#it's not always sunny in pittsburgh
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Sunny in Philadelphia - A Joseph Quinn Story (Chapter 9)
*****THIS PART CONTAINS SMUT/MATURE CONTENT. MINORS DNI*****
(I told y’all it was coming! If you’ve been waiting for it, it’s here!)
Chapter 9 - A Night in Steel City
“Where are we going, darling?” Joe asked from the passenger seat as you exited the airport parking lot.
“I’m taking you to a popular Pittsburgh place to eat. Burgatory.”
“Burgatory?”
“If you like pubs, I think you’ll really like it! They, obviously from their name, have burgers, and different bar food. The best thing is the milkshakes, and you can get them alcoholic, too.”
“That sounds amazing, love.”
“It’s nothing fancy, though.”
“I don’t need fancy. I just want to be with you, darling.” He reached over to your free hand that was rested on your lap and intertwined his fingers with yours. You smiled at him, pulling your joined hands up to your lips and planting a kiss on his hand.
Joe absolutely loved Burgatory. He downed an alcoholic milkshake faster than he’d like to admit, and genuinely seemed to enjoy the food, but you weren’t sure if it was because he really liked it or if he was just hungry from being on a plane for 3 hours.
“We’re going to come here again someday, right?”
You chuckled at his excitement.
“Of course, honey. Whenever you want.”
An ornery grin appeared on his face.
“Oh, you really shouldn’t have said that. I’ll take full advantage of it,” he laughed.
“Let’s go,” you said with a giggle and an eye roll, shaking your head at him and pulling him towards the exit, while he jokingly pretended to rush to suck the very bottom of his milkshake out of the straw, as if you were making him leave without finishing it. He needed one last sip, even if there was none left.
You started heading towards your next destination for the evening, the Mount Washington incline. It was beginning to get dark at that point, which was perfect timing. The view of the Pittsburgh skyline from the top of Mount Washington was absolutely breathtaking at night. You parked at the bottom of the incline and got out of the car, Joe joining you and linking your hands once you rounded the car to the sidewalk. You went to the ticket booth and bought two round-trip incline tickets.
“Darling, I can take care of this since you paid for dinner,” Joe said, reaching for his wallet. Always a gentleman. You placed your hand on his forearm to stop him from getting it out.
“No, it’s my turn to treat you to a night out,” you said with a warm smile. He smiled back and kissed your cheek, letting go of his back pocket.
“Alright, love. But just this once. I want to take care of you.”
You glanced up at him with a smitten grin.
“Deal.”
The two of you boarded the incline car as the sun fully set, the city lights shining with the stars. It was an unbelievably clear night, as if God knew you had planned this and wanted the conditions to be perfect - perfect conditions for perfect Joe. You couldn’t have asked for better. The incline car started up the side of the mountain, the beautiful skyscraper lights revealing themselves as you moved above the trees. Joe watched out the windows in awe. It made you so happy to see him enjoying himself, especially on your turf, somewhere familiar to you. You had only been to Philadelphia once but had been to Pittsburgh countless times. The incline came to a stop at the top of the mountain, and you got off the car to go to the overlook. You leaned against the railing, taking in the beautiful city skyline. You felt arms snake around you. Joe was standing behind you, his arms wrapped around you with his hands joined on the front of your stomach. He rested his chin down on your shoulder and leaned his cheek into the side of your neck. You smiled at the sudden display of affection.
“This is absolutely amazing, darling. Have you brought all of your dates here?”
You giggled at his witty joke as he tightened his hug around you slightly.
“Only you. This is my favorite place in Pittsburgh, the absolute best. I saved it for the best.”
Joe’s face formed into a flattered smile. He lifted his head a little and placed a kiss on your neck, nuzzling his face into the top of your shoulder. Your cheeks flushed at the sensation of his kiss placement. It was as if this man knew exactly how to drive your heart crazy.
“My love, you are too incredibly kind to me.”
“You deserve it. I’ve been through Hell before I met you. You have been nothing short of amazing to me in the little time I’ve known you. Even if you walked away right now, I would be incredibly grateful for you.”
“I could never. You’re stuck with me, darling.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The two of you kissed under the stars and city skyline, a crescent moon in the distance. It was not possible for it to be more romantic. The kiss began to deepen, the most passionate it had ever been. Eventually, you pulled away from a combination of breathlessness and not wanting to be too bold in public. Joe started planting kisses on your neck, trying to maintain some type of contact with you for his lips. You exhaled a lust-filled breath when you felt his teeth lightly graze your skin.
“Joe,” you whispered.
“Mmm?” he questioned wordlessly, his lips not leaving your neck. You released another breath, this time not completely quiet. A soft moan escaped through your lips. “Joe, we’re in public.” He removed his mouth from your neck and leaned in close until his lips were just barely brushing yours, his hot breath dusting your face.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear that, love,” he spoke in a low, seductive tone against your lips, earning red cheeks from you. “And can you blame me? You brought me on this amazing date, treated me like a king, and you look absolutely ravishing tonight.”
“We can go to the hotel,” you suggested, biting your lip with a giggle. Joe’s hand slid down your back to your butt and gave it a little squeeze over your dress, letting out a low, nearly inaudible moan.
“Good. Remember what I said earlier? I want to take care of you.”
You burst through the hotel room door, and it was barely shut before you started ripping clothes off each other. Joe pulled your dress over your head, tossing it aside and leaving you in your black lace bra and panties, his pupils growing at the sight. You pulled his shirt over his head and began frantically undoing his belt, turning you both so his back was to the bed. Once his belt was open and buttons undone, you pulled his jeans off and pushed him onto the bed. He was left in just his boxers, lying on his back with his legs spread apart off the bed, feet on the floor. You climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. His hands wandered up and down your sides, studying you and committing every inch and curve of your body to memory. You leaned down and planted kisses on his lips that quickly turned from tender to hungry and passionate, working your way down his neck to his collar bone, and then to his chest. He moaned at the escalation in desire and the sensation of you. You rocked your hips against his quickly growing erection through his boxers, earning more low moans and quiet growls from him. He began working on your neck, trying to return the favor, sending jolts of electricity to your core. As he planted wet kisses on your collar bone, he slowly slid each bra strap off your shoulders, reaching around to your back.
“Can I?” he asked for permission. You nodded. He unclipped your bra and let it fall off you, his eyes fixated on your newly exposed breasts.
“Fuck,” he muttered in awe. “So damn beautiful.” He sat up and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your chest into his face. He kneaded one breast with his free hand, slowly kissing and licking the other breast to give it proper attention, running his tongue over your nipple. You moaned at the sensation, encouraging him to keep going. He let out a lustful exhale between licks when you once again grinded against his growing bulge. You climbed off him and began to kneel between his legs when he stopped you. “Baby, let me take care of you. Don’t worry about me. You’re all I need.” There was that damn name again that you loved so much. You obeyed, standing back up. He pulled your panties down as you stood in front of him, tossing them aside and lifting his hips off the bed so you could do the same with his boxers. You climbed back on him, straddling his waist once again, but he wasn’t having it this time. He wanted to be in control, be the one to pleasure you. He wrapped an arm around your waist and quickly flipped you both over. He went back to kissing you passionately, working his way down your neck, leaving wet trails, lips smacking. His mouth made its way down your body until it was on your pubic bone. You writhed underneath him, knowing how close he was to your core, and needing him there desperately. He reached down, his fingers slipping between your folds. “Mmmmm, so wet and ready for me already, baby.” You got even wetter just hearing him talk like that. It was something out of a dream. “I can’t wait to taste you.”
“J-Joe, please,” you whined, eager for his touch.
“I like it when you beg, darling.” He leaned down and put his tongue to your bud, and you jolted at the sudden contact and increase in pleasure. Your jaw dropped at how good it felt on you. He sure knew what he was doing. Your hands reached for his head and began running through his curls, lightly tugging on them. He moaned against your core, the vibrations increasing your pleasure. You whined at the sensation. “Mmmm, I think I found my favorite sound in the whole world,” he mumbled against your core, going back to licking and sucking. He took a finger and ran it along your opening, collecting your juices combined with his saliva for lubrication. He pushed a finger inside of you, causing you to cry out in surprise and pleasure. He worked on you from the inside, curling his finger in search of that special spot. Your moans got louder and more frequent, hinting to him that he had found it. He inserted another finger to help the first one and continued massaging your walls.
“J-Joe, oh fuck. I’m so close,” you forced out, whining with each sweeping pass of his tongue.
He abruptly pulled his fingers out of you and his tongue stopped its work on your bud. You pouted at the sudden emptiness. Joe moved up and spread your legs around his waist, quickly positioned himself at your entrance and gathering juices onto his member. He shoved himself in without warning. You cried out from the pleasure of being filled again.
“You’re so fucking tight, baby. Feels so good. You alright?”
It was so sweet of him to check on you. Some men were selfish and only focused on chasing their own climax, but not Joe.
“Mhmm,” was all you could muster out.
He rhythmically rolled his hips into you, causing that aching pleasurable sensation to start building once again.
“Good girl. Look at you, you’re doing so good,” he praised, shooting more waves of pleasure to your core.
The pleasure grew stronger and stronger as Joe’s hips moved faster and faster. Joe’s thrusts became sloppy, indicating he was approaching his high, too. “Mmmm, I’m s-so r-ready. Where do you want it, darling?”
“I-in m-me,” you stuttered in pleasure. His breaths quickened, and you both peaked together. Moans from both of you filled the room as Joe thrusted messily through his high. Once you both rode out your pleasure, he pulled out of you and leaned down, kissing you gently.
“That was...life altering,” he said through an exhale with a smirk. You smiled and giggled, nodding in agreement.
“Mind blowing.”
He laid down beside you, pulling you in as the little spoon and kissing you on the shoulder attentively. He gently rubbed circles on your arm, nearly tickling you. You could have stayed like that for hours. He sure wasn’t kidding when he said he would take care of you, aftercare included.
“Joe?”
“Yes, my love?”
“Does this make us a couple? You know, officially?”
He turned you so you were on your back to get a better view of your face, looking down at you from above.
“Well, what do you want us to be? If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll be.”
This man just finished railing you like an animal and was still being a gentleman, allowing things to be defined on your terms rather than his own.
“I just want you. I don’t care how. I just do.”
He smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead.
“You already have me.”
Story Master List
#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x fem!reader#joseph quinn rpf#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn fluff#sunny in philadelphia#joseph quinn smut#smut#smut alert#Joe Quinn#joe quinn fluff#joe quinn x reader#joe quinn x you#joe quinn smut#rpf#real person fiction#fiction#fanfic#fan fiction#fanfiction#stranger things#stranger things 4#eddie munson
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I feel like my coworkers and I could write an Always Sunny spin-off about Pittsburgh
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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ BIO & WANTED CONNECTIONS
introducing: DAVY QUAN.
character inspo : duckie dale ( pretty in pink ), neil perry ( dead poets’ society ), nellie laroy ( babylon ), vanellope von schweetz ( wreck it ralph )
** content warnings: mentions of deaths in the family **
( last updated: 20/03/2023 )
STATS.
FULL NAME: davy delilah quan
NICKNAMES: deedee, ddq, the more creative the better
BIRTHDAY: september 28th ( 26 years old ).
ZODIAC: libra
HOMETOWN: qz
BIRTHPLACE: san francisco, california
JOB: clean-up crew
GENDER & PRONOUNS: nonbinary & she/they
SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: queer
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: single
PERSONALITY
davy intends to walk through life with a skip in their step and a line in their head. if fate was kind, they would be an actor by now, making waves in hollywood and thriving in a creative industry. but no, fate is never that considerate. so they’re stuck as a cleaner in the pittsburgh qz.
still, this doesn’t stop them from practising accents, self-teaching dance moves, and doing monologues from the saved tapes they have at home.
they have a box tv that their father salvaged years ago, and some old home videos on tape, and old tv recordings. over the years, the quans collected whatever tapes they could find.
their apartment was kept in pretty good condition
to davy, there’s no point in mourning the past. at least, that’s what they tell themselves. in reality, they are covering up their real emotions with jokes and keeping busy with work and staying around other people. this way, they can be funny, they can be smooth, they can be the best. as long as they don’t have to be themselves :))) because the real davy rn would be crying :)))
davy’s personality has been pretty consistent for most of their life. they have always been sunny and funny, but perhaps in the past year, people may notice that they hardly ever go home, or that they never talk about themselves anymore. it’s always an outward focus, with davy now.
DAILY LIFE.
davy does a mixture of night and day shifts for the clean-up crew.
recently, they have opted to stay out more than necessary, not really wanting to come home until they absolutely need to fall asleep.
since the death of their father, they’ve been avoiding staying at their old family apartment.
davy is the only one left :((
HISTORY.
the quan family were on vacation when the outbreak happened, visiting relatives in buffalo, new york. there was her mother, father, and three older brothers.
davy was a toddler during the chaos of trying to survive the first wave of the outbreak, and trying to get to safety in the qz.
on the way to the qz, the eldest quan brother was lost, becoming part of the infected.
being the baby of the family, the quans did everything they could to keep davy safe and protected — if not from the infected, then from the people around them.
davy’s father became part of the clean-up crew, davy’s mother became a farmer. the two quan brothers became part of fedra.
when davy was 14, the middle quan brother ( 18 yrs old at the time ) was lost in a raid outside of the qz.
when davy was 17, the youngest quan brother ( 20 yrs old at the time ) defected from fedra and became a firefly. davy never saw them again.
when davy was 20, davy lost her mother. mrs quan started joining the food delivery trips between the atlanta qz and the pittsburgh qz. she would be gone for weeks at a time. one day, davy and her father heard that her mother’s truck was attacked by the infected. not a single person made it back.
for six years, davy and her father lived alone in the apartment. it was a quiet existence. when she was 21, she joined the clean-up crew officially, taking her father’s place as his knees had started to give way and he began developing more physical ailments. their regular routine was coming home to watch one of the movie tapes together. mr quan’s favourite was watching the old tv recordings, including the commercial breaks and everything. they often quoted movies back to each other. davy remembers these times with a lot of fondness.
just last year, when davy was 25, mr quan passed away of natural causes.
coming home alone to that once crowded apartment ... davy resolved to never think about what they had lost ever again. they would not think about their dead parents, or their dead brothers, and certainly not their missing (probably dead) remaining brother. they would not think about this ... they would move on, and try to shine so bright that there wouldn’t be any space for thinking of the sad things.
since losing their father, davy has not really talked about it with anyone. as far as anyone is aware, they’re ... doing fine ... :))
HEADCANONS / DAVY-ISMS.
they can memorise almost anything they hear. not forever, but word-for-word most times.
very good at mimicking sounds and people’s voices. a decent singer, in this respect.
generally jut a great mimicker and impersonator in general. they love to watch fedra officers and practise their walk.
cannot fight to do shit. being the baby of the family, davy never had to do much protecting of themselves. they rely on the basics of shooting a gun if they ever needed to save themselves.
they’re an excellent runner, though, and very slippery, so this is how they usually get out of tough scrapes. and there have been a few.
davy is also, i believe, a very good friend. though they’re very nihilistic and don’t take care of their own wellbeing, they care about the people in their life. it’s a struggle though ... they didn’t want to care about so many people (they don’t want to suffer the pain of losing anyone else) but they can’t help it. they love their friends so much.
that being said, davy has probably had a few relationships in the past, ranging from puppy love to something almost serious. generally in a romantic relationship, davy used to be quite non-committal and immature. now, however, they are growing into someone more responsible.
WANTED CONNECTIONS !!
friends. (unlimited slots)
someone to teach them how to fend for themselves (hunting, fighting, gathering food, etc.)
someone who will urge them to talk about their past, and help them process
someone davy can help !! they love to make people smile :((
someone davy can be aboslutely goofy with. we’re thinking fred and george weaslye, we’re thinking shaggy and scooby, dumb and dumber, etc. !!
relationships.
the one who got away ( from a couple of years ago, 0/1. )
davy was too immature, it was not a good time, things were not meshing ... you name it ... but there was something real there. could have ended amiably or horribly ! , and maybe they need to re-connect again to properly end whatever happened between them.
crushes !! ( ∞ )
infinity symbol because really davy is a little in love with everyone. a light-hearted plot, can lead to very good friendships or perhaps a relationship ??
let’s get down to business ( 0/1.)
a curious little plot. i’d love to explore davy being more serious in relationships. they genuinely care about people, but is it enough to be able to show their love for a special someone? i am open to SHIIPPSSS
family.
the youngest quan brother. ( 0/1. )
they are two years older than davy, and disappeared when they were 20, and davy was 17. so they would now be 28 years old. went to join the fireflies and never came back. the quan family were very close, and loved each other very much, which is why it’s such a shock that he left. will you come back, dear brother?
note on gender: at the moment, they are considered a ‘brother’, but if you would like to develop them further, i am more than happy to work with you on that !! they can have any pronouns and can be trans, nonbinary, etc.
pls message me if any of these plots tickle your fancy !!
#( davy. about. )#i will eventually send the official wanted connection request to the main but !! it is here for now !!
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Silpa’s Tale Tale Story
Once upon a time, in the enchanting city of Toronto, there lived a young girl named Aria. She was born into a family of Indian descent, her parents being immigrants who had settled in Canada. Aria grew up listening to mesmerizing tales from her grandparents, who spoke of their homeland with great love and nostalgia.
As Aria embarked on her journey through life, she discovered a deep passion for learning and healing. She excelled academically and decided to pursue her dreams at McGill University, where she studied medicine. Her days were filled with endless hours of studying, caring for patients, and honing her skills as a compassionate healer.
One sunny day, just before Aria's graduation, an ancient book mysteriously appeared on her doorstep. It was bound in a worn leather cover, emanating an aura of mystique. Intrigued, she opened it and discovered that it contained stories of whimsical and magical history. Each page revealed tales of extraordinary beings, enchanted lands, and incredible adventures.
As Aria delved deeper into the book, its pages seemed to come alive with vivid illustrations and captivating narratives. She found herself transported to faraway realms, where mythical creatures roamed freely and magic danced through the air. The book became her gateway to a world beyond her wildest imagination.
In recognition of her dedication, talent, and remarkable achievements, Aria became the recipient of over 600 prestigious awards. These accolades celebrated her groundbreaking research, revolutionary medical discoveries, and unwavering commitment to improving the lives of others. Her contributions to the field of medicine were nothing short of miraculous.
But amidst all the recognition and success, Aria never lost sight of her heritage and the lessons her grandparents had taught her. She understood that her journey as a healer was not just about her individual accomplishments, but about the collective wisdom and strength of those who came before her.
Aria carried her heritage proudly, infusing her medical practice with the ancient healing traditions of India. She blended modern science with holistic approaches, always seeking to provide her patients with the most comprehensive and compassionate care possible.
To honor the whimsy and magic that had shaped her life, Aria established a foundation called "The Enchanted Healing Initiative." It aimed to bring joy and healing to children battling illness by creating whimsical spaces in hospitals, filled with enchanting artwork, magical storytelling, and interactive experiences. The foundation soon became a beacon of hope and wonder, touching the lives of countless children and their families.
As time passed, Aria's story found its way into the hearts of people worldwide. Her journey from a young girl in Toronto to a renowned doctor was celebrated not just for her achievements, but for the depth of her character and the enchantment she brought to the lives of others.
And so, the tale of Aria, the enchanting healer, continues to inspire generations. Her remarkable achievements and the magic she spreads through her work remind us all of the power of embracing our heritage, chasing our dreams, and nurturing the whimsy that resides within each of us.
#power #powerpittsburgh #pittsburghpower #pittsburgh
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Day 7: Pequea Creek to Baltimore
Distance Covered: 62.47 miles
Total Time (including rests): 9:04 (8:04am-5:08pm)
Time spent riding: 6:08
Average Speed: 10.2 mph
Apples Eaten: 3 (gala - 6.5/10, gala - 7/10, gala - 6.5/10)
Despite being the shortest, today was probably the worst ride yet. It was hot and sunny (to be expected), but that isn't what made the ride terrible. No, the ride was bad for a few other reasons.
First, the hills: the first 2/3 of the ride was extremely hilly, often with very steep inclines. I had to get off my bike to walk several times on the hills, meaning I tired out much more quickly than usual. I couldn't even talk full advantage of the declines, as I had to make sure I wasn't going to fast because my luggage would go wild if I was too fast on a steep decline.
Second, and most more importantly, my tire tubes: when I woke up this morning, my bike had a partial flat. I pumped it up, then walked/rode 1 mile to the nearest bike station with a floor pump to fix my bike. I was able to fix it, and then I took off. Later, I felt that my back tire had lost a lot of air (but not yet gone flat), so I stopped for a moment. While I was stopped, I did have the pleasure of meeting a nice man who grabbed his bike pump so I could use it. I continued on my ride, but my bike was quickly going flat again. At this point, I had no spare tubes, so I had to book it to the nearest bike shop. I ended up biking a good 2-3 miles on a flat tire in a hilly area. It especially sucked because I was supposed to be enjoying those miles as it was part of a rail bike trail, but I couldn't, due to my tires.
The rest of the ride after that was rather uneventful, except for a second stop at another bike shop to get more equipment (the first one didn't have enough of what I wanted/needed).
Small Things on the Ride
Small gear - the front cassette (the part with the gears) of my bike has 2 gears, but it does not have the shifter needed to change between them. Due to this, I almost always stay only on the larger gear, as it usually gives me a better range. However, today, due to the hilly nature of the first 40 miles or so, I switched to the smaller gear in front (I had to do it manually because of the lack of shifter), and it made the ride slightly more pleasant. It did mean that I wasn't really able to take advantage of the momentum from going downhill that much, because when on the smaller gear, pedaling while going downhill doesn't really do anything.
State Trooper - one of the times I was stopped for a flat repair, a state trooper who was driving by stopped to ask if I needed any help. I didn't, but he did suggest a place I could go to get my bike pumped up if I needed more air in my tires.
White bicycles - I saw 2 white bicycles today while I was riding in Baltimore. If you don't know, a white bicycle is usually placed where a bicyclist is killed in a car accident. I've seen quite a few of them in NYC and Chicago before, but these were the first ones I saw on this trip. I suppose they probably are only really in urban areas.
Giving Up?
Here's the big topic for today: should I just give up on this trip? I came into it excited, but a good 70% of the ride has been rather unpleasant, especially today, where the only fun parts were the 10 miles or so, and even that wasn't the best (okay, that's not really true, I also really enjoyed several of the hills I went down, but those are counteracted by the pain of going uphill). While I was riding with my back tire mostly flat, I kept just thinking how horrible the ride was at the moment. I really don't want to have to be stopping my bike to do a quick fix 2+ times every day. My hope is that tomorrow's ride + the GAP trail from DC to Pittsburgh change my mind on this, but at the moment the ride constantly feels way too tiring. You might notice I don't have much to say in today's post (apart from this part), and that's because I spent so much of this ride just focusing on trying to get to the next "checkpoint", or thinking about how much I wanted the ride to end. I started this blog as a way to record the various thoughts I usually have during a ride but forget about, but it's kinda becoming a chore. For example, today's Design Notes about my Cardcasting system. While I did enjoy thinking about it, I started my train of thought about it on the ride because I was thinking to myself "I should find something game-design related to write about today" - that's also why it may seem a little disjointed, because it's a distillation of a much larger idea that I can't really be bothered to write about at the moment. You'll also notice a lack of many pictures - that's because when I get into this sort of depressed zone, I don't even want to have to think about taking pictures, so I just block it out. My front bag is also falling apart a bit, and it's tearing at my handlebar tape. I also keep having to true my back bike wheel (not that I mind it too much, it's rather relaxing compared to fixing a tire). I even forgot to mention that last night I actually got a cut on my thumb while doing some bike fixing work. I'm worried for the rest of the ride. So far, what I've been doing is the easy part, camping only 1 night at a time and then staying at a friend's place. But starting Sunday, I'm going to be biking/camping 4 days back-to-back, and then after Pittsburgh, I'm going to be doing the same, but it won't even be on bike trails. The only good thing I can say about the Ohio portion of the ride is that it will probably be flatter than these last couple of days. Today's ride was supposed to be the shortest day of the trip, but it still ended up taking 9 hours. I don't even think I'm going to really be able to do yoga today, because I got here late. That's not to mention the fact that PB&Js are getting less enjoyable by the day. I meant to make myself a cream-cheese bagel yesterday in Philadelphia before starting my ride, but I forgot. Honestly, at the moment, what's keeping me going is not the ride itself, but rather the people I plan on seeing along the trip, as well as not wanting to waste the camping reservations I've made. I'm already starting to hate the idea of bicycling.
So, in all, No, I will not be giving up on this ride yet, but it is a definite possibility, especially if things don't get better from here on out.
Design Notes
I don't have much today in this area (see above, in Giving Up?), just want to touch on a magic system I've been working on.
Cardcasting
Cardcasting is a magic system I first created about a year ago when I was thinking about world-building, RPGs, and magic systems, and was disappointed by the fact that I couldn't find a style of magic system where the process by which one casts a spell can be represented in a tabletop game. For example, when RPGs like Dungeons & Dragons have magic, they typically forgo the players needing to perform some actions in order to cast the spell, and rather just focus on how many spells a player can cast, and of what level.
In Cardcasting, anyone who cast spells has an "Element" or "Mana" Deck, which consists of various cards of different elements (think a deck full only of Energy cards in the Pokemon TCG or only Land cards in Magic: the Gathering). In order to cast a spell, a player draws a certain number of cards from their deck, and must be able to assemble the spell from the cards they drew. I've written a rather long design document about this that I might share at another time, but that's all that you need to know regarding Cardcasting for what I was thinking about today.
While I have a core system developed, I've never really thought much about the larger game this would be a part of. For example, until recently, I hadn't really thought about how players would learn to cast spells, and what types of spells they could learn. Obviously, a player can only learn spells that their Element deck has the capacity to create (for example, if a player's deck only has 2 Dimensional Mana cards, they wouldn't be able to learn spells that require 3 Dimensional Mana). However, should there be further limitations on that? What about ways of amplifying or changing spells? What are the limitations on that? These are some big questions, and I've only just started thinking about them.
Cardcasting is also a good example of how I do worldbuilding as I mentioned on Day 1. I started by creating this system, and now the world that I'm building for it is largely structured around making sure that that system works and makes sense for the world. In fact, when I've been describing to myself the way in which magic "actually" works in this world, I can't quite put it into words. Thus, it makes sense that there could be a card-based system for magic, as that's the closest as the people of the world can get to truly understanding how the system works. I know I'm just rambling at this point, I lost my original train of thought.
I'm currently in Baltimore, and will be heading towards DC tomorrow. Tomorrow's ride is likely gonna be the deal-breaker regarding what was mentioned above.
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All wet on the Ohio River, part 2
Thursday
– photo by Mitch Waxman
A few more shots from a boat tour of the Ohio River here in Pittsburgh, offered by the Doors Open Pittsburgh organization, which were captured during a driving rain storm. As is always the case with such things, pretty much the minute that the boat we were on returned to dock, the clouds parted and it became sunny and lovely, but while we were onboard it was…
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they did NOT just say jag off in its always sunny 😡Thats our word pittsburghers only!
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Acri Pittsburgh Property Management Shares 4 Snow Bird Tips
New Post has been published on https://blog.hoa-websiteservices.com/acri-property-management/acri-pittsburgh-property-management-shares-4-snow-bird-tips/
Acri Pittsburgh Property Management Shares 4 Snow Bird Tips
It is that time of year again where those lucky snow birds escape winter weather for some sunny respite.
Here are 4 top winterizing tips to get you started on a safe journey.
1. Electrical:
Unplug all of your electrical appliances. Winter storms power outages can easily sweep through a home and destroy anything plugged in to a power outlet. No need to leave small appliances, computers or Television devices plugged in while you are alway.
Leave your refrigerator plugged in, remove perishable items and for safety sake, pack the freezer with ice.
Turnoff the circuit breaker to your water heater of unplug it, no need to keep heating hot water for no reason.
Put fresh batteries in all of your smoke alarms.
Consider purchasing an auto programmable thermostat or even better invest in an app based Thermostat, like Nest, so you can monitor your AC and Heat remotely.
2. Plumbing
Pour Bleach down drains.
Turn off your water supply line
Ensure all faucets are turned off.
Turn off your washing machine’s water supply and the water supply lines for each of your toilets.
Securely seal off your toilet bowls with plastic wrap so insects won’t enter your home through the plumbing after the lines dry out.
3. Stop Services:
Be sure to contact service providers and have them put your services on hold. Most of these companies have other snowbird clients and will have no issues with temporarily suspending your services.
Put a temporary stop on your gym or club memberships
Many providers like Comcast allow for a discounted rate, while still leaving your wifi service active.
Suspend Newspapers and Periodical publications.
Do not cancel utility services as re-connection can be quite expensive.
4. Inform Others:
If you live in a condominium building, contact your security office and inform them of your departure. You may wish to leave a key with the office in case of an emergency, but this is not a requirement.
Ask someone you trust to stop by every so often to tend to plants and retrieve any mail or flyers from your porch (a mailbox overflowing with flyers is a sure sign of an empty house, making your home a target for burglary).
Give your neighbor an updated contact list with phone numbers and an email address where you can be reached if an emergency occurs.
Hire a professional Home Waatch Service provider that can check and repair issues before they become a big problem.
In summary, a little pre-trip planning can prevent preempted vacation or a disastrous return.
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“Welcome to Wrexham” (2022): Superstars as Super Saviors
"Welcome to Wrexham" is an American sports documentary series that premiered on August 24 of this year on FX. The series documents the events of Welsh association football club Wrexham AFC as told by the club’s top-tier celebrity owners Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney.
https://youtu.be/UJYFASFtbc4
“Welcome to Wrexham” (2022): Superstars as Super Saviors
Streaming Series Review
by John Smistad
I grew up in Houston, Texas. I was, am, and will always be a sports fanatic. As such, I loved my hometown pro football team, the Oilers. The club subjected its fans to some grim seasons when I was a kid. Try back-to-back 1 and 13 records, including a spirit-sapping 18 losses in a row.
But then along came a couple of guys named Bum Phillips and Earl Campbell. The easy-going cowboy hat-wearing Head Coach and the Hall of Fame wrecker of a running back helped lead the Oilers to consecutive AFC Championship games in the late 1970s. And though they would lose both title matches to a legendary pack of Pittsburgh Steelers (still arguably the best overall unit in the history of the sport) and we were sorely disappointed to not realize our dreams of Super Bowl glory, the entire city of Houston was Texas-size proud of our crew in Columbia Blue.
They had galvanized a once forlorn fan base. A city. A people.
Enter the new documentary series “Welcome to Wrexham”. This time it’s a Welsh soccer team. And the town is just a wee bit smaller than “Space City”. But the fierce and unwavering devotion of this berg’s futbol club’s fans mirrors that fiery spirit of the “Luv Ya Blue” faithful of yore.
Wrexham has known hard times in recent decades. Damn hard. Busted businesses. Joblessness. Broken dreams.
And a crappy soccer team.
Perhaps it’s that last one that really hurts the most.
Once proud league champions, Wrexham AFC has plunged into a decades-long spiral of obscurity and futility. And the natives are restless. They want a change. A team to root like hell for. And be rewarded.
They want a winner, damn it.
And just like in the movies, it’s Hollywood to the rescue.
Surging onto the scene like knights in tinsel-town armor come feted film idol Ryan Reynolds (“Deadpool” among oodles of other big screen sizzlers) and TV super-duper star Rob McElhenney (“It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, the comic actor's actual hometown). Together this dynamic duo devotes their support, enthusiasm, faith and an unspecified cache of cash to right the sinking ship that has long since been Wrexham soccer and launch the lads into the coveted (and one whole hell of a lot more lucrative) next-level of European pro soccer.
Do Reynolds, McElhenney and an assorted cast of characters committed to culminating a colossal comeback crusade fit for the most unlikely of cinematic storybook endings succeed in their quest?
Only Season Two of “Welcome to Wrexham” will reveal the answer (if you don’t spoil the surprise and Google it first, that is). Suffice it to say that it’s an uphill climb.
But don’t count this plucky bunch out. Turns out they’re pretty good at battling up from the bottom.
May this sacred mantra of the sports fanatic rock both heaven and earth now and for time eternal…
“Ya gotta believe!”
Season One of “Welcome to Wrexham” is available in it’s entirety on FX and to rent and purchase now on amazon Prime Video.
***Watch my weekly Entertainment Interview podcast series***
CONVERSATIONS WITH “THE QUICK FLICK CRITIC”
Livestreams every Tuesday at 7 PM EST on the HOME Page @ this link!
https://ruderangers.com/the-quick-flick-critic
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#resetbutton 👉🏾What’s up people? Amber here! I’m a 35 year old, God loving, spontaneous, vivacious, fun loving Sagittarius from New York who has always loved exploring the unfamiliar. I recently moved from the sunny beaches of Florida after eight years to the nature park loving state of Arkansas earlier this year. Besides traveling the world, I enjoy astrology, fine arts (singing, dancing, street art, broadway), staying active, fashion, being an aunt to seven nieces & nephews , The Pittsburgh Steelers and cooking cultural foods with a glass of wine! 🔒My love for travel began as a child because I was obsessed with Geography. I’d constantly study maps (countries, states & capitals) and was so fascinated to know there was a bigger world out there. Not to mention, I wanted to be on the 90s PBS Kids tv show, “Carmen Sandiego”growing up and my friends can never locate me, hence fitting to our name. 👉🏾I’ve studied español since first grade so embracing new cultures was just embedded in my blood and brain. Also, I’ve moved around in my lifetime so I’ve grown accustomed to change and switching up my environment. I can literally be a chameleon in any atmosphere. Excited to share such an important part of my life with you all! Check the link on my bio for my blog! #travelbloggerlife . . . . #womenwhotravel #womenwhotravelsolo #bloggingwomen #brandphotography #fourthofjuly #seetheworldwithme #travelaround #femaletravel #dametravel #foodblogeats #hiddengems #resetbutton #carmensandiego (at 𝘼𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cfmb_yvlYJ0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
#resetbutton#travelbloggerlife#womenwhotravel#womenwhotravelsolo#bloggingwomen#brandphotography#fourthofjuly#seetheworldwithme#travelaround#femaletravel#dametravel#foodblogeats#hiddengems#carmensandiego
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Sunny in Philadelphia - A Joseph Quinn Story (Chapter 8)
Chapter 8 - Surprise!
The week went by slowly, as you expected, but Joe kept his promise of calling every night. You would send him selfies periodically to keep him missing you, to which he would always respond with a heart-eyes or a kiss emoji, and the occasional video message with a quick “beautiful, love” and a smile so you could miss him, too. By Friday, you were really beginning to feel the effects of being away from him, especially when photo ops from Fan Expo Dallas started surfacing on social media. He looked like an angel in his white t-shirt and jeans with the yellow backdrop, his brown curls laying freely over his head in all directions. Those curls. Running your hands through them would have been very nice right about then. Only a few more days.
Your heart was swelling from seeing all the Friday convention photos. You decided to make use of them. You began texting Joe. The convention had ended for the night, so you were hoping he was free to answer.
Joe, you’re making being away from you really difficult for me right now.
Oh? Why is that, love?
You sent him a photo op photo of himself from earlier that day.
Look at you!
It’s just me, love.
Just Joe? JUST JOE? He had to be kidding. This man looked good in any outfit, any color. It was pleasantly stomach-turning, and you were kind of jealous of it, if you were being honest.
JUST YOU?! You look adorable. The white?! I can’t cope.
Well, thank you, darling. You won’t have to cope much longer.
Is that supposed to make me feel better, Joe?
I suppose not. But I think I can help put some ice on it for a bit, hold you over until Monday.
Oh?
Just then, your phone started ringing, Joe’s name showing up on the screen, but it was different. A grin grew on your face as you realized it was a FaceTime call instead of just a phone call. You have never swiped to answer so quickly.
“Hello, love.”
“Hi, Joe,” you said, cheeks burning as you saw he was in his white t-shirt, and he still had his readers on.
“You liked my outfit so much, I thought it might make you feel better to let you actually see it.”
You smiled at him as he stretched his arm out to show a full-body view to the camera.
“You definitely know what you’re doing, Quinn,” you said, smirking. He chuckled in response.
“Did it work? Do you feel better?”
“Yes, thank you,” you giggled. “It’s so good to see your face. Your outfit was just a bonus.”
“Aw, bless you, love.”
“Oh, I’m blessed, alright,” you chuckled at him with a wink. His lightly freckled cheeks slowly faded to red and he let a close-lipped smile sneak onto his face.
“Someone is feisty today.”
“I’m feisty every day. You sure you can handle it?” you smirk at him.
“I’m sure going to try.” His smile grew into a wide one. “You’re different today. You were so timid when we first met.”
“Well, what can I say? You’re pulling me out of my shell.”
“Well, good. I like it,” he snickers, winking.
The two of you continued your normal nightly phone call for a little while longer, until you had to go to work. 3 days. You could make it 3 days. Hopefully.
When Monday evening rolled around, you could hardly sit still in the car as you were driving. You had decided to surprise Joe by picking him up at the Pittsburgh airport and spending the night exploring the city before going back home. He had no idea you were going to be waiting for him at the terminal when he landed. You pulled into the airport parking lot and made your way inside, shaking from a combination of nerves and adrenaline. You were so excited to see him after a week, but you were nervous because you hadn’t touched him in a week. Would your knees go weak? Would you faint? All kinds of questions wandered through your mind as you walked. He was landing at 5:15 and you got there extra early to be careful not to miss him.
You were waiting outside the terminal, twiddling your thumbs anxiously. He was due to land in 5 minutes, the slowest 5 minutes of your life. You looked at the time on your phone about 20 too many times. After what felt like hours, the flight tracker app you were using said that Joe’s flight from Dallas to Pittsburgh had landed. You stood up, your eyes not leaving the terminal. Eventually you saw a head of brown curls covered by a hat making way through the crowd. His head was down, typing on his phone. Yours vibrated and you looked at it quickly, knowing it was from him.
I’ve landed, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours.
He still had no idea you were feet from him. It was so exhilarating, surprising him, anticipating how happy he was about to become, all because of you. You started towards him, moving faster the closer you got to him. Once you were about 3 feet away, he looked up from his phone. His eyes met yours, widening in disbelief with a jaw drop. He dropped his bags and wrapped you in a hug, lifting you off the ground and squeezing like it was the last time he would ever hold you, ensuring him that you weren't a figment of his imagination.
“Baby, what are you doing here?!” he said eagerly into your hair. Your heart jumped in your chest. It was the first time he had ever called you that, and you hoped to yourself that it wouldn’t be the last.
“I decided to surprise you,” you said, pulling back and looking into his eyes lovingly.
“Well, you definitely did. Thank you!” he answered, pulling you into another hug.
“The surprise isn’t over yet,” you said, flashing your eyebrows with a smile. He looked at you with flirtatious suspicion.
“What do you have up your sleeve, love?”
“Well, I know you enjoy the city, and you’ve never been to Pittsburgh before, so I thought we could have a date night here and head back home tomorrow.”
His eyes widened along with his smile.
“Darling, that’s so thoughtful. Thank you.” He pulled you in for a tender kiss. Every part of you that he was touching tingled. It felt like Heaven after a week of being separated, and you feared you were beginning to develop an addiction for this man. You pulled away and grabbed his hand.
“Now let’s go! I’m taking you to dinner. Hope you’re hungry!”
“Always.” He smiled at you, grabbing his bags with his free hand and running through the airport alongside you like a love-sick puppy.
Story Master List
#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x fem!reader#joseph quinn rpf#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn x you#Joe Quinn#joe quinn fluff#joe quinn x reader#joe quinn x you#i promise smut is coming#joseph quinn fluff#fluff#rpf#real person fiction#fan fiction#fiction#fanfiction#writing#sunny in philadelphia#stranger things#stranger things 4#eddie munson
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Sidney Crosby: I am not leaving here until you apologize to me.
Claude Giroux: Yeah, well, you’re going to be here for a while.
#philadephia flyers#pittsburgh penguins#source: it's always sunny in philadelphia#sidney crosby#claude giroux
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season 7, episode 12 “It’s Not Always Sunny in Pittsburgh”
#brynn rumfallo#kalani hilliker#kendall vertes#nia frazier#elliana walmsley#lilliana ketchman#camryn bridges#maesi caes#pyramid#s7e12#it's not always sunny in pittsburgh#dance moms
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Even after 13 seasons, this show never gets old!
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Paper Rings
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader
Word Count: 10,191
Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound
Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music)
Link to A03 or read below!
“Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.
You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.
That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.
You are not the only one to notice.
“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”
“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.
That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.
“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.
“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.
“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.
“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”
“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”
Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.
He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.
Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.
Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.
As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.
“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.
He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.
The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.
“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”
It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.
“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.
You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron.
A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.
“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.
“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.
It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.
He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.
You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.
“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”
He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.
“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.
“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”
He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.
When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.
He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.
“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.
“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.
“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.
“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”
“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.
She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.
You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.
It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.
When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.
The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.
“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.
“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”
He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.
“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes.
The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.
“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.
“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”
He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.
“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.
“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.
“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.
“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.
More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.
“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.
Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.
When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.
The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.
“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.
He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.
He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.
You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.
Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.
“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.
“You jump, I jump, Jack.”
He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.
“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.
It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.
That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight.
Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.
You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.
“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”
You hold back a smile.
“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.
“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”
“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.
“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.
“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.
You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.
Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.
You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.
“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”
“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”
“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.
“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.
“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.
“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”
“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.
You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.
Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?
You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date.
Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.
“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.
“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”
“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.
“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.
“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”
It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”
You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.
“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.
“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.
“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…
You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.
“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”
“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”
You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.
At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.
“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.
Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.
“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.
“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.
With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.
Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.
“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.
“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.
“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.
You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.
“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.
“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.
It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.
“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.
“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.
It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.
“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”
You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.
You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.
“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.
“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.
“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.
“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.
“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”
You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?
When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—
He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.
That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night.
The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.
You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.
Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.
You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.
Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.
You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.
“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.
“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.
“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.
“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”
“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.
“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.
“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.
“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.
“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.
“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”
“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.
“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”
“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”
“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”
You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?
“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”
“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”
“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”
You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.
You’ve never felt less like celebrating.
At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.
“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.
“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.
“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”
You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?
“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.
“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.
Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go.
Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.
At least there are two beds, this time.
You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.
You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.
It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.
It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.
“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.
“Where would she be? The front or the back?”
“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.
Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.
The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.
You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.
“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.
“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”
“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.
“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.
“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him.
You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.
The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.
You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.
“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”
He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.
“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”
He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.
“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.
The words are nice to hear, though.
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”
You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.
“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.
“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”
“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.
“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.
It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.
“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”
“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go.
The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.
“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”
“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.
“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.
“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”
“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.
“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.
“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”
“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”
“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.
“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.
“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.
“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.
“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”
You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.
The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway.
A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!
Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#hotch x female reader#hotch x reader#paper rings#inspired by#taylor swift
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