet and Sam trip over each other in their race down the hall, slowing the stampede for all of three seconds before everyone barrels into room twenty-five. You sort of feel bad for any new mothers trying to catch a little shut-eye in this joint, thanks to the uproarious laughter and general chaos spilling from Jenna’s room.

You hang back, letting the horde go first. Steve stays beside you, warm and solid in that red sweater, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth as he looks over at you.

“God, this coffee tastes like shit,” a familiar voice mutters behind you.

You turn to see Dallas and Banks striding towards you under the florescent lights, Dallas grimacing as he takes another sip from the styrofoam cup in his hand.

“You’re just saying that because you take your coffee with an inhumane amount of creamer,” Banks says, “Not exactly living up to the sterotype, there, cowboy.”

The two of them look downright miserable.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you up this early,” you tease.

Dallas shoots you a withering look. “As if I had a choice. Your mother practically ripped the sheets off me this morning.”

“Yeah, sorry, she does that.”

Banks looks smugly at Steve, then at you.

“Can’t say I’m surprised…” he whispers over your shoulder before he and Dallas disappear inside the room.

You roll your eyes and follow after him, threading your fingers through Steve’s. The second you step through the doorway, you catch sight of Jenna.

She’s sitting up in the hospital bed, looking tired but beautiful in the early morning light as she cradles a tiny pink bundle in her arms.

A baby girl.

You smile and pull your gaze up to meet hers, preparing to congratulate her, but her expression catches you off guard.

She looks downright evil, smirking over at you and Steve.

“Kissing Clause,” she says cheekily.

Sam’s head whips towards you. “Kissing Clause!” he shouts. Then he turns to Kristy. “Mom! Kissing Clause!”

Mom stops cooing at the baby and looks over her shoulder, blonde ponytail swaying. Silence falls throughout the room as all eyes turn toward you two.

And then, as if on cue, everyone bursts into laughter.

Oh no.

“Steve,” you say, nonchalantly.

He hums. “Ace?”

“Is there mistletoe above us?”

His head tips back in your peripheral vision, and he huffs. “Yep. And I’m guessing that’s…bad?”

You shoot Jenna an exasperated look. “You just had a child and you’re already hanging mistletoe over your door, trying to catch us?”

She shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Priorities.”

Cole whoops from the couch next to the window. “We got them, boys!“

“Oh—” You scoff ruefully, gesturing towards Rick and Sam. “Stop high-fiving!”

Steve’s hand leaves yours to caress the curve of your waist. “Alright, somebody better start explaining, because I’m about two seconds away from kissing her in front of all of you.”

“No!” everyone shouts at once.

Then, they all dissolve into laughing fits again.

You narrow your eyes at the lot of them.

Amy takes pity on your boyfriend. “On Christmas Day, if you get caught under the mistletoe without kissing, you’re forbidden to kiss your partner until the clock strikes twelve.”

Steve looks positively distraught. “You’re kidding, right? You’re saying I can’t kiss her for an entire day? Christmas Day?”

“It’s just until midnight!” Tiff says from the foot of Jenna’s bed.

“Oh, sure, Tiff, just until midnight.” Steve sasses. “What happens if I do it anyway?”

“Then we throw you both out into the snow!” Sam cheers.

That just throws the room into another rowdy betting pool, pertaining whether or not you’ll make it until midnight. Amid this outrage, you feel a tug on your sleeve.

“Sorry, got held up there for a second,” Brielle says, slipping past you and into the room, but not before you catch the mischief in her warm brown eyes.

You hum, unconvinced. “What, did the security guard have handcuffs or something?”

“No!” she says, then lowers her voice. “He took my booze! I’m pissed at him.”

“You got his number, right?”

“Of course I got his number, who do you think I am?”

You laugh, shoving her arm playfully, and she shoots you a wink before striding over and dropping a kiss on her aunt’s head.

“Steve?” Jenna says suddenly over the noise of the crowd, “Would you like to hold her?”

Steve’s head snaps towards her in surprise, and he hesitates, gaze dropping to the sleeping bundle in her arms once before shaking his head.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t—” he starts.

You can’t resist twisting a hand in his sweater, watching the way his jaw clenches under the harsh hospital lighting.

“Have you ever held a baby before?” you ask softly.

He swallows, eyes still on the blanket. “It’s not that I haven’t wanted to. It’s just…I mean, people usually hand babies to the girls, y’know?”

His eyes drop to yours as if looking for encouragement, or permission, and something in your heart twists.

The room shifts around you, the groups talking amongst themselves as you tug Steve forward by the sleeve.

“What if I drop her?” he whispers.

Brielle steps aside when you both reach the bed and smiles at him. “You won’t. ”

“Her name is Joy,” Jenna says, sitting up as best she can and holding the baby out for you to take. Her tiny weight settles in your hands, that distinct baby smell turning your insides all gooey.

“It’s perfect for her,” you whisper, taking in Joy’s soft, dark hair and sleepy eyes.

You turn to Steve, whose looking at you like you’re currently hanging the moon in the sky, and gesture for him to move closer.

He bends down uncertainly, arms outstretched, and the warm bundle shifts from your hands into his until she’s safely settled in the crook of his arm.

“Here, support her head,” you instruct. “Yeah, just like that. You got it!”

His eyes, which had been flicking between you and Jenna to make sure he was doing it right, are now glued to the baby in his arms like nothing could ever tear them away.

“So tiny,” he whispers, “Look at you…little nugget.”

Your thumb catches on the cool H against your chest as you watch him. Joy blinks up at him, eyes wide and unfocused, and her fingers wriggle in the air.

Steve grows more confident after a minute, and shifts her gently to free up one of his hands.

“Here. You wanna hold onto something?” he murmurs, raising his index finger over her face. Her tiny hand waves around, and when they make contact, her fingers wrap around his on instinct.

“You’re a natural!” Cole says, his eyes tired from being up all night with his wife, but so full of love and excitement.

You’re so enamored with your boyfriend holding a baby for the first time, you barely notice Uncle Rick stepping up beside you, a steaming yeti in his hand.

“Good Lord,” he chuckles. “We’re gonna have to mop you up from the floor.”

You roll your eyes and bump his arm with yours.

“Excited to have him next season. He’ll be good with the kids,” he says, gesturing with his coffee towards Steve.

You frown. “Wait, what?”

Rick shrugs casually, but then he catches the look on your face and instantly starts tugging on his flannel collar, lips twitching downward beneath his mustache that looks just like his dad’s.

“Rick?” You press.

He clears his throat and looks away. “Shit. Uh—”

“Tell me, Rick.”

“Well, you know we’ve been looking for a replacement baseball coach at the elementary school in town. It’s good timing for me, I’ve been there long enough, and the middle school has a position opening I’ve been thinking about.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. “You offered Steve a coaching job?”

“It’s only a starter position,” he says placatingly, “but if he does well, he could move on to the bigger schools in the area. He hasn’t officially accepted it or anything. Said he needed to talk to you first.”

You think back to Steve pitching to Sam. Was that just yesterday? It feels like an eternity ago. You’ve always planned on moving back here after college. And the thought of Steve living in your hometown with you sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“You gotta admit,” Rick says, “'Coach Steve' has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

And you know what…

It really does.

─── ✻ ───

Steve has a stocking.

It’s red velvet with white trim, lined up with the rest above the fireplace in Pawpaw Ben and Nan’s living room, hanging right next to yours.

He sees it the second you enter the room with Banks, Sam, and Dallas all in tow, (They’d all insisted you needed constant supervision since the Kissing Clause.)

Steve’s eyes go wide, and while everyone sprints to bury their hands in their own stocking, he only hesitates for a second before joining in.

The house smells like every good holiday memory you’ve ever had. Pine, cedar, and cinnamon—Mom no doubt already in the kitchen baking her cinnamon rolls.

A new Christmas tree sits in the corner against the tall windows, glittering with lights and ornaments, and a pile of presents so big underneath you could probably get lost in it.

Watching Steve rummage through a stocking that belongs to him, alongside all your cousins, makes you so happy that the back of your nose starts to burn.

But the tears quickly dry when Steve withdraws his hand, holding...a book.

The cover boasts a crude depiction of a cowboy pinning a girl up against a stable wall, one tan hand clamped over both her wrists.

Steve holds it up to you, and it only takes you a second to read the title.

The One Rule Ranch.

“Uh, Kristy?” Steve calls.

There’s a bang from the kitchen, then Mom swings around the corner, wearing an apron covered in flour. She catches sight of the book in his hand and sends him a wicked wink.

“Merry Christmas!” she says, “There’s some great BDSM in that one. Might open your eyes to some things.”

Your jaw drops. “Mom!”

“What?” She turns to you and juts out her hip. “You’re the one who said he was vanilla.”

Steve’s head whips towards you. “You said that?”

“No, Steve, that was all her assumptions, I never—”

Steve’s not listening.

The glow of the fireplace frames his broad shoulders as he advances towards you. You take a step back and then another, until your head hits the wall behind you, and then he’s towering over you, eyes dark and heated.

“Don’t kiss her!” someone warns from behind him.

That lock of hair falls over his brow and his chest rises and falls against yours, warm even through his sweater.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Steve says, eyes locked on yours. “I won’t.”

Damn.

Your breath catches, eyes dropping to his lips. Maybe it’s worth getting tossed into a snow bank just to feel his mouth on yours.

Steve leans in, breath brushing your ear, and your heart slams against your ribs.

“You wanna get freaky, Ace?” he whispers, “All you have to do is ask.”

You roll your eyes, even as butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He takes a step back, letting you squirm out from under his arm.

“We’re gonna talk about this later,” he warns, and he spanks your ass with the book as you walk past.

Mom giggles as you and Steve pass her in the doorway, then reaches for the book. “I’m just kiddin’. I lost that one a long time ago, didn’t know where it went. Here, I’ll take it—”

Steve snatches it back incredulously. “Uh-uh. It was in my stocking. And how else am I going to find out what this one rule is on the ranch?”

God, you need a drink.

Suddenly, a cold glass presses into your sweater, and you look down to see a freshly shaken dirty martini sitting in Banks’ ringed hand.

"Extra dirty," he says.

“You actually have a superpower, you know that?” you mutter, taking the drink without looking at him.

“So I’ve been told,” Banks replies, before disappearing again, off to serve his role as alcohol fairy.

Sam runs up and catches Steve’s hand.

“Harry, come play!” he pleads, pulling him further into the kitchen. You steal a gingerbread cookie from the counter on the way, earning a playful slap on the wrist from Gran.

Christmas lights frame the window on the far side of the room, and the table is set with taper candles that cast a soft glow over Violet, Mason, and Jane as they sit in the chairs, cards in hand.

Steve looks over the table, hands on his hips. “Okay, what’re we playing here? Go fish? Uno?”

“Poker,” Jane says as if that’s the obvious answer.

Steve shakes his head. “Gambling already? Of course you are.”

“Just for M&M’s!” Sam insists.

“Oh, there’s candy involved?” Steve catches your hip and the wooden chair creaks as he pulls you down onto his lap. “Alright, deal me in.”

A few minutes later, half the chocolate candies on the table are gone, and Steve hasn’t had any. He tries to steal a bite of your cookie but you finish it off before he can, chuckling at his puppy dog eyes.

Loud laughter, clinking silverware, and the banging of pots and pans echo from the kitchen.The smell of roasted meat and gingerbread fill your nose, making your stomach rumble.

A few people have wandered in to escape the chaos and ended up staying to watch Steve lose to a group of kids. So many, in fact, you start to take pity on him.

“You know, if you—” you start, squinting down at his cards.

“I’m not taking advice from you, Ace,” Steve interrupts, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t corrupt me with your cheating ways. I’m going to win fair and square. How’s that sound, Sam?”

“Sounds fine, Harry,” Sam says with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “But good luck winning with your hand.”

A round of “oooh’s” go through the room.

Steve gasps, pressing his cards to his chest. “Okay, but I don’t need luck, because unlike you all…I have an Ace.”

The two of you exchange a soft, secret sort of smile.

“That reminds me,” you say casually, then reach down to fish a small box from your purse beside you. “Merry Christmas.”

You place Steve’s present in front of him on the table.

His eyes lock with yours for a weighted second before he snatches up the gift.

“Um—presents after dinner!” Jane reminds, but the table falls quiet anyway as Steve peels back the ribbon and pulls a single playing card out of the box.

An Ace of hearts.

The edges are a little worn, the red ink faded slightly, but he recognizes it instantly.

“I kept it that night,” you say. “After we met at that poker game at freshman orientation. I don’t know why, but I just…”

“Knew,” Steve finishes your sentence for you.

His hand finds your leg under the table, and you lean into his touch.

Suddenly, a sigh sounds from across the room. All eyes turn to find Dallas in the corner, sulking.

“If one more person says something as cheesy as that tonight, I’m catching the next bus back to Texas, I swear—”

His phone starts ringing, cutting him off. He frowns and fishes it out of his pocket, but when he reads the name on the screen, his eyes light up.

Your heart swells as he nearly throws himself out of the kitchen and out the front door to answer it.

“Anya, hi. Y-yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too. Yeah, I—”

The door slams shut behind him, his muffled voice swallowed by the crowd.

Steve looks back down at the card, then up at you.

“Hold on. You gave me all that crap about the necklace, but you were still gonna give me this? Even if we didn’t end up together?”

You shrug, a smile pulling at your lips. “You can never have enough Aces, can you?”

“You’re right," he says, "I’ll keep it in my wallet for dire times. Such as…now!”

He slams the card on the table, along with his whole hand, revealing a flush.

“That’s cheating!” Jane accuses, now on her feet.

Mason rolls his eyes. “Oh, C’mon, you’re not—he’s not playing that!”

“Why not? She does it all the time,” Steve says, motioning towards you and then leaning back in the chair with a charming grin. “Now, give me some of that candy.”

─── ✻ ───

If someone were to ask you what the best Christmas gift you’ve ever received is, you’d tell them it was this: watching Steve Harrington sit in your favorite room, smushed on the couch between your family members, with a pile of presents at his feet.

All of them with his name on them.

His cheeks are red from the wine, and the firelight, and from getting the attention and doting he’s always deserved but never had before.

“For you, honey,” Mom says, passing Dad a present from under the tree before looking at the crowd. “Did anyone get him what he really needs?”

“A haircut?” Gran pipes up from the corner.

Dad shoots her a withering look.

Mom laughs. “No, something to inspire his next bestseller.”

Dad shakes his head. “I already got that.”

“You did?”

His gaze swings to where you’re standing beside the windows, then he tips his chin toward Steve on the couch.

“You inspired me, kids,” he says.

A smile steals across your lips, and you hold your glass out to cheers him from afar.

Steve’s eyes narrow, darting between you and Ed. “Okay, but if you’re going to write me, I need to proofread this thing. I mean, what if you don’t describe my hair right?”

Laughter fills the room. It’s soft, and warm, and it feels like home.

Later, after the sun’s gone down, and the pile of wrapping paper is officially taller than the Christmas tree, Steve’s eyes catch yours from across the room. He approaches you by the windows, and when he notices your empty drink, his brows furrow.

“Here,” he says, reaching for your glass. “Let me get you another.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I can—” you start, but he’s not listening.

“Anybody else want anything?” he calls, already moving away from you.

A few people pipe up with their orders, and he nods, then disappears into the kitchen.

A few minutes go by with no sign of him, so you pad over to the kitchen to investigate. The sound of cold beers clinking against each other greets you first, then the slam of drawers. You turn the corner to see Steve rummaging around, searching the cabinets for something.

You lean your head against the doorframe. “C’mon, Steve. You held up at first base, or what?”

“I’m trying to find the bottle openers—” Steve freezes, then whips towards you. His lips part in amusement. “Was that baseball terminology?”

“Oh—sorry. Coach,” you amend, smirking. “Forgot that part.”

He leans back against the counter and faces you, but when you catch his eyes, they hold a seriousness you weren’t expecting.

“Listen, I was gonna talk to you about the job,” he says. “I just figured maybe you wanted a couple days before we started deciding things like that—”

“Take it.”

He swallows hard, looking at you intently. “Really?”

“Yes, Steve.” You step over to him, and his hands find your waist immediately. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Ace, and that’s why I don’t want you to feel…rushed? Fuck, I don’t know, we just—”

“I don’t feel rushed,” you insist, cutting him off. “I think it’s fantastic. I mean, if it’s what you want to do. You know, you don’t have to move here for me if you don’t want to.” You thread your fingers through his. “Whatever you want, we’ll make it work. Together.”

Gone is the tightness in your chest at those words. Thanks to everything you went through this Christmas, you really believe them now.

Steve smiles softly down at you.

“I think I’d like it. Coaching, I mean. I knew I wanted to do something with sports, and then teaching Sammy the other night…” He brings your hands up to his chest, his warm fingers closing over yours. “I don’t know. It felt right.”

You exhale, relieved. “I would love for you to be here. Fuck, Steve. I’d really, really love it.”

His eyes dart between yours, then drop to your lips.

“For real?” he breathes.

You smile. “For real.”

His shoulders drop with relief and happiness, and then, without hesitation, he dips his chin and his lips meet yours.

Your stomach flips and you kiss him back. Lovingly. Adoringly.

Distantly, you hear someone say, “Wait…is anyone else in the kitchen with them?”

But you’re not really listening, lost in Steve’s soft exhales, the gentle glide of his tongue, the way his hands grip your hips like you’re the only thing that matters in his world—

“Oh my God, they’re kissing!”

You and Steve spring apart in unison and whirl around.

A stunned Brielle stands in the doorway, dark curls lit with the kitchen light. Then, she grins devilishly.

“Guys! Get them!” she shouts.

Oh, shit.

“Run!” you say to Steve.

But neither of you even make it out of the kitchen before they’re on you.

“You know the rules!” Aunt Tiff shouts as you squeal, twisting away from the hands grabbing at your sweater.

“No!” Steve laughs as Dallas and Rick advance on him at once. He’s trapped in the corner of the kitchen, nowhere to run. “No! Listen—you know how long I waited for this girl? Just—wait a second, oh my God—”

Dallas and Rick each grab him under one arm, dragging him toward the door as he keeps trying to plead his case.

You’re laughing so hard you can’t catch your breath as the front door opens, spilling cold air into the entryway.

Ed swings around on your other side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and hauling you forward.

“Not you, too!” you gasp. “Seriously? Where’s your sense of romance, Dad? I—”

“Heave ho!” Gran calls from the doorway, as hands drag you down the steps.

Then, in unison, they release you.

Straight into a snow pile.

Steve catches you a second before you hit the snow, breaking your fall and rolling you underneath him. The cold snow soaks into your clothes, but Steve smiles down at you, hair framed by the porch light, eyes full of laughter and love, and God, it’s the single most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen.

“C’mere, Harrington,” you whisper, curling your icy fingers into his sweater, and pulling his mouth to yours once more.

And as you kiss Steve in the snow, under the stars and the cheers of your family, a deep nostalgia settles in your heart.

Not for your past.

But for your future.

And it starts now.

─── ✻ ───

a/n: I can't believe we're here....the last chapter of The Real Deal. Thank you so much for everyone who has read, shared, and commented. Especially those who sent me such lovely words about how this story has touched them. It makes me so incredibly happy, you literally have no idea.

This story bloomed a lot from where it began, and I could go on about it forever, but Ace and Steve will continue to live in my heart for a lot of reasons.

Thank you a million times over, I love you all so much.

(By the way, there will also be an epilogue eventually hehe)

✻ steve masterlist ✻ landing page ✻

taglist: @tennisgirlsrooms, @eleshka-still, @idontread4, @treebabe , @flourishing-sapphic ,

@eller41, @djolover4ever , @parabathigh , @stoneyggirl2 , @remorsefuul,

@munsonloverrs-blog,

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