oh i hope even when she gets her legs she still gets steve to ‘hold’ her places. she’ll pretend they’re not working for sure
beyond the sea au | fem, 1.4k
You are not emotionally inept. You realise that asking Steve to carry you to the couch after cutting your hand is overkill, worse, that his friends and his Hopper will assume you’re a baby, but you’re also tired and shaky and seeing all the blood reminded you too much of bleeding out in his pool, all alone, not knowing that Steve was coming to save you. How could you know that?
Remembering the fear and the isolating loneliness that came with it is hard. And Steve’s your courting partner who apparently has fallen inside of ‘love’ with you, or something similar. He should oblige you.
It isn’t fake when you press your face into his shoulder, even. Everyone is looking at you and you haven’t seen Nancy since your humiliating meltdown last week. You’re overwhelmed, but you do it because you can.
“Steve,” you mumble, wetting your dry lips, nearly licking his shirt sleeve, “feel hurt.”
“Why don’t you go sit down?” Eddie suggests. He’s shaking too as he raises his arm, but it’s the one that got hurt before. You haven’t made sense of the story yet. A land animal hurt him enough to make the muscles and ligaments in his shoulder messed up.
You want to ask if he needs to sit down, but Steve’s already wrapping his arm behind you. “You’re still shivering,” he says, not quite as soft as he’d talk to you when you’re alone, but so soft that Hopper makes a squeamish face regardless. “Are you scared? You don’t need to be, no one’s gonna let anything happen to you.”
It’s more that Steve was scared. You wouldn’t have given the noise much thought if he hadn’t raced to defend you both.
“Hold me?” you ask. “Hold me, not walk.”
“You want me to carry you?” he asks, slightly incredulous.
“Legs hurt,” you say, imbuing each word with as much sorriness as it can take. A slight manipulation of a man never hurt anyone, especially when he’d carry you with far less protest on better days.
Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. Ready?”
You nod. (Nod! Because humans are stupid and nodding means yes.) Steve adjusts his grip behind you and uses the other arm to scoop you up under your knees like he would’ve with the tail. “Where are we going?” he asks, apparently ignoring the presence of his friends and Hopper now as he walks you into the hall.
“Couch,” you say. You suppose some time watching the evil TV will help calm your nerves.
Steve carries you to the living room and lays you out on the couch. From the sounds of it, his friends (and Hopper, who is Hopper?) stay in the kitchen, so when you lift your chin a little Steve actually gives pause.
“What?” he asks quietly.
“Kiss?” you whisper.
He smiles. Actually grins, soft and then brilliant, ducking down to meet you for a kiss that’s too dry for your liking, but is overall one of the best he’s given you, mostly because it’s real.
Steve kisses just under your eye and your forehead, propped up by a hand on the cushion behind you. “Gonna be okay?” he asks.
“Be okay.”
“Yeah? I’m sorry, about this. Sorry you got so scared, and sorry we couldn’t…”
“Steve not be sorry,” you say. “You are…” What do you want to say here? Nothing you have the vocabulary for. You let your voice wilt. “Not sorry, please.”
He clears his throat and stands as footsteps finally do follow you both into the living room. “Let’s say I believe you about the tail thing,” a deep voice says from behind you. You can see Hopper in the reflection of the TV, leaning against the door with his arms crossing over his chest. “Which, sure, she’s a sea creature. My girl’s an X-Man. And let’s say whoever came in here knows what she is–”
“Why else would somebody come in here?” Steve asks.
“Because you live in the golden palace?” Hopper shrugs. “Let’s also say you should’ve told me about this the day it happened, and you’re real sorry. What are you gonna do now, kid? Jonathan was right, you need to come to the cabin–”
Steve’s hand falls into your hair, but he isn’t looking at you. “There isn’t room for us both, too.”
“Sure there is. El has the floor space. I have a blow up mattress.”
“Wherever we go, if there’s someone looking for her, they follow us there and that’s a whole new mess. I’ve already dragged too many people into this.”
“We’re in it, Steve. That’s what happens when you go through what we went through.” Hopper doesn’t talk for a while, and Steve doesn’t interrupt him. “You should’ve called me,” Hopper says finally, sounding angry, but firm. Like he’s disappointed.
“Okay,” Steve says.
“Okay. Pack a bag for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll work out what to do.”
Hopper treks out of the living room. Steve grimaces until he’s gone, then downright frowns, bringing his hands to his face to rub at his eyes harshly. You complain in Mermaid until he gets the hint and stops, blinking down at you with that same stupid apologeticness as before.
“Guess we’re having a slumber party,” he says.
“Slumber party?”
“Me and you are gonna go stay at Hopper’s house.”
“Steve, who is Hopper?” you ask.
He kneels down in front of the couch. “Did you just say ‘is’?” The skin of his cheeks apples as he smiles at you with enough pride to make your skin prickle. “You’re such a fucking genius, when did you learn that? Dustin said you weren’t gonna use joiner words for weeks!” He grabs your cheeks and pulls you to him for another short kiss.
“Who?” you ask.
“Hopper?” He lets his hands fall to your shoulders, rubbing them gently, absentmindedly. “He’s the chief of police. He… when there’s trouble, he’s in charge.”
“Blow up mattress?” you ask.
“Yeah. I’ll pack a ton of blankets, it’ll be fine.” Steve’s easy smile falters. “Probably.”
“Hold me first?”
Steve drops his face into your stomach and wraps his arms around you as best he can at the terrible angle, still rubbing those gentle lines, his fingertips digging nicely into achy muscle. “You’re gonna miss the pool,” he mumbles.
“Miss?” you ask.
“Want but not have. You miss things when you don’t see them for a while. It’s the same with people.”
You hum. There are a lot of things you ‘miss’, but you won’t miss the pool if Steve’s there with you at the blow up mattress, wherever that is in Hopper’s house. If it’s anything like a bed, you’ll love it.
“Be okay?” you ask Steve.
He hums into your tummy. “Duh. We’ll be fine… We’ll be alright.”
Steve lingers on top of you for a while, picking himself up reluctantly with a promise to return with a bagel and your packed bags in five minutes, tops. You close your eyes on the couch and pretend the TV isn’t asking you tauntingly to turn it on. The longer you lay there, the more tender you become. It’s dark out now, the day has been long. It felt like a week. All you’ve wanted to do since you knew you could was kiss Steve dizzy, or have him dizzy you, and now you’re being foisted out of the house. Do humans often get intruders in their homes, you wonder? It’s not common underwater. Fish are nosy, but other merpeople tend to leave each other alone unless explicitly invited.
You’re wondering if Steve will carry you to the car when one of the girl’s gasps. “Oh!” she says from the kitchen, Nancy’s voice carrying down the hall. “Oh my god. Steve, what was here?”
“What?” you hear Steve ask.
There's a long silence, and actions you can’t see. You scramble up from your seat and have to stoop over the back of the couch, head pounding.
“Fuck,” Robin says.
“Fuck,” Steve says, sounding abruptly nervous. “Shit, what did I do?”
“Steve?” you call, heading for the door. A bolt of agony lances down your spine.
“What happened?” Eddie asks.
You fall onto your knees, your head going dark, a pain in each leg like stabbing urchin spines as your eyes close.
“They took her photo,” Steve says, his voice fading. “It's gone...”
“So the kids wanted to go to that Christmas market they’re doing in the city,” Steve says mid-rifling through the new arrivals tapes, pausing to make varying faces of disgust at certain titles. “But Robin’s ditching for some band thing, passenger seat’s open if you want it?” He’s so casual about it that you’re not quite sure he’s talking to you.
Steve raises an eyebrow at the silence, “what are you looking around for? I know you don’t think I’m inviting Keith into my car.”
He puts the tapes down, capturing your hand to squeeze once, twice and softer on the third time. “C’mon, you’re not gonna leave me to freeze with those three assholes, are you? That’s cold, Baby.” He grins warm and familiar as his fingers playfully pull at your bracelet.
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to come? I wouldn’t want to intrude.” You hum, stealing a tape from his pile, busying yourself to avoid his warm gaze.
“It’s my car and I promise you that you’re the least intrusive person to sit in my front seat,” He laughs brightly, ducking to meet your gaze. “You gotta come, Dustin’s still banned from my front seat for spilling coke all over my dashboard.” He sneaks a hand behind your neck, thumb tracing the underside of your jaw, “C’mon, it’ll be fun, I’ll buy you a ridiculously overpriced hot chocolate, maybe I’ll throw in marshmallows if you’re nice enough to me,” he says, sounding like he’s flirting. You roll your eyes and he knows he’s won, grinning as he releases you, turning back to his tapes.
Steve’s earlier than he’d said, the car is still humming as he waits till you’re clear of the front door before he’s leaning over the console to push the passenger side door open. “Look at you,” he announces, voice warm against the bite of the wind, “being all punctual. Proud of you.” He taps the top of the door, coaxing you in.
“You’re early,” you counter, sliding into the seat. The heater’s already on, warm air curling around your legs, and his music is playing low, it sounds like one of Robin’s tapes, he must have dropped her off to her band thing.
He shrugs as he pulls away from the curb. “Yeah, well. Figured if you bailed I could guilt-trip you in person.”
You snort. “You really think I’d bail after you promised me overpriced hot chocolate?”
“Ah, so that’s what sealed the deal,” he says, pointing a gloved finger your way. “Not my charming personality. Or my car. Or my—”
“Steve.” You make a noise of disapproval.
“—incredibly impressive driving record,” he finishes, smirking at your interruption. “What’d you think I was gonna say?” He grins, far too enamoured with his own joke.
You roll your eyes, except you’re smiling and he sees it.
He bumps his shoulder lightly into yours across the console before focusing back on the road. It’s comfortable, warm despite the frost creeping across the windows.
It’s dark by the time you reach the Christmas market after stopping to pick up Lucas, Max and Dustin. You’re almost glad for the delay, it looks so much prettier in the dark, string lights draped over the streetlights taking up all available space.
Steve helps you out of the car as the teenagers run off, his fingers curling comfortably around yours, leading you into the buzzing warmth of the market.
Hi love thank u for putting out all these fics and amazing writing! U don’t have to write this if it doesn’t speak to u I’m not sure if u write for sunshine reader but I would LOVE to see a sunshine reader with hotch
thank you!! boyfriend!hotch x sunshine fem!reader
cw mature themes mdni
Hotch can't help smiling at the sound you make when you hop into the shower. Your apartment isn't frilly, the shower a showerhead that's been installed inside your bathtub, curtain falling off the rungs. He can see a slice of your naked body if he looks, but he doesn't look.
"Too hot?" he asks. He knows the sound well. The hot water hits your skin and you, a mixture of apprehensive and pleased, say, "Woah," or "Oh," or sometimes the less comprehensible, "Wohh."
"It's really nice!" you assure him. "Are you sure you don't want to come in with me?"
He's a thousand percent certain. You're lovely, but there's no time for standing behind you in the spray, shivering and trying to let you let him wash your hair or kiss your soapy shoulders. He's super late. You're even later.
"You get paid better than this," he says, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto his brush. His, because you insisted and he practically lives here, a bamboo handle with purple bristles. It's strange, but you like them and he likes you.
"Pass me my toothbrush, please?" you ask.
Hotch squeezes toothpaste onto your brush and offers it through the gap in the off white curtain. You pop your head out, soaked, water running down your face and your arms. "What do I get paid better than for?" you ask, confused.
"Your apartment, honey. I've had push bikes with more space."
You put your toothbrush in your mouth. Conditioner has your hair glossy and darkened. You have the sense to pull the curtain to cover your naked body, though Hotch thinks sense isn't the right word. He'd wanted to say self-preservation, but that's too aggressive. The point is, if Hotch gets a look at you he might make you even later than you already are.
"That's such a grumpy old man thing to say," you remark, beaming, toothpaste on your lip. You disappear back into the depths of your shower. In tandem, you finish brushing your teeth.
"Hotch?" you ask.
"Aaron. Call me Aaron, please. Hotch is work only, and you know that."
"What about baby?" you ask genuinely.
"Anything but Hotch."
"Sugar pea?"
"What did you want?"
The water runs and runs, slapping the bottom of the tub and glancing off of your shoulders. "I really love you, you know? It makes me so happy to get to do this with you."
The water shuts off. Hotch grabs your towel off of the warming towel rack and stands in front of the tub, barely enough room for you to get out and step down. He wraps the warm towel around you tenderly.
"I really love you, too," Hotch says, wiping a missed glob of conditioner off of the top of your ear. "This is the best part of my day, even if we're like two sardines in here."
You smile happily.
"I think I love you most like this," he says. "You look really happy."
"Hotch, I'm always happy around you."
"More like you're always happy. You're like a ray of sun," he says without drama. It's as true as saying the earth is old and grass is green. "But if you don't start calling me Aaron, we're going to have a problem."
"What kind?" you ask, like this is a delight you're eager to receive.
He ushers you out of the bathroom toward the bedroom so you can change before waylaying him anymore. He watches you get dressed, hands at his neck tightening his tie, and he knows how lucky he is to have you, how fortunate he is to get to watch you put your earrings in, tip of your tongue making a guest appearance between your lips in concentration. Eventually, despite all his willpower, and despite it being the really wrong time, he stops you in the middle of the bedroom and attempts to kiss you dizzy.
"You really should've showered with me," you murmur happily, giving him two punctuating kisses in quick succession.
"I really wish I had," he says. Even in your tiny, draughty, slip-and-slide tub. "Come on, before I make an unprofessional decision."
codes!! hi hello! i’ve been great actually! i have a tattoo now, i’m also in talks with my tattoo artist for my second one because i’ve got the itch bad lmao. (i don’t know why i made the discussion with my artist sound like i was some politician in peace talks but sure okay)
ellievsbear
pixelskylines
titsay
janainaart
2087
jbbartram-illu
gummygunk
yousharknotpass
turnnoffyourmind
