#law & order SUV

[gryffindorcompaniononpigfarts]

Season 19 episode 18 might as well be called “Rollins out of character” this is the opposite of her. What the hell

[notaplanetpluto]

Whenever Duke mentions law and order SUV. I be wanting to watch it right, because I watch chicago pd and stuff. Then I remember it has TWENTY SIX SEASONS AND STILL GOING, HELL NAH. You can recap the episode you watched for me though 😂.

[kiragirl17]

Shit. I wasn’t expecting that murder in the last five minutes of SUV. Literally, shocked.

Wasn’t expecting that.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Bergdorf Goodman’s Law & Order SUV

[internetadministratorbrad]

[vivaoplay]

LAW & ORDER (1991-1992) – RESUMO e CURIOSIDADES

A segunda temporada da série americana Law & Order foi exibida do dia 17 de setembro de 1991 até o dia 14 de maio de 1992. Transmitida pelo canal NBC, a temporada teve 22 episódios. A segunda temporada da série Law & Order segue os detetives e advogados do distrito enquanto eles investigam e julgam crimes em Nova York. A equipe de detetives é liderada pelo Detetive Lennie Briscoe e o assistente,…

[shojizbae]

Mothers Day

Spencer Reid x Reader

As the newest member of the team, everyone is shocked by your boldness.

Everyone knew not to trespass when Las Vegas or Mental illness was a factor in the case. Everyone but you, apparently. By chance, the team's last case to Vegas was two months before your hire. Now, you were making very dangerous strides around a very delicate subject. The Unsub was suspected to be a man on a psychotic break and had begun devolving before the team had even been called in. Ever the overtly ambitious profiler you wanted to follow Spencer Reid for his ultra-secret contact.

"He prefers to go alone." My eyes met the dark brown hand on my bicep

"We really shouldn't be going places alone. You know the FBI minted the buddy system?" I shook him off

"I know, baby girl, but this is delicate. You just gotta leave it alone."

"Derek, you, of all people, should be aware of my incessant control problems."

"I have to agree with Morgan. This is something you need to let be."

"But you know I can't. Doctor Reid!" I darted off after him. He was tense, like the way people get when they hear a tornado siren and have to put themselves in their basement or put a mattress over their bathtub. He was preparing for disaster. "I truly believe it would be beneficial if I were to go with you."

"Would it be benefitting the case or your psyche?" He prods

"Well, both and neither." I readjust my little rectangular glasses, "As you know, I'm extraneously protective, to a fault. Also, I am working on my doctorate in psychology and I'm writing a dissertation on noncommutative disorder clusters. And I'm comfortable around disorders. Actually, I find it strange that when we talk about OCD, we call it a 'disorder' when people just like things organized in a particular manner." I snort to punctuate my rambling, but he only grits his jaw. "Aw man, that joke usually kills in my schizoid heredity focus group." He sighs as he tugs his satchel on.

"You need to stay quiet and low profile." He orders, and I know my dorky smile splits my face. He leads me to a big black SUV, where I take the driver's seat. He gives me directions, leading me from the way through town street and down some scary back roads. Eventually, we pass a sign that reads Bennington Sanitarium. He tells me to turn left, and we park in the back of the parking lot. He tells me to leave my gun in the car, and I follow him with my head down.

"So, who's this ultra-secret contact you have?" His stress seemed to triple, "Some fancy professor from Caltech?" He's being intentionally nebulous, I'm aware but there's some fun in playing nosy-cop.

"No, it's not someone who worked at Caltech."

"Oh, but a professor? Where'd they work, Burkley? Or maybe some school in Vegas. Let's see, there are not that many high-profile universities in Vegas."

"No, she hasn't worked in years." His voice sharpens in frustration, so I back down, readjusting my glasses, and licking the corner of my lips. We enter and a receptionist recognizes Spencer immediately with a big smile.

"Dr. Reid how lovely to see you. Have you come to visit your mother? She'll be ecstatic. It's been far too long." Oh, like mother like son. She must be a psychiatrist. I smile softly at the notion. It will be so interesting to see who and where Spencer came from.

"Thank you, Sheryl, how has she been."

"Well, she has her day, but mostly, she just reads. You know the book club started a new series." Sherly playfully brushes his arm and giggles.

"That's good."

"She should have just gotten out of therapy." Sheryl smiles and rakes her eyes over the young doctor. Finally, she makes eye contact with me.

"Oh well, you're new," she cheers in a vaguely Midwestern accent. You'll need a visitor's pass, hon." She gets one from a drawer and hands it to me. "So, do you work at the FBI, too, or are you coming to meet the in-laws?"

"I'm an agent," I laugh. If I were lucky enough to snag him, that would be an HR nightmare." Playfully, I pat his chest. He guffaws dryly as I slide the plastic lanyard around my neck.

Spencer leads me through the building, mostly there are elderly people playing chess or using oil pastels as nurses and orderlies orbit them. He leads me through a large living room past an Asian woman knitting. We find a woman with blonde hair biting her nails on the couch as she ponders something.

"Hi, Mom," He warbles. There's an extra beat between his greeting and her response. It's like she snaps out of a trance when she sees her son.

"Spencer, honey, what are you doing here?"

"Me and my frie-"

"Oh my goodness, thank whatever deities you deny the existence of; you're finally giving me some grandchildren."

"No, Mom, this is my coworker Agent (L/n). She and I just have some questions for you regarding our case."

"Well, at least sit down." She pats the space next to her, and Spencer obeys, "You too, young lady."

"Yes, ma'am." I take the only spot right next to him, and Spencer begins rattling off questions while his mom sits there with her hand under her nose. She sits and observes Spencer like no one at the BAU does. When he finishes contextualizing the case with her she stews on every word like his voice is her favorite song.

"So our first question for you is, uh (Y/n), you might be better at asking." He makes the wringing motion of cracking his knuckles, but no sound comes out.

"Um, mostly, the bureau is interested in the capabilities of delusion to overlap reality. When you are having an episode, do you recognize the difference between your actions and your perceptions?" I retrieve a legal pad and a fountain pen and click it theatrically. Diana keeps her hand over her mouth and inhales longingly through her nose. She points at me but doesn't look at me.

"You're a very smart young woman," She locks her eyes on me, "I'll answer your questions if you answer mine."

"Of course, wagers are the drug of choice in Vegas, well that and alcohol and mostly any other drug you can think of." I correct myself

"God, you're so much like him." She looks to her son."Why aren't you dating my Spencer?"

"Uh," is all that dumbly spills from my mouth.

"You two seem perfectly suitable for each other. Is it because he's so skinny?"

"No,"

"Well, he's incredibly handsome and talented; even a pigeon could see he's intelligent beyond a lexicon." She rambles

"Mom, I think that's enough."

"Spencer, you haven't visited me in over a year, and how do you believe that's any way to speak to your mother." She reprimands me. Had the information not shocked me, I would have giggled.

"Spencer, over a year?!" I swat his arm, "You've had time off. Why wouldn't you come to visit?"

"Oh well, I've still gotten my daily letters," she pouts. But it's been too long, and I'm getting old." She begins to bat her eyelashes, and she holds onto his arm.

"I'm trying, Mom," he whined

"To visit or to get me some grandkids?" she sasses

"Mom," He groaned, and I couldn't help the giggle that escaped my lips.

"What about you, young lady? Do you have any kids??"

"No, ma'am."

"Why not?" I could see where Spencer gets his tunnel thinking.

"My career has made it difficult to go out on dates and fall in love," I admitted it was almost like Diana could extract the truth from me

"Well, then, date my Spencer."

"Mom!" he protested

"Shh! It's a win-win: I get grandbabies, you get dates, and neither of your careers gets in the way." I meant to retaliate, but her infallible logic knocked all the fire out of me.

"Let's finish up this interview and solve this case then we can circle back." I mitigated

Two days later, the case was solved, and we were riding the jet back to Virginia. Everyone had filed off the plane but Spencer and I.

"So, do you have any plans tonight?" It threw me further off guard than Diana.

"I was just gonna turn on Real Housewives reruns and cuddle cannoli." It was how I spent most nights.

"Would you object to a date?"

"Tonight?"

"We could watch the Real Housewives and hang out with your cat??"

"You want to do that?"

"It sounds much better than sweating in an overpriced Italian restaurant." He laughs and rings his knuckles

"it does, I think I have NBC, we could watch Star Trek after." I offer as we walk from the landing strip to the BAU. We made a sojourn at his home so he could shower and put on comfortable clothes. Two years later it would be cannoli to ring bear your wedding. Spencer would have to credit his mother who walked you both down the aisle simultaneously for your relationship and the whole team would have to agree.

[urf1lterr]

moonlight | m.yg [1]

next chapter: soon

summary: when it’s finally the week of your big sister's wedding, you’re more than excited for it to be over as responsibilities come flying your way. however, you can’t seem to stop thinking about a particular groomsman with blonde hair.

pairing: groomsman!yoongi x bridesmaid!y/n

genre: wedding!au, strangers to lovers au | awkward, fluff, angst, mature

word count: 7.4k

status: in progress

author’s note: reposting this bc i miss him. i’ve been wanting to do this for sooooo long but never had time- still don’t but oops.

Sleep is what you really needed right now, especially when you already lacked it in your daily life. But no, that wasn’t really an option right now, not when you had to wait for your sister to pick you up from the airport and get dinner afterwards. 

Realistically, you could’ve slept on the plane ride here, but you hated the seat you were in. At first, you sat in the aisle seat because it was always the fastest way to exit afterwards, but you had to give that up when a man probably in his late 50s basically ordered you to move to the middle because older people need "more" room. 

You weren’t happy, but you weren’t about to argue because of this.

All you wanted to do right now was go to your old bedroom and change into some comfy sweats and an oversized t-shirt before pulling your blankets over your head to sleep in peace. You knew it was not going to happen any time soon, but a girl can wish. 

As you finally saw your suitcases at the baggage claim area, you grabbed one, almost falling by how large and heavy it was. You cursed at yourself for overpacking, but you were staying in town for two weeks and could not risk the chance of not having enough clothes. Luckily, your other suitcase was fairly smaller.

Walking to the other side of the terminal, you saw the exit to the pick up area, immediately moving your legs faster because you couldn’t wait to get out of here. There were too many people walking slow, it surprised you how calm you’ve lasted.

Once you reached a bench in front of the area, you noticed that the weather was not that great. It was raining, which you loved- but your sister planned most of her events outside so this is probably going to make her cry for hours.

And you really don't wanna be the shoulder she cries on- she is very dramatic when she sobs.

Pulling out your phone, you noticed you received three texts. One from your sister, mom, and boss. 

[mom] 5:57pm: were you able to land safely? don’t look tired and try not to be introverted, namjoon’s mother is joining us for dinner. put on some makeup, love you!

Rolling your eyes, you shook your head. You weren’t surprised in the slightest, you knew how your mother was. She didn’t mean any harm, but she loves to impress others. By looking a bit tidy, she thinks people wouldn’t think lowly of us. However, she fails to understand that we’ve known your future brother-in-law’s family for almost six years now, you don’t believe they will call off the wedding by seeing their future daughter-in-law’s little sister bare faced. 

Plus, his mother is the sweetest. If anything, she always told you how much she loved seeing natural faces compared to the overdose of products people nowadays use in which she refers to “tiktok trends.” 

[jae] 6:01pm: the office is going to miss you! tell ur sister congrats again, and then do it again for me once she’s actually married lol. don’t you dare ask if there’s work for you to do it in the next two weeks! 

Laughing to yourself, you quickly replied with a small “thank you, i will tell her,” along with a “darn, now i cant use work as an excuse to get out of wedding duties. but if there is work needed to be done just text me.”

[violet] 6:13pm: almost there!! look out for a black suv. hope u don’t need to go home, kinda planning to go straight to dinner bc our reservation is at 7 and joonie doesn’t want to be late! he’s scared they’ll judge us, see you soon <3

Of course he would think that, coming from the man who thinks texting and walking is rude- it's debatable!

That’s when you looked at the time, noticing that it was exactly 6:20pm. There was still time to make it by 7, you were sure of it.

As you were about to reply to your mom and sister, you heard the sound of tires screeching with constant honks. You looked up, noticing a very expensive-looking suv pulled near the curb, still beeping.

Was this your sister? I mean, it was black like she stated it would be.

Your question was finally answered when you noticed the passenger window being rolled down, revealing two young looking men with bright smiles eagerly waving, the driver still beeping with his other hand causing many people around to glare as they walked by.

You noticed the man with very shaggy hair, wearing what seems to be a white t-shirt, black slacks, and sneakers as he opened the door. “What’s up, y/n,” he smiled, making his way towards you.

“Taehyung? What are you doing here? I thought Violet was going to pick me up- is she in the backseat?” You questioned as he automatically went to grab your bags. “And what is this moron doing here? I thought he got his license taken away last month?”

Looking back to the SUV, you saw your cousin in the driver’s seat with what seems to be him fighting off a man with a bright yellow and green vest knocking violently on his window side. 

“You cannot park here, you’re holding up traffic!” the man yelled, causing your cousin to roll his eyes before rolling down the window maybe two inches before yelling back.

“You’re the one holding up traffic standing in the middle of the road!”

“Don’t make me call security! Park in the parking lot!” The man dragged on, hitting the side of the car repeatedly and motioning his arms to drive away at the same time. 

"Aren't you security?!" Your cousin honked before glaring at the man. “And you scratch my car, you pay for it!”

You stopped watching their little altercation as Taehyung began rolling your suitcases towards the trunk of the car, making you follow along. “She wasn’t able to come, apparently she had to go pick up some materials she ordered for the centerpieces,” he stated, setting the bags inside before closing the trunk. “And I am not sure why he is driving, I think everybody forgot he shouldn’t be and I am too lazy to do it, I was not able to take my nap today because Namjoon made me paint the photo booth all morning- it was exhausting.” 

Opening the passenger door for you, you quickly jumped in as he shut it before jumping into the seat behind you. Turning to your left, you could still see your cousin arguing with the man before Taehyung told him to drive already.

“No! I hope you have a shitty day, you asshole!” Your cousin screamed before speeding away down the street. After literally two seconds, he looked your way while smiling brightly. “I missed you!”

Giving him a dirty glance, you slap his arm. “Ow! What was that for?” He whined, rubbing his arm with his free hand.

“Jungkook, why the fuck are you driving?” you declared. “You’re not allowed”

“Says who,” he rolled his eyes.

“The state,” Taehyung says from the backseat.

Jungkook scoffs, shaking his head. “They can’t do anything, I pay my taxes.”

Groaning, you rub your forehead. “This has nothing to do with your taxes, you imbecile.”

He gives you a confused look for a quick moment before moving his eyes back on the road again. “You don’t need to use big words to attack me, y/n. This isn’t law school.”

You heard Taehyung sighing at how annoying his friend was being. To clear things up, Taehyung was actually a close friend of your side of the family through Jungkook, the two of them being inseparable since kindergarten. 

You just so happened to know him well since he always followed Jungkook everywhere he went, same vice versa, as you saw your cousin basically everyday due to only being one year apart and both your mom’s being sisters. But with Taehyung, you happened to be the same age, same with their other friend in their trilogy, Jimin. In which you were surprised he wasn’t here because Jimin loved going to dinner with them. 

“Why are you driving?”

“I got my license back,” he smiled, nodding heavily when he saw the questionable facial expression you were making. “I swear! I went to the DMV and everything. I got it back after paying like $3,000.”

Choking on your saliva after hearing how much he had to pay, you gasped, “Why so much? What exactly did you do?!”

Jungkook awkwardly moved both his hands on the steering wheel, obviously not wanting to answer your question as you heard his friend chuckling in the backseat. “Yeah, tell her Jungkook, what did you do?”

Throwing a small box of tissues he had left near the middle cup holder to Taehyung, Jungkook began his excuse. “I’m not really sure, apparently it’s illegal to drive through rain puddles,” he shrugged.

You shifted your head a bit, “that’s not illegal.”

“It is when you purposely speed through them to get people wet,” Taehyung giggled as Jungkook groaned in annoyance.

“Dude! You weren’t supposed to tell her that part!” Jungkook whined.

“That is so rude,” you pinched his arm as he tried moving away from you, knowing your first reaction to things were mostly violence. “How would you like it if someone did that to you?”

“I actually wouldn’t mind it,” he stated. “Saves me money from going to a waterpark.”

Sometimes, you wondered what goes on in that big head of your cousin. Not much common sense, that’s for sure.

“Anywho,” you spoke up, trying to change the dumb conversation you just had. “What’s the plan for tonight? I heard something about a dinner, but other than that I have idea what’s going on. No one told me anything.”

Jungkook shrugged, glancing at you a few times as he answered your question. “I know we have dinner with some of Namjoon’s friends, his mom, your parents, and then you sister’s friends. But afterwards, no clue.”

“Why are you and Taehyung going then?” 

He scoffed, looking offended. “I’ll have you know, we are very much indeed Namjoon’s friends,” he proudly said before giving in once he saw how that did nothing. Maybe acquaintances but definitely not friends. “All the groomsmen were invited.”

Ah yes, you almost forgot Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jimin were appointed groomsmen which was a big shock considering they were not close to Namjoon like that. 

But to be completely honest, your sister did have six bridesmaids while Namjoon only had three real groomsmen he wanted. So, she was able to convince Namjoon to allow the other three to take apart on their special day because they were basically like family.

And because he had no one else to call.

Although, it didn’t take much convincing, Namjoon did love the guys and they all bonded really well whenever they did interact.

“So, Jimin’s going?”

“He should be,” you heard Taehyung answer. “He couldn’t come with us to pick you up because he had to drop his little brother off at baseball practice- but I think their mom is going to pick him up once he’s done.”

You nodded, understanding the situation. To be honest, you were happy the three of them were going. It’s not like you wouldn’t know anyone tonight, maybe only a couple people, but the rest of your family never knew how to make you feel comfortable the same way the boys did.

Maybe its because you basically grew up with them and how you were all close in age, but you felt more open and less forced to act a certain way when they were by your side. 

Throughout the car ride, you had to constantly bicker with Jungkook about slowing down and to avoid potholes as it kept getting in the way of you applying concealer and powder from your seat. You especially yelled when he almost made you smash your mascara wand in your eye, causing Taehyung to hide his laughter as he scrolled through twitter. 

Finally, after small loads of traffic and listening to Jungkook’s ‘go crazy, go stupid’ playlist in which consisted of old Taylor Swift and Hannah Montana songs, you made it to the restaurant. The problem was, the rain was hectic. You’re surprised Jungkook didn’t crash into a pole trying to see through his windshield wipers.

Once you parked, Jungkook sheepishly smiled. “Okay so we have a small problem- nothing serious,” he stated as you gave him a look for him to continue. “We don’t have an umbrella.”

“What-” you and Taehyung said at the same time. “I can’t show up in there all wet, it’s pouring outside!”

“-and I can’t risk getting my shirt wet, I didn’t bring a sweatshirt and I am wearing a white top- my chest will be see through if it gets wet!” Taehyung cried out. “I don’t want people violating me.”

“Calm down, drama queens,” Your cousin rolled his eyes. “Y/n, cover your face with your arms to protect your makeup- that’s the only thing you should save. Taehyung, wrap your arms over your chest, don’t you dare lift them until we are sheltered. We got this guys!”

You scoffed as he cheered you both on. At least you all will be drenched together, you thought. 

Getting ready to jump out of the car, you looked down at your outfit. You were wearing an oversized dark brown crewneck sweater, black thick leggings, and your white platform sneakers. At least you were kind of warm and didn’t have much to damage from the rain. 

Looking back at how far the restaurant was from your parking spot, you three basically had to run the side of the building to get to the front. It wouldn’t have been a problem if it was regularly raining- but as it was lashing down with some now background sounds of thunder and lightening, you knew this was going to be a bad idea. 

Jungkook gave you two a confident nod before aiming towards his door as Taehyung and you gave each other a worried look, eventually doing the same. “On the count of 3!” Jungkook yelled from his side. 

Once we were all ready, hands on the door handle, you heard Taehyung start, “1-”

“-3!” Jungkook screamed and ran out the door, hearing the door lock as he ran his distance. 

Taehyung and you looked at each other in shock before chasing after him. As you took more and more steps, you could tell that this rainstorm was probably one of the worst you have ever encountered.

But to be fair, you should have checked the forecast and remembered to bring your own umbrella. 

After what seemed like minutes, the three of you finally made it to the front of the building in which you were blessed with a roof for your protection. At this moment, you have never been happier. 

Moving your eyes to the two boys standing near you, you noticed how even though Tae’s hair was swamped, he managed to barely get his chest wet. Jungkook’s hair began curling up on the sides, but only that and his shoulders were fairly drenched. 

You tried straightening out your sweater while looking up at Taehyung. “Do I look alright?”

“Yeah, you totally don’t look like you just ran through the rain.” he nodded, even though you could feel your hair soaked. 

“Your makeup still looks intact,” Jungkook added, “but your hair- eh.”

You glared at him as he lifted his hands up in defense. He shouldn’t be talking, his hair was soaked too.

Trying to make yourselves look presentable, you didn’t notice someone rushing near you three, only when you felt a pair of arms wrapping behind you, causing you to squeal.

Moving your head to see the owner of the arms, you immediately hugged them back. “Jimin!”

“Y/n!” he giggled, but suddenly pulled away. “Ew, you’re drenched.” Nodding towards Jungkook, he quickly understood what happened. “Why didn’t you just tell me you guys were here? Jungkook, I texted you that I had an umbrella if you needed one.”

Taehyung and you turned to glare at Jungkook as he turned red and stammered, "I’m sorry, I-I didn’t see the message!”

"Hold on, man. Didn't you just dropped off your brother? It's pouring," Taehyung.

Jimin shrugged, "Do you think the MLB teams stop their games over some rain."

"In some cases, yes."

“Y/n! You’re here!” you heard that familiar voice squeal behind you, followed by a pair of arms once again hugging you. “I would totally not touch you, but I haven’t seen you in three months!”

Smiling, you held your annoying sister until you heard a cough. You let go to see your parents standing near her, your mom pushing her to the side, making your sister almost fall to the ground, before wrapping her arms around you. “Y/n! How was your flight? You never replied to my text, young lady,” she crossed her arms. Oh, how you love when your mother’s mood changes constantly.

She suddenly touched your face lightly, “Your face looks lovely! You’re hair though- uh its alright! The rain is our excuse!” she beamed.

Same old mother, but at least you knew she did not want you to take things seriously. 

You felt your dad lightly wrap an arm around you, giving you a short greeting, probably not wanting to hold up our reservation as well but not because he didn’t want to be rude, he wanted to eat already. 

Noticing no one else was outside, you sister began speaking. “Namjoon, his friends, and mom are inside sitting at the table already. I told them not to wait up on us so we don’t cause much of a disturbance inside.”

Nodding, she then began guiding everyone inside with your parents following directly behind her while Jimin, Tae, and Jungkook walked right along with you. It was a short walk inside, but you noticed that the table must have been all the way in the back, maybe in another room by how far in you all were going.

Being right, you could see that they reserved a private room which was extremely crazy- this must’ve been so expensive for a casual dinner! 

The first person you noticed was your future brother-in-law sitting at the middle of the wide circular table, a seat empty right beside him for your sister you assumed. You identified his mother pretty clearly as she sat on the other side of him.

Your parents quickly sat on the seats right next to where your sister just sat. You moved your eyes to see most of the bridesmaids, who you knew for the longest as they all either went to school or worked with her, sitting right near you parents and across from them. 

There was only one seat next to the last bridesmaid that was opened, so you assumed it was for you as it was across from your sister’s seat. Looking at the boys, you frowned, realizing you would be separated as they only had empty seats on the other side of the table where Namjoon’s mom sat. At least you could look at them from across the table.

Jimin fake pouted before they all walked to the available seats. You finally noticed the three other boys sitting beside them, only recognizing one of them, Hoseok. You were happy to be seated right next to him as you two have met many times in the past, but you couldn’t help but wonder who the other two were and why you weren’t introduced to them earlier. 

Hoseok was actually a close friend of both Namjoon and your sister, in fact, he was the one who introduced them many years ago. He was probably one of the few close male friends your sister even had who she trusted with all her heart who didn’t want to sleep with her.

You also befriended him as he was the only one who wouldn’t complain but encouraged you to hang out with them during their high school days when your sister pulled the ‘hormonal teenager who hates everybody’ phase.

“Nice to see you, y/n. Thanks for coming, I know you must be exhausted from your flight, but it means a lot that you were able to make it,” Namjoon kindly greeted you, in which you smiled in return.

“It’s okay,” you shyly reply, feeling your nerves kick in because you suck at public speaking, even when it’s with people you’ve already met. 

“Now she’s shy,” you heard your cousin stifle in a low laugh before Jimin kicked his leg, in which he groaned in pain, trying not to make any noise as he clutched his knee. 

As you gave Jungkook a dirty look, you began turning, quickly taking a look at the guests you didn’t know. One seemed to look slightly tall, or you assumed he was by how long his torso was. He was very good looking, just not your type.

But the other one was already looking at you, his eyes quickly moving away when he realized he was caught, not seeming to care though. He had very beautiful eyes and bright blonde hair, but he looked very intimidating with his blank- almost cold expression. 

“You look dashing, y/n!” You heard Namjoon’s mom exclaim, making you turn extremely red. God, you hated when people gave you compliments, especially when others were around. You did not like the attention it brought.

“Thank you” you looked down, trying your best to make your face cool down. You wish you were in the rain right now.

“I take full responsibility for her hair not looking the best,” Jungkook spoke up, making you immediately cover your face with your hands, praying he stop talking. “I forgot the umbrella.”

You heard him groan again, maybe from one of the boys kicking him for his irrelevant comments.

“I know the struggle,” You heard one of the unknown guests Namjoon had, the one who looked tall, begin. “I tripped while trying to walk in and landed on a puddle.” This caused you to giggle, happy that he was willing to embarrass himself to deflect the attention off you. “But it’s alright, luckily I had extra pants in my car.”

“Now that you mentioned that uh- fascinating information,” Namjoon awkwardly started. “Y/n, I realized you never met my other groomsmen-”

“Groomsmen? How dare you” You heard the same friend fake gasp, causing Hoseok to groan right beside you. “I am the one and only best man” 

“So, that’s Jin,” Hoseok finally spoke up, rolling his eyes at his friend who you realized probably loved the attention more than you actually knew.

“Oh, hi” you shyly waved as he gave you a cheesy smile. 

“Sorry about him, he’s a little over the top,” Namjoon sweetly mentioned to you, causing Jin to scoff. “-but in a good way!”

Just by observing their attitude towards each other, you can tell Jin was the friend who made Namjoon be more confident and open-minded enough to try new things. He seemed like the hype man of the group.

“And that’s Yoongi,” Hoseok added, pointing to the man on the left of him, the one who looked like he did not want to talk to anybody. You began to realize this Yoongi guy was more reserved than the rest, giving you a small nod as you awkwardly looked away.

“Sorry about him, he seems quiet- but he does talk! Quite a lot actually,” Jin added, causing Yoongi to nudge him. 

“Same with this one,” Violet giggled, looking your way causing you to glare at her. Way to put the spotlight on you. 

Luckily for you, your mother just knew so many topics to talk about that she carried a conversation fairly quickly right after your sister’s comment. 

You would have listened to it all the way, but to be honest, you were mentally exhausted. Work had you up till 10pm last night and with it being such a jammed pack month already, you completely forgot to pack until this morning. Having to check in two bags, you had to arrive at the airport three hours early to make it in time to depart from all the long lines. 

You don’t think anyone beside your dad and Namjoon’s mom were listening to your mom because as you looked around the table, you realized people were either making faces at their friends or just looking anywhere else but the speaker. 

That’s when you noticed Taehyung making a silly face your way, causing you to smile at him. But when you did so, you saw from the corner of your eye the restrained individual placing his eyes on you that didn’t leave until he was about to be caught again.

Yeah, you wished this dinner would be over soon.

-

"That was probably one of the best steaks I have ever digested," Namjoon smiled while wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Did he just say 'digested'?" you heard one of your sister's friend, Mina you believe, whisper to her other friend, Hani, who just shrugged.

After about an hour of awkward conversations that consisted of when Violet and Namjoon would be making babies and who would take custody if they both randomly die, dinner was finally over.

To be honest, you were glad that you were mostly not chosen to speak. That was until your mother thought it would be a brilliant idea to bring up your personality compared to your sisters, in which she made sure to mention the one time in 4th grade when you threw a tantrum and bursted into tears because you didn't want her to leave you alone on the first day of school.

Violet made sure to clarify how immature you were as a fourth grader, in which you thought if it would really be bad punching her in the face right then and there. You were sure makeup could cover the bruises.

"I should probably get going, I think your father is getting off soon from work," you heard Namjoon's mom say, slowly standing up before giving her son a warm hug.

Following the signs, everyone began standing up, getting ready to say their goodbyes. That was until your sister suddenly spoke up, becoming an announcer.

"Wait I forgot to mention, tomorrow is day 1 out of 7!" she cheered as her fiancee placed an arm on her lower back. "Don't forget to bring your shoes!"

"What's tomorrow?" You thought, but apparently out loud as everyone glanced your way, causing you to look back at Violet.

"You don't know?!" she gasped, looking back towards your mom. "Did you not tell her?" Watching as your mother softly gave her a small smile, your sister's eyes made their way back to you in disbelief. "It's our first dance rehearsal."

"Dance rehearsal?" You squinted your eyes, not believing how in the world she planned to make people learn a dance in under a week. "You do understand your wedding is in 6 days right after tomorrow, right?"

"We couldn't plan practices earlier because you and Jin don't live near here and we didn't want you both going out of your way to get here for it," Namjoon commented. "That would've been too expensive."

Realization hit you, you have to dance...in front of people.

Looking up, you tried showing a relaxed expression, but you're sure you only pulled out an uncomfortable one at the thought of having to publicly dance when you are in fact the worse dancer ever.

Truth be told, you wish you can easily agree and go with the flow, but knowing yourself the best you know you cannot pull this off. There is a reason why you dropped dance class in high school and it was because you kept making your partner's toes bleed from stepping on them so much.

But before you could speak up, or as if you were going to, your sister beat you to it. "You're doing it, no exceptions," she pointed a finger at you.

"You can be my partner!" Jimin exclaimed, wrapping an arm over your shoulder, trying to cheer you up. "I'm a great dancer."

"I beg to differ," Taehyung crossed his arms. "Have you seen these hips? Been shaking them since I was eight years-old."

"Just Dance doesn't count," Jimin hissed, making Tae scoff.

"It does when you're undefeated!"

Before the two of them could continue their bickering, your sister intervened. "None of you are dancing with her, I've already assigned partners," and right when they were going to ask who she added, "and you're not finding out until tomorrow. I don't want you trying to ask us to privately change your partners tonight so deal with it."

That definitely made them shut up before she carried on saying farewell to everybody.

You being you, you stood there stiff as everyone hugged each other. Never knowing how to really say 'bye', you often just waved. It was your thing.

You felt large arms wrap around you, causing you to gasp for air from the tight hold. "It was so nice meeting you, y/n!" You heard Jin burst out before pulling away. "Hoping we end up as partners, you seem so chill."

Certain that that was not going to happen, you sheepishly nodded. Not that you did not want him as a partner, to be fair, you probably would have chosen him as one of your top choices if it were up to you only because he seemed friendly and welcoming.

However, he was the best man.

Everybody knows the best man always gets paired with the maid of the honor, in which you believe was Naile.

Once he moved passed you to say his goodbyes with your parents, you noticed Yoongi finishing his farewells with Namjoon's mom before turning in your direction.

Shifting your eyes somewhere else in the room, you felt a weird feeling in your stomach.

For some reason, interacting with someone else who is also quiet but now intimidating made you extra nervous, fearful they might randomly lash out on you.

Just before Yoongi could at least give you a small nod, like he had done earlier, Namjoon announced that we should all be on our ways as the restaurant probably wanted us gone by now.

Running up to Jimin, you followed your friends and cousin out the door. Not noticing the pair of eyes following your every move up until you were out of sight.

Finally, now you can go home and sleep.

-

Waking up this morning was hard for you, especially when you knew how stressful it was going to be.

Maybe it was because you knew what was to come but didn't at the same time. It was safe to say you were panicking the whole drive to the small park your sister booked for the morning.

However, your sister was nothing close to nervous, in fact, she was beaming in joy throughout the car ride, constantly telling you she was excited to be a day closer to her wedding.

"Don't freak out too much about practice, okay?" Violet began as she parked the car. "None of them have experience dancing, except Hobi and maybe like Jimin and whatever Tae thinks is dancing, but other than that we all suck."

"Thanks for the pep talk, I feel so much better," you sarcastically declare before opening the door and getting out.

"I'm serious! I know you well enough to see how anxious you are about this," she argued. "But I made sure to pick an easy dance we all can learn within a few days"

You only sighed. There was nothing you could really do at this point so there was not much convincing she was doing to make you feel better. Plus, it's her day. You kind of have to do whatever she wants whether you like it or not.

Following her to a medium-sized building, you noticed how nice this park really was. There was a huge duck pond on one side with a beautiful garden all around.

Where does she find these places?

As you two opened the doors, she led you down a hallway until you were walking into a pretty large banquet room. You saw mostly everyone was here, besides Jin and Namjoon, but other than that everyone was here.

"Where's my man?" Your sister questioned, setting her bag on one of the side tables as you closely followed behind her.

"Trying to figure out where he put his dancing shoes," Hoseok stated, lying back on the chair he was sitting in. "Hi, y/n."

You softly waved, seeing that Taehyung and Yoongi were sitting right next to him. Tae was too busy playing some game on his phone to notice your presence as Yoongi just gave you a brief glimpse before going on his phone as well.

"What took you forever to get here?" Jungkook asked, pulling up a seat right next to you on one of the empty tables you sat in. You felt Jimin sit next to him, waiting for your answer.

"Violet couldn't leave the house without shaving her face," you whispered, hoping she didn't hear that or else she would come up with something 10x worse to joke about you.

"I did notice something was different about her," Jimin joked, making you all laugh.

After talking for some time as your sister kept trying to call her fiancee, you heard the slam of a door with the sounds of footsteps nearing.

It appeared that Namjoon probably found his shoes with the help of Jin as they both ran in together, breathing a little heavy as your sister put her hand on her hip.

"Ready," he smiled, trying not to provoke your sister anymore.

Knowing your sister, she was probably going to hire some dance teacher to teach you guys proper techniques. What you did not know was that this instructor was going to make you freestyle your own ending steps with your partners.

Or at least that's what the instructor mentioned after they showed up fifteen minutes late due to "traffic."

But now that they have said it, no one knew who their partners were.

"Time for the moment everyone's been waiting for," your sister stomped her feet and motioned everyone to come near her. Once we did so, she asked, "who wants to know first?"

Jungkook raised his hand quickly. "Me!"

"I think we should make this a little fun," Violet smirked. "Let's write the pair's names on paper, randomly mix them in a bowl and then draw."

Namjoon nodded, not really caring too much about how this was going to be done. He just wanted to begin lessons, already knowing that he wasn't quite the best when it came to body movements only for the world to see.

You were despising every second of this. As the clock kept on ticking, you kept thinking about who your partner would be.

It's not like anyone here was truly horrible- or so you thought.

Plus, you had a high chance of getting the three boys you loved to death. However, your sister did say Jimin and Taehyung were out of the picture, so your only hope was your cousin.

But in your opinion, you weren't familiar with Namjoon's friends. Jin seemed like a sweetheart, but maybe the close proximity of dancing with someone who was practically a stranger was getting in your head.

The main person you were worried about was Yoongi.

It's not like you completely disliked him, you never dislike anyone unless you had a reason to. It was that you didn't know him.

You didn't know Jin either, but the difference was Jin made an effort to communicate to others. Yoongi just sits there with a blank expression, making you question if he is judging or ignoring you.

It's quite intimidating, really.

And with you being extremely quiet too, well... two quiet people don't really work well- or in a situation where both have to actively dance.

"Jimin and Leia!" you heard Namjoon announce.

Damn.

"Sorry, y/n," Jimin mouthed, making you swat your hand in reassurance that you were fine. I guess he's known you for so long to understand how frightening this was for you.

But you're a big girl, you'll get through this.

"Taehyung and Yuna!" Your sister roared.

Okay, maybe not.

Finally, after Hoseok and Jin were called, your nerves were getting to you. Now was not the time to overthink, whatever happens- happens.

Jungkook wasn't making this easier as he kept waving his arms around, mouthing the words "we're definitely partners." And for a split second, you began to believe him.

Well, that was until-

"Y/n and Yoongi," Namjoon called out, making your face fall. Violet began clapping her hands while her fiancee proudly smiled.

Feeling your face turn red, you continue staring at Namjoon as he slowly tilted his head to the side for you to go to your new partner, in which you responded with continuing on your stare.

It felt like hours before you felt someone's presence beside you, causing Namjoon to fix his attention back to announcing who's Jungkook's partner was going to be.

Moving your head slightly to the right, you could make out the bright blonde hair immediately. Yoongi was sitting next to you, oh my-

"I guess we're uh- partners?" he lightly squinted his eyes before looking directly at your own.

You felt weak at the knees by this eye contact, how are you going to make it through the week?

"R-right," you began, mentally screaming at yourself for stuttering "I mean right! Yeah, how uhm..cool?"

"Not really," he sighed, making your eyes widen. Was he really not that happy by this decision? "I don't dance much"

Relief hit you by his answer, okay maybe he doesn't hate you. "Don't worry, I'm on the same boat."

"Namjoon knows I don't do any of this," Yoongi cringed to himself. Does he mean dancing? "I'm sure your sister knows you aren't great either, they should have just partnered us up with someone who wasn't going to make us look humiliating."

Ouch, that stung.

You shut your mouth, not sure what to reply. You understood his point, but at the same time you didn't. It was beginning to become clear now that maybe he wasn't happy with this setup.

"Are we ready to begin?" you heard the instructor exclaim, causing you to look past Yoongi in which you were grateful this small conversation would have to be cut. "Please come forward and spread out, only your partners should be near you!"

Rubbing your fingers, you slowly followed after Yoongi who took the lead towards the middle of the spaced out "dance floor," or the only area in this room that did not have folding tables. The two of you ended up on the side while the others placed themselves throughout the middle and front of the teacher.

After listening to him ramble on about the needed chemistry between partners and showing how our hands must be placed on his practice dummy, who was Namjoon- which Violet did not like, it was time for everyone else to follow.

"Remember, the men are the leads! Take your lady's hand with your left and place your right on her hip! I want to feel the sexual tension from here!"

"Or a comfortable tension," Namjoon interfered.

Looking up at Yoongi, you saw him dully take his left hand out to grab your right one. By his lack of emotion, it triggered you to malfunction and embarrass the hell out of yourself.

He could feel how stiff your body was once he grabbed your hand, beginning to place his right hand behind on your mid back.

"Closer!" the instructor popped out of nowhere, causing you to flinch and almost trip over Yoongi's shoes. Yes, you just stepped on his shoes- he probably hates you now. "Hand on hip! You'll get the rhythm faster."

"No thanks, I'd rather not," Yoongi plainly stated, but was pushed inches away from your face when the instructor pushed you both forward.

You tried your best to look anywhere then at him, but it was incredibly hard. You did catch him throwing out a few glances a few times, but he would always divert his attention somewhere else when he noticed how uncomfortable you reacted to it.

"Do y-you think we should do what they are doing?" You asked, referring to steps that were just given to follow. Everybody else were figuring out the new footwork, but your partner just stood there as if he wanted to die already.

He simply just ignored you, only looking at what Jungkook and his partner were doing. In which, your cousin was swinging the poor girl around while she tried to slow him down in fear.

God, you wish this was over already.

-

"So...how did you like it?!" Violet questioned, sitting down on the bed in your old bedroom while you hid under the blankets. "It was fun, huh?"

"You call that fun?" You groaned, sitting up. "I want a new partner."

"What? No way! Yoongi will be hurt you wanted to switch."

"How if he was the one who questioned why we weren't switched in the first place?"

Violet gasped, "He said that?"

Nodding, you wiped some hair away from your face. "He also refused to put his hand on my hip. Is my body too gross for him or what?"

It did hurt your feelings he wouldn't listen to the basic suggestions, but if he didn't want to then there was nothing you could do.

"Maybe it was a respect thing- like to make sure he wasn't crossing any boundaries?"

Thinking about it for a second, she could be right.

"We just don't mix well, he would just ignore me any time I asked questions or spoke up," You sighed. "Please change my partner-"

"-I can't, we already began rehearsals," She cut you off.

"But we only learned basic steps! I can dance with a whole other human being and get it down with them! Please, please-"

"-no-"

"I can tell he despises every minute of this," You whine. "He's not into it and I'm just holding him back! You already know how scary this is to throw myself out there for this dance, at least let me be with someone who seems comfortable with me. It'll make me less anxious."

Your sister gave you a look, taking her time to think hard about this. She wanted you to feel fully comfortable, but it would be so unfair to switch partners the next day after announcing them.

"You know I want you to feel at your best, but the decision has been made and I-"

"If you let me switch I'll clean your room for a year," You rambled.

She rolled her eyes, "nice try, you don't even live nearby!"

"I'll send you money to buy your favorite meals twice a month!"

Violet gave you a stern look. "Y/n, no means no. I-"

"I'll say a speech at your wedding!"

That made her shut up.

This shocked you too because you avoided this topic from the start when she told you she was engaged. You hated talking, better yet- talking in front of people? No way, impossible to do!

"You would never, you can't even order your food without stuttering."

She didn't have to come at you like that..

"I promise!" you begged, jumping in front of her as she rolled her eyes.

Hearing her sigh, you felt weight being lifted off your shoulder. "Fine! You can have Hoseok, he's a quick learner anyway."

Almost making your sister fall off the bed as you tackled her in a hug, you cheered. "Thank you! Thank you! Tha-"

"Shut up already," she scrunched her face, pushing you off harshly. "I'm only doing this because you seem to feel really uncomfortable being near him and my sister instincts are going off."

You nodded quickly, trying to be on your best behavior so she doesn't change her mind.

"It kind of sucks though," she shrugged. "Namjoon and I thought you would be the perfect fit, you two are so alike"

"Being antisocial doesn't automatically mean we'll hit it off."

"Sorry, wouldn't know what that's like," she smiled and stood up from your bed. "I'm gonna go check on mom and the centerpieces, you should text Hobi a heads up for this week."

Once she left the room, you pulled out your phone to text him. You hope you weren't being a total bitch for doing this, but you doubt Yoongi would get offended.

He was the one who suggested it.

[seat-safety-switch]

Once in awhile, you can get one over on The Man. Finally, after all these years of toiling under his rule, doing his dirty work, begging for his praise, he has well and truly fucked up. And, it turns out, your entire life has been building up to the moment that you can milk him for all he's worth.

Have you ever seen a Dodge Caliber? They're getting sort of uncommon now, but when they were new, they were pretty hateful cars. Cheap, buzzy, surprisingly uneconomical, steering that felt like telling a funeral home operator how to sign a birthday card over the phone by long distance. And they fell apart all the time. Most cars get repaired, but these things got gleefully shovelled into the junkyard at the first chance the owners got.

Not all of them, though. This is a story about one very special Dodge Caliber. You see, my aunt needed a car. And my aunt is very nervous about owning a car. The skills of shitbox repair never made it into her genes, you see, possibly because she is not related to me by blood. So, in order to get that car, she went to the Dodge dealership, and she asked them: can you do a lifetime warranty, unlimited mileage, no questions asked, cover everything? And they said: for you, ma'am, we absolutely can charge you an obscene, eye-watering amount of money.

Once I found out about this, I was mad. And then I figured it out. You see, what my aunt did have was being insanely cheap. That's why she was a part of my degenerate family. She still is, even though my Uncle Larry exploded that one night at Arecibo. Unlimited mileage. There has never been a sweeter phrase uttered in the English language.

Now, whenever anyone we know needs to go for a long trip, we tell them: take the Caliber. Rack those miles up. Punish those stupid motherfuckers for writing such a terrible, open-ended contract. My aunt runs a taxi service consisting entirely of this vehicle, a fleet of drivers constantly rotating in and out, the thing rolling virtually 24/7. I love driving this car, because every single mile that ticks up on the odometer is more salty tears from the low-wattage pig who thought he was a big-time wheeler and dealer down at Old Time Country Dodge.

To their credit, they figured out the enormous error that they had made fairly quickly. When Aunt Hilda rolled in the thing, smoking and wheezing, for its sixth transmission replacement at eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand kilometers, they offered to buy it from her and give her a brand new luxury SUV, just for being such a great customer. She laughed, and told them to get started overhauling the Caliber, and don't forget to take a look at the squeaking sound it started making in the back.

When things got real bad during the recession, they tried to go bankrupt, thinking that might get them out from having to maintain this economy car until the sun burns out. Ha! Death won't save you, my friend. My attorney Max picked that one up pro bono, despite hating warranty law, just for the pleasure of watching their attorney read the purchase contract. Her eyes got so big that they stuck that way. The paramedics had to use the jaws of life on her eyelids so she could blink again.

If you see me in the Caliber, make sure to honk. I probably won't stop to say hi, because we gotta keep this odometer rollin'. Rest assured, however, that I will honk back, maybe ten or fifteen times. Really get my money's worth out of that horn.

[charliehoennam]

beyond the badge pt.4

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fiancée is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as kidnapping, language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, blood and abuse of law enforcement

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

one | two | three | five

The cold autumn air has his teeth chattering as night falls.

David grabs the black jacket from the back seat. After sliding it on, his hand fishes into his pocket for his black winter hat. He holds in his hand, analyzing the accessory remembering how he had picked up that habit.

You would always leave it tucked into the pocket before leaving for work because he can be forgetful when it comes to taking care of himself.

Staring at the endless sea of cedar that stem from the banks of echoing, rushing river, he thinks back to every little you used to do for him and he wonders how much of it he took for granted. He closes his heavy eyes as he reminisces.

The rush of the waters resounding through the cold air lull him, persuading him to give in. His body aches with exhaustion as it settles in his bones.The unmarked car he's nestled in warms gradually with every steady breath.

He doesn't notice he's nodded off until he jolts awake to the sound of birds cawing in the sky, pestered by what he assumes to be some commotion.

His heavy head lifts as he searches the terrain around. His sight takes a moment to adjust the jet black outside. Although it's hard to see, it doesn't seem like there's anything out of place.

Just as the small surge of adrenaline settles, his cell phone buzzes and lights up penetrating the darkness as he squints incoming texts. They're from O'Malley reaffirming everyone's in position for the ambush. The second confirms the arrival of the suspects.

A black SUV soon rolls up behind him with it's headlights piercing through the black.

David sits up in the driver's as epinephrine reignites in his system, tensing his muscles and urging his hand to instinctively wander down to the grip of his firearm.

Not knowing what to expect, he takes the gun from its holster and tucks into the waistband of his pants behind his back. Donovan may have made a small fortune with his crimes, but he didn't associate with the brightest. However, he's not willing to take the chance of stepping out of his car without protection. Especially if it could save your life.

The vehicle stops just 30 or more yards away from his rear end, so David steps out of his vehicle cautiously, scanning the abandoned site for any possible unexpected passersby as he holds his keys in hand.

The lights shine blindingly in his eyes. He doesn't look away; he tries to keep intimidatingly calm as he stares back at whoever the drivers is.

He hears the car doors open. Black shadows move behind the lights, but he still can’t quite make them out. He listens for the doors, counting three opening and closing, or so he thinks. He just can't tell. All he knows is they're not alone and he's almost certain the driver didn't get out.

Gravel crunches under heavy footsteps as dark figures move towards the front of the car. Standing before the light, it becomes gradually easier to make out the shapes. There's particular one that seems familiar.

His stomach drops. His breathing quickens. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he struggles to stay cool. Although brief and very brief at that, relief fills his chest.

Your eyes widen as the smelly black bag is torn off your head. Taking a moment to adjust to, your vision narrows in on him.

Taking mindless, instinctive steps, you try to run to him with wide frightened eyes until one of the large man behind you pulls you back roughly with a bruising grip on your arm.

There’s not much you can do to fight him. You bite down on the cloth gag that’s tied around your head, mentally repeating the masked man's words to yourself.

Don't do anything stupid. Stay calm. Do as we say and everything will be over.

David raises his hands as if surrendering himself when he notices the gun pressing into the side of your head. Your heart pounds as if it were trying to break free from your ribcages.

“I am unarmed” he states loudly, breaking the thick silence. “The money in the trunk. I’m gonna open it slowly and you can come get it.”

The lack of reply is his signal to go on.

He slowly takes his steps toward the back of his car. Keeping one hand high and his broad frame forward, he unlocks the trunk and leaves the key in the keyhole as the trunk door springs up.

One of the masked men order him to step away from the car and keep his hands before walking over the distance towards him. David’s eyes blink nervously as they watch you. Every step seems to take a lifetime. He just wants this to be over.

Once the man reaches the vehicle, he opens the bags to inspect their contents. The longer he rummages through them looking for what David believes to be a tracker, the more he blinks nervously.

Your knees buckle from the anxiety. Your fiancée is just so close and still so far. The gun to your hand is the only that grounds you and keeps you from running into his arms.

You sigh almost relieved when you see the man lifting the bags from the trunk, seemingly satisfied with the money. Walking back to his lackeys, he orders his guard dog to ‘let the bitch go’.

Your head spins as his words sink in. A blade glides between your wrists as the silver duct tape around them is cut. The gun lowers from your head, so you rush to cross the distance as you race to David.

You almost can’t believe you finally get to go home, to finally be with the man you love more than anything. Tears stream down your stained cheeks.

You’re too stunned to even pull the tape off or the gag off; like you’re walking in a dream. None of this feels real. It’s almost too good to be true.

Halfway to your fiancée, you hear a familiar sound that freezes your heart. Your gut sinks low as if the world’s been pulled out from underneath you. Red and blue lights glow in the distance and you realize David didn’t come alone.

[gryffindorcompaniononpigfarts]

I need access to Organized Crime! I’m at the point where episodes are started on SVU and finished on the other or vise versus

[ssa-dado]

8 - Law & Self-Awareness

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: angst, sad stuff, fluff

Summary: Hotch and Peter confront a tense situation as they rush to Riverhead, where the unsub is expected to strike next, but conflict arises when Peter wants to warn you, fearing for your safety. Hotch insists on following procedure, though both men struggle with personal fears and the ethics of their choices. At Riverhead, you visit your father's grave, reflecting on past decisions and realizations. In a quiet moment later, surrounded by your team, you come to understand a truth you've been trying to avoid.

Warnings: Grief, CM case

Word Count: 6,1k

Dado's Corner: Here's the sister chapter of the previous one! The narration is still inspired by Suits' 2×08. Funny how Aaron making physical contact with you occupies 57 paragraphs while Peter doing the same thing ½ of a line. Also this is probably the first chapter in which Y/N's physical appearance is mentioned sooo let me know if you imagined her in this way (it's still very vague don’t worry). That said, bring out your finest china, we're celebrating!

previous chapter ; masterlist

“Riverhead,” Hotch said, his voice taut, barely containing the urgency that trembled beneath the surface. “He’s going there next.”

Peter’s eyes widened in disbelief, his immediate reaction pure instinct as he reached for his phone, fingers fumbling desperately to find your contact. “We have to call her. She needs to know -”

Hotch’s hand instinctively shot out, grabbing Peter’s arm with a force that matched the fear hiding behind his calm eyes. “No, we can’t. If we warn her, we risk tipping the unsub off, causing chaos, panic. It’s not just about her, Peter. It’s about every person in Riverhead. We have to handle this the right way.”

Peter wrenched his arm free, his anger flaring like gasoline igniting in the confined space of the SUV. “You’re seriously going to let her walk right into this? She’s in danger, Hotch! And you’re just going to sit back and do nothing?”

Hotch’s expression remained steely, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a vulnerability he kept tightly under wraps. “This isn’t just about her. There are hundreds of people in Riverhead who could be at risk. If we alert her and it gets out, we’re not just endangering her, we’re endangering everyone. It’s not fair to warn one person and not the others. You can’t let your feelings dictate your decisions.”

Peter’s laugh was sharp and scornful, tinged with a mix of disbelief and fury. “Feelings? Don’t talk to me about feelings, Hotch. You’re always hiding behind the rules, always standing on the side of the law like it’s some infallible god. But this isn’t just about following orders - this is real, and she’s walking into something she can’t see coming.”

Hotch’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles going white as the weight of Peter’s words crashed over him, each one a blow to the carefully built walls he’d constructed around himself.

He shot Peter a side glance, his voice simmering with restrained anger. “I’m not doing this because it’s easy, I’m doing it because it’s the only way to stop this from getting worse. If we tip him off, if she gets scared and acts on it, it could cause a domino effect that puts even more lives at risk. We have to be smarter than that.”

Peter turned to fully face Hotch, the intensity between them palpable, a charged current of frustration and fear. “You keep talking about doing the job, about being ‘smart,’ but what about being human? What about doing the right thing for once instead of hiding behind procedure? What happens if something happens to her, Hotch? Are you really going to look me in the eye and say we did the right thing?”

Hotch’s expression tightened, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He kept repeating the same words, not so much to convince Peter, but to anchor himself - to hold onto some semblance of control as much as possible. “This isn’t just about one person, Peter,” he said, his voice a bit strained with the weight of the impossible choice they faced.

“We can’t put her safety above everyone else’s. It’s not how we do things. If this gets out, if people panic, we lose everything. That’s exactly what the unsub wants: to see us unravel, to watch us make decisions with our hearts instead of our heads. We can’t give him that satisfaction. We can’t let him win.”

Peter scoffed, his anger bubbling over as he stepped closer, his eyes blazing with frustration. His voice rose, each word laced with a mix of fury and desperation. “You’re always so damn obsessed with the law, Hotch,” he snapped, his breath coming faster, as if the force of his emotions was too much to contain. “But what about ethics? What about the people behind the profiles, behind all these damn statistics and protocols? This isn’t just a case file, it’s about real people.”

Peter’s tone shifted as he tried to reach Hotch, his next words softening, laced with an urgent plea. “You know Y/N. I know Y/N. And if she were standing here, right now, listening to us argue like this, she wouldn’t hesitate for a second. She’d probably quote some damn philosopher she loves - Sophocles or whoever - about how there’s more to this than just sticking to the rules. She’d remind us that the law isn’t the only thing that matters, that there’s a fine line between what’s legal and what’s just.”

Peter’s voice cracked slightly, his gaze searching Hotch’s for any flicker of understanding. “She’d be talking about the balance between law and justice, that sometimes what’s right and what’s legal are not the same thing. And you know she’d be right, Hotch. We’re not just here to enforce rules. We’re here to protect people. And if you can’t see that, then maybe you’ve lost sight of why we’re doing this in the first place.”

Hotch felt something inside him twitch at Peter’s words, a sharp, painful pull that he couldn’t ignore. The truth of what Peter was saying sliced through his defenses like a scalpel, precise and unyielding. It was as if Peter’s voice had reached into the guarded, unspoken places of his mind, exposing the doubts he worked so hard to bury. He could almost hear your voice echoing in his head, clear and insistent, the way it always was when you spoke up during team meetings.

You had a way of looking at cases that was different from anyone else, this deep, almost philosophical curiosity that refused to settle for the easy answers. You’d sit there, arms crossed, eyes locked in that thoughtful gaze, and when you spoke, you’d often pose questions that hung in the air, challenging every assumption. You never just saw suspects and victims; you saw people - complex, flawed, human. You’d remind them all that beyond the evidence, beyond the profiles, there were lives and stories that couldn’t be reduced to simple binaries of right and wrong.

Hotch could almost picture you now, leaning forward in your seat, the intensity in your eyes as you dissected every aspect of the case. You were never satisfied with just the black-and-white - you thrived in the gray, constantly urging the team to see beyond the rigid lines of the law. At how you’d quote philosophers, pull wisdom from literature, history, anything to make your point. It wasn’t about showing off. it was about challenging everyone, especially him, to rethink their approach. You’d often remind him that justice wasn’t just about following rules, it was about finding the truth that lay hidden beneath the surface, about doing what was right, even when it wasn’t easy.

Peter’s words hit Hotch hard because they echoed what you would’ve said, what you always said. It was that relentless pursuit of justice, that constant push to go beyond the status quo, that made you such an irreplaceable part of the team. And right now, it was tearing Hotch apart, knowing that you weren’t there to challenge him, to remind him of the bigger picture, to make him question the very things that had once felt so certain.

Peter noticed the crack in Hotch’s demeanor, and he pressed on, his voice softer now but no less intense. “But none of that matters if she doesn’t make it out alive, does it? You can stand here all day talking about rules and duty, but if she’s gone, who’s going to remind us of the difference? The dead can’t debate law and ethics, Hotch. Only the living can do that.”

Hotch’s breath caught in his throat, Peter’s words hitting him with a force that felt physical, like a punch to the gut. He could feel the fear that had been clawing at his insides since the moment he realized you were in danger, the fear he had been trying so desperately to keep at bay. The fear of losing you - of never getting the chance to understand what this thing between you could be, of failing to protect the one person who had managed to breach the walls he’d spent years building.

“You think I don’t know that?” Hotch’s voice broke, his control slipping for just a moment. “You think I don’t feel it? But it’s not just about what we want, it’s about what we have to do. You want to protect her, and so do I. But again, this isn’t just about saving her. It’s about stopping him. It’s about making sure no one else gets hurt because we let our guard down.”

Peter’s gaze softened, but his frustration remained, an unresolved tension simmering between them. “Maybe you’re right, Hotch. Maybe we have to think about everyone. But that doesn’t mean you’re not scared. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean you don’t care. So stop pretending you’re above it all, because you’re not. You’re just as terrified as the rest of us.”

Hotch looked away, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he tried to regain his composure. Peter was right, he was terrified, but not just for you. He was terrified of what it would mean if he let this get personal, if he let himself care too much and it all fell apart. But as they hurtled toward Riverhead, the truth of Peter’s words lingered, gnawing at the edges of his resolve.

He couldn’t afford to lose focus, not now. But the fear, the aching fear that he was making the wrong call, that he was letting his own walls cost him something irreplaceable, was a battle he was losing with every mile closer they got to you.

And in the silence that followed, the weight of those unspoken fears hung heavy between them, a fragile truce bound only by their shared desperation to protect you, no matter the cost.

You had finally arrived at Riverhead.

The cemetery was quiet, shrouded in a stillness that felt heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. Each step toward your father’s grave felt deliberate, slow, as if every movement pulled at something deep within you that you hadn’t touched in years. You hadn’t been here since the funeral, and the sight of his name etched into the stone brought a fresh wave of emotions you weren’t prepared for: grief, anger, regret, all tangled up in the memories you had tried to bury.

You knelt beside his grave, your fingers trembling slightly as you placed a single orchid on the cold, gray headstone, the delicate petals were a sharp contrast to the starkness of the granite. Orchids had always reminded you of the first case you ever worked on at the BAU - a case that had tested every part of you, that had made you realize what it truly meant to carry the weight of other people’s pain. The purple flower was a fitting tribute, an unspoken apology for not being there when he had needed you most, for choosing a path that had pulled you away from his final moments.

You traced the letters of his name, feeling the grooves under your fingertips, and memories of the past surged forward, unbidden. You thought back to the day you told your parents you wanted to become a profiler - a day that, despite all the tension that often simmered between you, had stood out as one of the rare moments of connection between you and your father.

It had been a rainy Sunday afternoon, the kind that kept everyone indoors and made the house feel smaller, the air thick with the unspoken tensions that seemed to linger in every corner. You had been pacing your bedroom, rehearsing the words over and over in front of your mirror, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and dread. Telling them that you wanted to be a profiler felt like exposing a piece of yourself that you had kept hidden, especially from them.

You finally gathered the courage, walking down the stairs with resolve. Your father was at the dining table, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, his glasses perched on his nose as he scribbled notes on a report.

He was always working, always lost in something that seemed more important than anything happening in the room. It was his way: work was sacred, an escape, and a duty that defined him. You often resented it, the way he would get so caught up that he’d miss dinners, birthdays, the small moments that you had yearned for as a child. But there were also times when you admired his dedication, his unspoken belief that what he was doing mattered.

Your mother was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with an efficiency that matched her exacting nature. She always seemed to be in motion, always doing, rarely resting. She was the professor, the academic who had spent her life studying the human mind, dissecting theories, and teaching students who idolized her. To her, intellect was the highest form of achievement, and anything less was a waste of potential.

You stood in the doorway, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in your chest, but you pushed forward, clearing your throat to catch their attention. “Mom, Dad… I need to talk to you about something.”

Your father glanced up first, pulling his glasses off and setting them on the table with a raised brow, his expression curious but calm. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, searching for the right words. “I’ve decided what I want to do after graduation. I… I want to be a profiler. I want to join the FBI.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the steady chop of your mother’s knife against the cutting board. Your father’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t speak right away, just watched you, his gaze heavy with a mix of concern and something you couldn’t quite name. Your mother, however, set her knife down sharply, her brow furrowing as she turned to face you.

“A profiler?” she repeated, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Y/N, do you have any idea what that entails? You’re talking about diving into the minds of criminals, putting yourself in danger every day. This isn’t some classroom exercise, this is real life.”

You braced yourself, taking a deep breath. “I know what it means, Mom. I’ve thought about this for a long time. I don’t just want to study the human mind, I want to understand what happens when it breaks. I want to make a difference, to stop people from getting hurt.”

Your father remained quiet, but his gaze never left yours, absorbing every word. There was something in his eyes that told you he was listening, that he understood the weight of what you were saying.

“Do you really understand what you’re asking for?” your mother continued, her voice laced with frustration. “You’re brilliant, Y/N. You have so much potential. You could do anything: be a researcher, a professor. You’d be safe, you’d be respected. Why throw all that away to chase criminals?”

It stung, but you had expected her reaction. For as long as you could remember, your mother had pushed you toward her path, believing that academia was where you belonged. But as much as you respected her work, it had never felt right for you.

The endless theories, the dissection of literature studies in sterile classrooms, it all felt too detached, too far removed from the gritty reality of the world you wanted to understand. You wanted to do more than just read about what broke people; you wanted to see it, to confront it, to fight against it.

“I don’t want to be safe, Mom,” you said, your voice firmer now, carrying the weight of all the arguments you’d been rehearsing for months. “I want to be out there. I want to see the truth of what people can become, the good and the bad. I can’t just sit back and write papers about it.”

Your mother’s mouth tightened, the disappointment etched in her features, but your father leaned back in his chair, studying you with a quiet intensity. He cleared his throat, and you braced yourself for the inevitable disapproval. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, contemplative, carrying the weight of his own unspoken struggles.

“If this is really what you want,” he said slowly, choosing each word with care, “then you have my support.” He paused, glancing at your mother before returning his focus to you. “Work is… sacred. It’s a calling, not just a job. I know I haven’t always been there, and I know you’ve seen the toll it can take. But I also know the satisfaction that comes from doing something that matters, something you believe in.”

Your heart swelled, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his words. It was one of the few times you’d felt truly seen by him, and the memory of that moment, of his quiet nod of approval, had stayed with you ever since.

Your mother turned away, picking up the knife and resuming her chopping, her movements more forceful now. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart,” she muttered, the bitterness barely hidden in her tone. “There’s no glory in risking your life. There’s no reward for choosing danger over reason.”

But you held on to your father’s words, his silent validation, and in that moment, it had been enough. Even if he wasn’t always present, even if his own work often kept him away, he had understood the drive that pulled you toward the unknown, the need to carve your own path, even if it led you away from everything they had envisioned for you.

As you stood at his grave now, the weight of that decision felt heavier than ever. You had chosen this life, knowing full well the risks, knowing the sacrifices that would come with it. And yet, in this quiet moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if he would still be proud, if he would still see the value in the path you had chosen.

You stood up, brushing the dirt from your knees, feeling the rough earth cling stubbornly to your clothes. As you turned to leave, something caught your eye near the cemetery entrance: a line of sleek, black SUVs parked in formation.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the unmistakable outlines of the BAU vehicles, their dark, imposing presence impossible to miss. But what truly made your breath hitch was the sight of Hotch. Even from this distance, you recognized him instantly, not by his face, but by his unmistakable posture, the way he stood with that rigid, commanding presence, his stance was familiar, almost comforting in its certainty, a figure you’d know anywhere, even among a crowd.

It was only after a moment that your gaze shifted and you noticed Peter beside him, standing just as tensely, their expressions hard and urgent. Hotch’s sharp, focused demeanor contrasted with Peter’s more animated stance, but there was no mistaking the tension that hung between them, like a taut wire ready to snap.

Despite the distance, you could feel the weight of their conversation, the urgency that radiated from them both, and it made your pulse quicken. You hesitated, watching them, knowing that whatever they were discussing, it was serious, and you were about to be pulled right into the heart of it.

A surge of fear shot through you as you rushed toward them, your heart pounding with a mix of dread and confusion. As you got closer, you could see the strain etched across Hotch’s face, the urgency in his eyes that told you something was terribly wrong.

“Hotch?” you called out, breathless, searching his expression for answers. “What’s going on?”

Hotch turned to you, his eyes meeting yours, and for a split second, you saw the raw fear that he usually kept buried deep within. His jaw tightened, the weight of everything he couldn’t say hanging heavily between you, and you knew, whatever this was, it was bigger than any case you had ever faced.

Hotch’s normally composed demeanor was strained, his eyes revealing the fear he had been fighting to suppress all day. Peter, usually quick with a grin, looked torn between anger and the overwhelming relief of seeing you safe.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, breathless from both the sudden sprint and the weight of dread that settled in your chest. “Why are you here in Riverhead?”

Hotch exchanged a quick glance with Peter, an unspoken conversation passing between them before he turned back to you, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “The unsub’s been leaving clues at each crime scene, riddles hinting at his next target. The latest message… it mentioned Riverhead.” He paused, the gravity of his words sinking in, his gaze unwavering. “We think he’s planning his next attack here.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of his revelation hitting you like a physical blow. The peaceful cemetery, a place you had come to seek closure and quiet, suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, and fraught with danger. You looked around, the once comforting silence now suffocating as you imagined the unsub watching, waiting. You turned back to Hotch, trying to make sense of the layers of fear and determination that flickered across his face, unspoken and raw.

Peter, attempting to cut through the tension that gripped you all, forced a smile, though his voice was tight with the day’s unrelenting strain. “Luckily, Hotch cracked the code before anything happened. Sharp as ever, saved us all a lot of grief.”

You barely registered Peter’s words, his voice a distant murmur against the roar of your own thoughts. Guilt and self-reproach surged within you, crashing over like relentless waves. You were supposed to be better than this: your instincts, your training, everything you had learned should have protected you. But you had been caught off guard, blindsided by a danger that crept too close, too fast. Your eyes flicked back to the gravestones, their cold, silent presence now bearing witness to your vulnerability, each one a haunting reminder of how close you’d come.

Hotch, always attuned to the unspoken, stepped closer, sensing the spiral of self-doubt threatening to consume you. His hand found your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding, pulling you back from the edge of your own unraveling. The contact was startling at first, his touch warmer and steadier than you expected, cutting through the noise in your head like a lifeline.

It was a simple gesture, but it felt like an anchor in the storm, grounding you when everything else seemed to be slipping away. Hotch's touch was rare, almost unheard of, he was always so composed with his steady presence always keeping his distance, preferring words over gestures. But this, the solid weight of his hand on your shoulder, meant more than he could ever say.

His touch was warm, steady, a silent assurance that seeped past your defenses. It wasn’t just a comforting squeeze; it was Hotch’s way of saying what he rarely ever said aloud: I’ve got you. You’re safe. We’re here, and we’re not going anywhere.

The unspoken promise behind that touch cut through the chaos and fear, wrapping around you like a shield against the overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-doubt. It was as if he was lending you his strength, even for just a heartbeat, and in that moment, it was enough to keep you from completely falling apart.

“We’ve alerted local law enforcement,” Hotch said, his voice lower, more gentle now, the usual edge softened as if he was speaking directly to the turmoil inside you. “They’re securing the area. The unsub’s been targeting public spaces to create fear and chaos, but we won’t let him succeed. Not here, not today.” His words were calm, steady, the kind of reassurance that cut through the panic clawing at your chest.

You nodded, the knot in your throat tightening painfully as you fought to swallow the rising wave of emotion. The breath you drew felt unsteady, like the first real one you’d managed in minutes, but even as you tried to gather yourself, the stark reality of how close you’d come to danger clung to you, gnawing at the edges of your composure.

Hotch’s hand stayed firm on your shoulder, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and unnerving. It was a constant, quiet reminder of your vulnerability, a presence that made it impossible to hide from the fear you so often buried deep.

Desperate to shift the mood, you forced a strained smile, hoping to lighten the heaviness in the air. “Since we’re all here… how about we grab dinner?” you suggested, your voice wavering but hopeful. “There’s this local spot I used to go to when I was a kid. It’s nothing fancy, just this cozy little place, but it’s familiar, and… I could really use some company that feels like home right now.”

Hotch’s hand lingered for a moment longer, as if he was reluctant to let go, his touch a silent reassurance that even in your most vulnerable moments, he was right there with you. The smallest flicker of understanding passed between you, unspoken but felt deeply, as if he knew exactly why you needed this, why you needed them.

Peter’s grin was immediate, though it was tinged with the lingering shadows of what could have been. He clapped his hands together, trying to inject some much-needed levity into the moment. “Now you’re speaking my language. Food, friends, and hopefully a strong drink or two. What do you say, Hotch?”

Hotch hesitated, his mind still half-entangled in the day’s events and the potential dangers that loomed. But then he looked at you, really looked - saw the exhaustion etched into your features, the traces of pain you’d been carrying since your father’s grave. He knew this wasn’t just about a meal; it was about finding a moment of respite, about reconnecting when the job tore so much away.

“I’ll join you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice softer than you’d expected. “But I’ll catch up in a bit. There’s something I need to take care of first.”

You watched him turn back toward the cemetery, his figure fading into the sea of gravestones. It wasn’t like Hotch to delay; he was always so determined, so single-minded when it came to the job. But you sensed this wasn’t just about duty, it was about finding his own moment of stillness in a day that had been anything but.

Peter placed a comforting hand on your back, his touch gentle and familiar, guiding you toward the restaurant with an ease that belied the day’s tension. The small, local eatery was exactly as you remembered: warm, inviting, with the kind of worn wooden tables that made you feel instantly at home. The faint hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows, all of it wrapped around you like a comforting embrace.

Rossi and Gideon joined soon after, settling in with the kind of camaraderie that came only from years of shared battles and late-night stakeouts. There was a tiredness in all of you, a bone-deep fatigue that only people in your line of work truly understood, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t just about the job - it was about being together, about finding solace in each other’s presence.

Rossi leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with a blend of mischief and genuine curiosity. “So, thesis, antithesis, synthesis,” he mused, his voice carrying that familiar hint of amusement. “Come on, kid. Educate us. What’s that all about in these weird Hegelian stuff you always talk about?”

You chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. “It’s about the constant cycle of conflict and resolution. The synthesis - the so-called solution - doesn’t end the cycle; it just becomes the new thesis. Life is always evolving, always challenging us to adapt. Every resolution leads to a new conflict, a new question. It’s never really over.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze flicking between you and the empty seat that Hotch had yet to fill. “Sounds like something we could all stand to remember,” he said, his tone softer now, more reflective.

Meanwhile, back at the cemetery, Hotch stood alone in front of your father’s grave, the silence hanging heavy and profound. The orchid you had placed there was still fresh, its vibrant petals striking against the cold, unyielding stone.

Hotch understood the significance of that flower, the way it linked back to the very first case you’d ever worked at the BAU, the first time your paths had crossed.

It was the unsub’s calling card, a chilling detail that had haunted the case and marked the start of your journey in this unforgiving world. It was the first time he saw you not just as another agent but as someone uniquely brilliant, fiercely determined, and carrying a burden that ran deeper than anyone could have guessed.

Hotch knelt slowly, the memories of that first meeting mingling with the present, a bittersweet reminder of how far you both had come. He thought of you standing in that briefing room, so composed and meticulous, always immaculate in your appearance.

Your hair, always perfectly straightened, framing your face in a precise way that left nothing to chance. You wore black almost every day, the monochrome only broken by subtle variations in texture: sleek, tailored fabrics that gave the faintest hint of depth but no room for distraction.

He knew it wasn’t just a preference; it was armor, a way to command respect in a field that often doubted you because of your youth. On days when you felt a little lighter, a little braver, you’d occasionally allow yourself the small rebellion of a white shirt, a glimpse of something softer beneath the carefully crafted exterior.

He remembered noticing the deliberate choices you made, how you often wore masculine, tailored suits, sometimes even a three-piece, to project authority and mask the youth that others might use against you.

You were always striving to appear older, tougher, less vulnerable, less feminine, crafting an image that demanded to be taken seriously. And while it worked on most, Hotch never needed the sharp suits, the perfectly placed hair, or the carefully chosen colors to see your worth.

From the beginning, he had valued your insights, your sharp mind, and your relentless drive. He had never looked down on you, never needed you to prove yourself in ways that others did. He saw past the façade to the strength and vulnerability beneath, and he respected you all the more for it.

As he placed the small replica of the Guggenheim Museum beside the orchid, the gesture felt heavy with meaning - a tribute not only to your father but also to the history you both carried.

It was an offering of understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of everything unsaid between you. As Hotch lingered by the grave, he couldn’t help but think of the first day he met you, how determined you were to make your mark, and how, even then, he had been grateful for your presence. You challenged him in ways that reminded him of why he had started this journey, refusing to let the darkness win.

For a moment, Hotch allowed himself to feel it all: the gratitude for having met you, the fear of losing those he cared about, and the faint, fragile hope that maybe, he could find a way to let someone in without losing himself completely. As he stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the cemetery, he found a flicker of peace, a rare, delicate solace that, for the first time in years, made him feel less alone.

When Hotch finally made his way to the restaurant, the sight that greeted him was a balm to his weary soul. You were seated at the table, laughing at something Peter had said, your eyes sparkling with a light that had been missing all day. Rossi and Gideon were leaning back, more at ease than he had seen them in a long time, their expressions softened in a way that only moments like this could bring out - rare and fleeting for men who had spent their lives chasing shadows. It was a simple scene, but it was enough.

It was a reminder of why Hotch fought so hard, why he kept pushing forward, even when the weight of his responsibilities felt like too much to bear.

Without hesitation, Hotch took the seat directly across from you, mirroring the way your desks were always arranged back at the office.

It was deliberate, instinctual - a configuration that felt as natural as breathing. There was comfort in this alignment, in the way his eyes always found yours first, no matter how hectic the day had been. It wasn’t just about proximity; it was about connection.

Sitting across from you allowed him to see you fully, to catch those fleeting, unguarded moments when the professional masks slipped, and the real you shone through.

It was the angle that felt right, where he could read the subtle shifts in your expression, the small smiles that hinted at unspoken thoughts. It was where he could feel the bond between you most acutely, a silent acknowledgment of the trust and understanding that had grown over time.

You looked up as Hotch sat down, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that said more than words ever could. In that moment, the noise of the restaurant faded away, leaving only the quiet understanding that had always existed between you.

It was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you, anchored by the familiar rhythm of shared space, the unspoken promises that bound you together. You had always understood each other in ways that transcended words - both driven by the same relentless need for justice, both carrying the weight of lives you couldn’t always save.

“I thought you’d never come, partner,” you greeted him, your voice carrying a mix of relief and something deeper, something that spoke to how much his presence truly mattered. It wasn’t just relief, it was comfort, knowing that he was here, that he always showed up, no matter what.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice softened with sincerity. “How could I miss this?”

The words were simple but carried so much more meaning. It wasn’t just a casual remark, not from him. It felt like a reaffirmation of something deeper, a silent promise that went beyond tonight.

It was a declaration that he was there, not just for this moment, but always. His presence was grounding, steady, the kind of anchor you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

As the night went on, you couldn’t help but reflect on how everything had unfolded - especially the train journey that had brought you to this point.

Or how the out-of-the-blue conversation with Rossi about Hegel’s thesis, antithesis, and synthesis now felt almost fated, as though the universe had nudged him to ask you once again – to make you acknowledge the truth you kept hidden within you.

Maybe the irony was the point: Hegel’s idea of the synthesis, the resolution that comes from the collision of opposing forces, was exactly where you found yourself.

The journey to self-awareness wasn’t linear; it was filled with contradictions, moments of doubt, and unexpected realizations.

Every step you had taken, every case, every sleepless night, now made sense, as if you had reached a vantage point from which you could see it all clearly for the first time.

It was like standing on the top of a mountain after a long, hard climb, finally able to look back at the winding path that had led you here.

And standing at that vantage point, you could see why you had been hesitant about the date with Peter, why something in you had resisted moving forward with him. It wasn’t because you didn’t care about him - it was because your heart had already chosen someone else.

The truth settled in gently, like a quiet revelation you had always known but hadn’t fully accepted until now.

It was Hotch.

It had always been Hotch.

The connection between you, the understanding, the trust that went deeper than words, it was more than just friendship or partnership.

You had admired him, respected him, but now you could see it for what it really was.

The reason you had hesitated, the reason you hadn’t been eager for anything else, was because the person you truly wanted was sitting right across from you.

You had a crush on Aaron Hotchner.

●

Extras: here are some pics of the Guggenheim Museum by Frank Lloyd Wright! It inspired me to write the case you read in "Thesis" and Aaron Hotchner to show his love support to Y/N in this chapter.

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

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Chapter 16: Executive Orders

After Bradley threatened to steal an Air Force One plane, it was like a fire was lit under Dante and the rest of the security team. Units were immediately moved. Boots would be on the ground in twelve hours, and forces would move in in less than twenty-four.

Bradley, Maverick, Penny, Jake, and Jaycee were on a plane to North Carolina. Bradley was on the phone with Nat and the rest of the Dagger Squad the entire time. He briefed them on how important this mission was and how they were there for air support and surveillance.

They all assured Bradley that they would do whatever it took to get you back.

After coordinating with local law enforcement, a command center was set up just outside the property line of the farm Preston has brought.

At 0700 hours, the Dagger Squad led by Captain Trace departed from the U.S.S. Bush in Virginia.

At 0900 hours, Phoenix made contact with Maverick, who, even though he wasn't flying, still wanted to be a part of the mission. He was corridinating from the ground along with Bradley.

"Mav, everything seems to be clear. There are no signs of movement around the perimeter. Daggers Two and Three, do you confirm?" Phoenix says.

"Confirm Dagger One. No signs of moment to the north." Coyote says. "South is clear too, Cap." Payback." Echos. "Copy that, Daggers. SEAL team Alpha, you are clear to move in from the north. Bravo team move in from the south. Air coverage will let you know if anything changes." Maverick radios.

Bradley grips the arms of the chair he is sitting in. "Mav—" He breaths out. "What if we're too late?"

"Bradley, stop. You can't think like that. She's going to be okay." Mav tries to comfort him.

"Sir. Some of us are going in behind the SEAL teams to provide support. We'll let you know as soon as the First Lady is secure." Dante tells Bradley.

"I want to go with you, Dante. I need to be there." Bradley urges. "Mr. President. With all due respect, we don't know what is waiting for us in that house. We don't know if the Baxter brothers are armed. I can not allow you to go. You need to stay here. It's safer." Dante says.

"Dante, do you enjoy being the head of the secret service?" Bradley asks him.

"Yes, sir." Dante responds.

"Would you like to continue to be the head of the secret service?" Bradley asks him. Dante nods.

"Do you think you can continue to be the head of the secret service if you tell me no, Dante?" Bradley states. Dante doesn't respond.

"I'm going with you. I'm the president, and I'm not asking you for permission, I'm telling you what I'm going to do." Bradley tells him.

Dante looks past him to Maverick, who just shakes his head. "Fine. But you need to stay in the SUV, sir." Dante sighs before the two of them exit.

Maverick continues to listen in to the Daggers flying above. "Maverick, there is movement in the northwest sector. Make sure the Alpha team is advised." Bob radios in. "Copy Bob. Alpha team, be advised there is movement on your left flank." Maverick relays the information.

"Copy that Admiral." The leader of the team replies.

"Alpha team, you are still clear for breech, but stay vigilant." Maverick warns them.

"No signs of moment near Bravo team, Mav." Fanboy states.

"Copy that Dagger Three. Bravo team be ready in case they try to escape in your direction." Maverick commands.

"Copy that, sir. Bravo team is ready."

"Sir, we have eyes on the building. The surrounding area is clear. Are we a go for extraction?" The captain of the Alpha team asks. Maverick sends up a silent prayer and plea to Goose and Carole before speaking. "You are a go for extraction."

....................

The sound of a door bursting and shouting jolts you awake. Voices fill the house, and you aren't sure what's going on. You're disoriented from the mental and physical torture Preston has been putting you through. You barely register him, uncuffing you and dragging you towards the door of the room. Once your mind catches up to the fact that your body is free, you attempt to fight him off. You claw and slap and punch at him, ignoring the pain in your limbs. But you're weak, and your effort seems useless.

A bright flash and a loud bang stun you. Your ears are ringing as white spots cloud your vision. You don't register the sea of uniformed men and women who fill the small room.

You're vaguely aware that they are yelling. Soon, a strong pair of arms wraps around you, and the adrenaline kicks in. You're determined to break free. You struggle like a crazied animal until they grab your shoulders and force you to look at them.

"Ma'am, my name is Lieutenant Xander Finley with the U.S. Navy SEALs. We are here to take you home." The young officer tells you. "H—home?" You stutter out, afraid this is some sick delusion your mind has concocted.

"Yes, Ma'am. You're safe now." He assures you. You collapse against his chest and cry as he and others escort you out. "Admiral Mitchell. We have her, sir. We've got the First Lady." Lieutenant Finley calls into his radio.

Maverick lets out the breath he has been holding and cheers. "Daggers, we have her." He tells the pilots who cheer.

He grabs the other radio and calls into. "Rooster, Mr. President, this is Maverick. Do you copy?" He asks.

"I copy Mav." Bradley says into the radio he has been holding onto for the past half hour as he waits for news. "They have her, Bradley. They've got your girl." Maverick smiles as he realys the news to Bradley.

"Thank you." Is all Bradley can manage to say as tears fill his eyes.

Dante and the rest of the secret service team are waiting with guns drawn. An ambulance is parked close by with a medical team in standby. No one knows what shape you're in.

Bradley exits the vehicle as the first SEALs start to make their way down the dirt road. He stands beside Dante, waiting to catch a glimpse of you.

He holds his breath as more uniforms emerge. They all seem in good spirits.

Then, it happens. He sees you. Two SEALs are helping you walk. Bradley breaks out into a sprint towards you, ignoring the yells of the people around him. He doesn't care. It's been eighteen days, twelve hours, and thirty-six minutes since he's held you in his arms. He doesn't want to was another second.

"Sweetheart." He gasps as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him. He let's go of the sob he was holding in as he feverishly kissed your hair. His large arms hold you snug to him, as his scent and fills your nostrils, enveloping you in a sense of safety and comfort.

"Bradley, Dearest." You mumble against his chest as you bury your face into him and cry.

Bradley held you close to his chest as you sobbed. He kissed the top of your head and stroked your hair as his arms tightened around you.

You pulled back to look at him. He cupped your face in his hands. You didn't miss the tick in his jaw as he took stock of you.

You were bloody and bruised and broken. His heart ached for you, knowing that you must be in so much pain right now. But through it all, you smiled at him. He smiled back at you, but it quickly faded as he caught sight of two members of the SEAL team escorting Preston towards your location.

"You piece of shit!" Bradley screamed as he released you and ran towards Preston. The men holding onto him didn't know what to do as Bradley charged at them. The jump from his side just as Bradley's fist made contact with the other man's face and knocked him to the ground.

"You fucking bastard!" Bradley raged as jumped on top of Preston and delivered blow after blow to his face. Everyone stood there frozen as they watched the scene unfold. No one was sure what to do, and no one moved to stop him.

"You son of a bitch! You tried to take her from me! You tried to take my everything from me!" Bradley screamed.

Bradley continued to hit Preston over and over again. He didn't stop when he heard the crunch of his nose breaking. He didn't stop when his knuckles were bruised and bloody. He didn't stop when Preston was no longer struggling to fight him off. He didn't stop when Maverick and Jake tried to pull him off because they were afraid Bradley would kill him.

He only stopped when you called out his name and grabbed his arm. You looked at him with tearful eyes. "Bradley—he's not worth it." You whispered.

Bradley sighed and shook his head. He knew you were right. He looked at the people who were around him before locking eyes with the captain of the SEAL teams. "Mr. President, sir, as far as I'm concerned, we didn't see anything. Mr. Baxter sustained these injuries as a result of resisting arrest and attempting to flee the scene. Everyone here agrees." The man speaks while others nodded their heads. "I wanted to let you know that Alexander Baxter surrendered peacefully and is willing to cooperate with us." He finished. Bradley nodded and thanked him for his efforts.

He quickly helped you over to the EMTs who were waiting for you. Bradley held your hand as they assessed and treated you. Maverick came over to comfort both of you. He offered you the radio that was connected to the Dagger Squad. Each of them cheered when they heard your voice, and you told them they were clear to head home. Bradley phoned Jake and Jaycee, who were waiting back at the makeshift headquarters and let them know you were alive and being transported to the nearest hospital.

He held your hand and whispered how brave and smart and strong you were the whole time. He looped his fingers with yours, and you placed both of them on your stomach. You shared a silent understanding and worry. Neither of you said anything, but you both knew what news could be waiting for you once you arrived at the hospital.

.....................

You felt like you had been waiting for hours once you were admitted to the hospital. They quickly set your broken fingers and broke arm that you had acquired. They treated the wounds on your face and iced it to help with the swelling. They also had to stich a laceration near your hairline. You would be able to hide it with your hair, but you joked with Bradley that the two of you would have matching face scars.

You were given more fluids because of dehydration and a liquid nutrition cocktail. Several vials of blood were drawn from you. Everything came back normal for you and your baby, but an obstetrician was needed to confirm

Soon, Dr. Fraser came in to perform an ultrasound and an exam. You and Bradley held your breath as you were waiting for something, anything to appear on that screen.

"Ah, right there. Do you see? There's Baby Bradshaw." Dr. Fraser smiled before clicking a few things and turning a dial. Soon, the whooshing sound of a heartbeat filled the room.

"Heartbeat is nice and strong. Baby seems to be in good shape, all things considered. You're measuring about twelve weeks and a few days, which puts you due around late January or early February. We'll know know for sure in a few more weeks." The doctor tells you.

You and Bradley breathe a sigh of relief as the doctor exits and gives the two of you some privacy.

"I'm so glad we—I got you back. Both of you. You're my everything, Sweetheart. I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you." He says as he rests his hand on your belly. You grab his hand and bring his bruised knuckles to your lips and kiss them.

"You need to have someone look at these." You tell him. He rolls his eyes and tells you'll that he'll be fine.

You let out a yawn, and the overwhelming feeling of exhaustion fills your body. You're tired and weak, but you're terrified to close your eyes. Afraid that this is a dream and that if you fall asleep, Bradley will be gone when you wake up.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Bradley says. "Sleep, my love. I'll be right here when you wake up." He assures you. Another yawn escapes you as your eyelids become heavy. Bradley strokes your forehead as sleepover takes you.

He sits in the hospital room and watches the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. He sends up a silent thank you to whatever higher power it was that brought you and his child back to him. He also thanks his mom and dad because he knows that Goose and Carole were definitely watching over you.

He lets out the breath he has been holding as he squeezes your hand. He takes your rings out of his pocket. He'd put them in there when you'd gotten to the hospital. He slipped them back on your fingers. His thumb traces over the bands as he thinks to himself that the two of you really are better together.

The long awaited rescue is here! Hope you guys enjoy it!

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky

[kiragirl17]

So I may not be the biggest Rollin/Carisi fan, but I feel a bit cheated we didn’t see a proposal.

The wedding was cute though

[claires-audience]

Law and order but its about car thefts and crimes and they call it Law and Order: SUV

[lastmidtownshowmp3]

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The way this is an actual transition in a law and order suv episode is unreal to me