work victims


Here is something: After two men in the Netherlands were attacked while walking home from a party holding hands, straight Dutch politicians everywhere are showing their solidarity by walking around holding hands. 

The top photo is of Dutch leader of the Democrats 66 party Alexander Pechtold and D66 financial specialist Wouter Koolmees; the second photo is of the men from the Dutch Embassy in London; the bottom photo is of the male staff of the Dutch mission at the United Nations in New York. Cute, gents; I hope you’re also working hard to protect victims of hate crimes, create a culture of inclusivity in your communities, and make sure this doesn’t happen again.

(via the Huffington Post)

Today is one month until the 18 year anniversary of the tragedy. This is just a reminder that the victims are to be respected and talked about softly. The family’s pain is still very real and raw, please make sure to not talk about them in a flippant, casual way. People are still grieving, and the hurt will magnify especially on that day.

Every time I talk about my research into sexual assault laws and my advocacy work for victims of sexual assault, I have to listen to some man ask me the same question 

“Well what about the men who get falsely accused?” 



There is an entire system set up for you. There are barriers in place and safeguards and double checks and a whole system designed to try and make sure only guilty people pay for crimes. 

Would you ever ask me 

“Well what about the men who get falsely accused of stabbings?” 


Because you’re a law student and not a fucking moron 

So why

why why why 

Do you think that’s the appropriate question when I’m telling you about the overwhelming number of women who don’t report instances of sexual violence, or the fact that sexual assault trials effectively force women to relieve their assault as a public spectacle multiple times, or the gross underfunding of sexual assault crisis centres 

News flash 

‘Playing Devil’s Advocate’ is just a fun way of saying ‘but what about the men’ 

No matter how you dress it up, you still tell me you’re a dickbag 

HACKED {DELINQUENTS: Yoongi Series; Part 1}

You looked at Yoongi’s photo. Something about it made you linger for a moment. He just didn’t seem like the type to be convicted of a crime. But then you thought on all of your patients that didn’t seem like the type to do anything, and you sighed. Logging into your patient log, you began inserting your notes, when you got an alert.

Your account has been hacked. Please change your password. We have notified your superiors. You stared at the message. In the past 4 years, this has never happened. You weren’t the best at changing your password, but still the system was practically impenetrable. Then you looked back at your documents. Min Yoongi’s face shot into your mind and you flipped to his file once again.

SHIT! You screamed to yourself. It said right there in bold print that he had been caught seven times, hacking into various systems, you should have known better. Looking at your account, if he was the one to have hacked the system, then all of your patient information was at his disposal. You clenched your fists. That information wasn’t some laughing matter, and you would not allow him to use you like that. With that in mind, you were ready for battle before you even walked into the house.

The next day, a policeman came and picked you up. It was explained to you that it would be best for you to not drive your personal care and to always have an escort. Walking into the house, the policeman summoned the inmates. The seven men stood in front of you, their hands behind their backs, in a military at-ease position. You scanned the seven of them and your eyes met Yoongi’s. He looked positively bored out of his skull, but when you continued to stare, he became piqued with intrigue.

Hello, my name is Y/N. I have been practicing abnormal psychology for 4 years, and I work mainly with victims of addiction disorders. From today forward, I will be with you all from 9am until 5pm. I will hold meetings with all of you personally. It will be an hour each day, and if I feel it is necessary, you will stay longer. Are there any volunteers? You asked, expecting no one to raise their hand, but Yoongi’s hand shot up. You raised your eyebrows. Alright, Inmate Min Yoongi. You will be escorted to my office. The rest of you can go back to your rooms. You watched as the rest of them walked back to their rooms, a look of complete shock on all of their faces. Making your way to the first floor office, a policeman stood there with Yoongi.

I will hold him out here until you’re ready for him to come in, ma’am. The officer said, but you cringed a little.

He can come into my office. And don’t call me ma’am, that’s only what people call my mother. Just call me Y/N. You replied and the officer gave you a megawatt smile. You could feel your cheeks blush a little, but then looked back at Yoongi, who was now making himself comfortable on the couch. Oh, boy. You muttered to yourself and closed the door behind you.

So you’re the doc. You seem a little young to be working with criminals. Yoongi said without looking at you. His eyes were closed and he muttered the words. You rolled your eyes and sat down in the chair next to him.

I’m well qualified and my superiors thought it was best that I take on this project. You said simply and grabbed your pen and paper. Oh, and I will not be logging your notes for this project. You added and Yoongi’s eye opened.

You’re not logging my notes. He repeated and you nodded.

If you would like to hack into my logs, I don’t appreciate it. But if you read them, I simply use the log’s as a notebook. I don’t put my hopes for your behavior. You replied. Yoongi sat up.

So you’re smarter than the others. He responded, scoffing a little as he shook his head.

I wouldn’t say I’m smarter. I don’t try to mold you like other doctors. I just want to break you of a habit. You wrote down his behavior. It was easy to see right through him. He was guarded, but his tactics were somewhat juvenile. The state wants you to stop hacking into systems … You started but Yoongi put up his hand.

They want me to stop hacking into THEIR systems. He emphasized a word and you looked up from your notepad. I’m not going to go into detail on that. Just know that they don’t give a shit as long as I don’t hack into their system anymore. You gave Yoongi a nod and went back to your notepad.

So when did this hacking start? You asked and Yoongi went silent. You looked up and were met with a gummy smile.

That has to be the dumbest question I have ever heard. Does that actually work on people? You want me to tell you when I started “hacking” jeez, I wish they would bring an IT guy in here. At least they would understand my crime. He spouted off and you rolled your eyes. Hey aren’t you supposed to show no emotion, keep a poker face? He asked and you shook your head.

I can show emotion. Like I said, I’m not like other doctors. From your reaction, I would say that the hacking started relatively early on, probably high school. From your physique, I can tell you aren’t much of the athletic build so that tells me you spent a lot of time on the computer. Rather than getting an adrenaline rush from some form of sport, you found it in hacking into various systems. From my inference, mixed with the look of sheer panic on your face, I would say that the first person’s account you hacked into was either the girl you were in love with or the guy who stole her away. You said to Yoongi and his pale face went sheet white.

It was the guy who took her away. He responded. How the fuck did you do that? He whispered more to himself, with widened eyes.

Welcome to the big leagues. You responded and shrugged your shoulders. Now that I have when it started and why, let’s get down to business. And with that, you started your session.

Hey, followers, mutuals, and random internet peeps: could ya’ll be praying for my cousin? He’s a nurse, and he just got confirmed to go to Iraq in less than a week, to work with victims of the violence near Mosul for a month. I’m proud of him, but also worried – please pray for his safety and for the people he’ll be working with while he’s there.

Dangerous Woman

A female unsub kidnaps Spencer as the team is close to catching her and she discovers, slowly and intimately, that she quite likes his company. 

A\N: written in third person because it felt right to have a degree of separation? But the woman is never named, so feel free to imagine yourself :D

Warnings: no smut but suggestive throughout ;) also language


Ohh, she’d done good this time. Really good.

He was sitting in the same chair as the other men before him, wrists cuffed behind him and head hanging low with unconsciousness.

She’d taken the eye-catcher. Not the typical dreamboat who had far too many women who would immediately notice his absence. No, she’d focused on the meekly handsome one with delicate features that she wanted to feel for herself.

She studied the way his hair sat in tendrils that almost wanted to curl, how he was indeed alive from the way his chest rose and fell under his striped dress shirt, she even noted the new scuffs on his shoes from where she struggled to drag him into the room with a smile on her face. That heaviness came from some muscles she was delighted to discover on his lanky frame.

All at once he sharply inhaled and lifted his head, his attention then quickly drawn to her watchful eye. They both stayed quiet as he tested his restraints and once he gave up he spoke.

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anonymous asked:

The hack was bad but you're just as bad to think h & l like being controlled. I'm not a larrie but its naive to believe they aren't under contract to stay closeted, fix your life, anti

Firstly, Anon, you’re a Larrie.  Pure and simple.  This isn’t The Emperor’s New Clothes.

Second, if anyone’s controlling, it’s Larries.  They have demanded the boys say that Larry isn’t real.  The boys did that.  It wasn’t good enough and Larries just said “They’re being forced to say that.”  When the boys have asked them to stop, they kept going.  The other boys have weighed in, informing Larries that their delusions were not only false, but that they were harmful.  What did Larries do? They got mad and pitched hissy fits and called them liars and harassed them and their families.

When the boys’ family members spoke out, Larries harassed and bullied them. They have demanded proof of Freddie’s existence.  They were given that.  They continued their demands, called everything lies, even the birth certificate (Donald Trump anyone?).  They demanded that the women in the boys’ lives behave a certain way and demanded that Briana and Louis parent the way they want them to.  They go on Louis’ family’s social media and say vile, disgusting things about them.  They sexually harass children.  

The boys’ privacy has been violated countless times and Larries think it’s funny. They accuse them of faking it and you laugh.  They’ve forced a new mother and an infant into silence, which thank goodness, Briana is getting better at saying “Fuck you.”  

Larries abused a sick woman before her death, and even after her death, continue to torment her and say she was lying about her entire family. They find minor children on social media who are related to the boys and cyber stalk and cyber bully them.  

If another man dares to hang around Harry and be close to him, and especially if that man is gay, Larries, in all their apparent advocacy for LGBT+, have wished AIDS on him, as well as death.  They continuously slander and degrade anyone who dares to go against the Larrie narrative.

They think they have a say in who the boys get to hang out with, and if they don’t like who the boys are hanging out with, they find them and make sure to let them know just how much they want them to die.  

And for what exactly?  For love?  You think that’s love?  You have a fucked up, twisted, abusive way of loving.

Every time these boys do something they don’t like, they find some way to control it, whether it be through their lies and controlling people who follow them, or by going after the boys’ friends and family.  

They’re going as far as hacking an account of someone who’s going to give what he’s earning from attention to charity and people have attacked Harry’s account, linking to vile pornography and there are Larries out there celebrating it.  

Not only do they harass the boys, their families, their friends, the people they work with, they’re victim blamers.  When Larries are called out for their behavior, they say that if the people they’re abusing don’t want to be abused, they shouldn’t have any social media or they shouldn’t act a certain way. 

That’s an abuser telling the victim that it’s their fault and it’s beyond disgusting.

And yet it’s the boys’ labels and managers who control them?


Larries try to control everything in this fandom and we’re done with them.  Fix your own damned self.

Imagine Rafael being your secret admirer

(A/N: For @autumnslioness-dearie, I hope you and everyone else enjoys this. Sorry if this isn’t my best and that it’s short. I know my imagines are short recently but I’m just super busy and want to get everyone’s request done so they aren’t waiting too long. Also , ’m super tired writing this but I didn’t want you waiting any longer because I know I take ages!) 

Imagine Rafael being your secret admirer

The day the first one arrived, you definitely needed it. Without a doubt, it had been one of the worst days of your career. Everything was going wrong, evidence thrown out and cases dismissed, to even mentioning the fact that all of these things were scheduled back to back. So when you finally dragged yourself back down to your office for the first time that day it was about 7:00 in the evening. Your assistant had gone and switched on the lights expecting the office that you had left over twenty-four hours earlier. And for the most part, it was expected, except for one thing.

A bouquet of flowers, on the corner of your desk.

Your assistant obviously had brought it in but you were confused by it nonetheless, mostly because you hadn’t expected it. There was no card but it didn’t even matter because they were your favorite flowers, tulips. The same sort of ones you would plant with your mom when you were a kid. They did bring a smile to your face and the next day when you asked for the card from your assistant she said it didn’t come with one.

You assumed it must have been a mistake or it was a bunch that was delivered late that were intended for your birthday a few weeks earlier. You liked having them there, you usually hated having live flowers because they died in your care, but you took good care of them. They lasted two weeks.

Even your colleague complimented them.

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Being Peter Maximoff’ Partner In Crime Would Include:
  • Helping him with every single prank. 
  • You’d be the mastermind of it all. Making sure it could actually work out.
  • Cause’ his mind runs 900 miles per minute and he doesn’t think before he acts.
  • Peter would never admit it but you really pull everything together.
  • Basically the whole school hating you two when together.
  • But being find when you are apart, since you’re much less harmless when alone.
  • Being the main reason he doesn’t go to jail.
  • Since, (Again) he doesn’t think things through very well.
  • Let’s just say you’ve lied a lot to get him out of things.
  • And you’d think because he’s so fast that he wouldn’t ever get caught.
  • But you would be quite surprised at the things he does that completely expose him just to get twinkies. 
  • Giving him a hard time about it until he gives you one of the twinkies. Then not caring less about what he did.
  • High fiving when a prank works well.
  • Your main victims being Scott and Warren.
  • Just because they get so annoyed so easily.
  • And don’t do much about it afterwards.
  • You learned the hard way with Ororo when you poured water over her head once.
  • Let’s just say you two were in deep shit.
  • You also make sure you don’t actually hurt people. Too badly that is.
  • You two make the best power team ever. And most dangerous. 

anonymous asked:

Can you please write #33. “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” With Barba please and thank you

Prompt: “I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention.” 

You couldn’t stand it, every single second you sat waiting in this damn restaurant was another second you could spend in your own apartment with a tub of ice cream—watching a crappy television show and in your pajamas. Checking your watch, you noted the time, three hours after you were supposed to meet Rafael at this restaurant. It was one of the more expensive places, only a couple of blocks from your apartment. He had promised this time that he wouldn’t forget, he promised he would meet you here, after weeks of not seeing each other. However, as you gathered your things and paid for your drinks, you couldn’t help but bitterly think about his lies. The restaurant was quiet when you life, only a few servers remained and the place pretty much deserted. Slapping some money on the table, you drowned whatever was left inside your glass and walked out of the restaurant—giving the remaining waiters a sad smile.

The air outside was frigid, causing you to shiver as you quickly made your way back to your apartment. This wasn’t the first time he had let you down, and you knew it surely won’t be the last. You couldn’t leave him, you loved him too much—and for some time, you were content with being second best. One of the main reasons why you loved him so much was because of his work, how he immersed himself in it; however, over time, it began to gnaw away at you. In the beginning, he managed to set aside time for you, making sure he was home at reasonable times and spending those precious seconds devoted to you. Yet as time went on, he began coming home later and later, and soon enough brought his work home with him. You weren’t selfish, of course not, simply wanting to spend some time with your boyfriend was not too much to ask. At night, the bed was cold when you went to sleep and in the morning, it was empty when you woke up. It was like living with a ghost, and soon enough you had enough.

By the time you arrived back at your shared apartment, your feet ached and your heart was heavy. Turning the key into the lock, the apartment was dark when you entered. Typical, on a Friday your boyfriend would rather be spending time at the office instead of on a date with you. Of course, you would be lying if you said that didn’t irritate you, as you slammed the front door with an affirmative thump. Slipping off your shoes, you locked the door behind you, and took off your coat. As your feet padded against the floors, you hung up your coat and climbed the stairs into your bedroom.

Once inside, you slipped off the clothes you were wearing and washed your face. There was no use waiting up for him, since you had learned from your previous times waiting for him. Changing quickly into your pajamas, you slipped quietly out of the master bedroom and into the spare guest room. The only light illuminating the room came from the window, and as you slid into the sheets, you couldn’t help but hate how foreign they felt. As much as you would enjoy sleeping in your own bed, you couldn’t bear waking up next to him tomorrow morning. If that happened, you would see his peaceful and sleeping face and would forgive him in an instant—like you did the numerous times before. You were angry at him and you intended to let him face the repercussions of his actions. Closing your eyes, you tried to keep the guilt off of your mind before closing your eyes, falling into a much needed slumber.

You awoke the next morning with sunlight streaming through the open window, and your hair a mess. Sitting up, you looked around the room and saw no signs of it being disturbed, as well as no sign of your boyfriend sleeping next to you. As you made your way out of bed, you brushed your teeth and your hair, before exiting the bedroom. The house was still and quiet, not that uncommon for a Saturday morning. You could only assume he was at work, perhaps the Special Victims Unit had called in another favor, maybe he was at the courthouse for an emergency warrant. Chewing on your lower lip, you made your way from the guest bedroom, and to the kitchen—too caught up in your own disgust to notice another presence sitting in the dining room, reading the morning paper.

It was a rare occurrence for Barba to be sitting at the dining room on a Saturday morning, the newspaper in one hand and his steaming cup of coffee in the other. It was also a rare occurrence not to find you in bed sleeping when arrived home last night. He nearly tore up the whole apartment looking for you, only seconds away from calling Olivia and commanding the whole police force to be out looking for you. It was only till he found you sleeping soundly in the guest bedroom, did he breathe a sigh of relief. He was quite puzzled to see you sleeping in the spare room rather than in the master bedroom, but he didn’t think too much about it, closing the door to the spare room and making his way to the master bedroom. At the time, his sleep-deprived mind had completely forgotten the urge of wanting to sleep with you, for as soon as he finished getting ready for bed and his head hitting the pillow—he dozed off without a second thought. Now, ass he watched you walk into the dining room, he expected some sort of explanation or at least a good morning on your part. But, as you walked past him without a care in the world, he was a bit surprised—to say the least.

He admits, for the past few weeks he has been the best boyfriend, missing out on a few dates because of work or leaving early or staying late at the office because of case. Sure, it wasn’t the greatest work ethic nor was it being fair to you, but he was sure that you understood that he wasn’t doing this on purpose—work was work, and there was nothing he could really do about it. He was sure you weren’t doing this on purpose, perhaps you were so sleep-deprived that you didn’t see him sitting at the table—but when you emerged with your steaming cup of coffee and purposefully sat in the living room to watch TV, he was sure you were pissed at him.

You had every right to feel this way about him, after all he has been putting his duties as a lawyer above being a good boyfriend. He knew he needed to apologize, one of the skills he struggled with, despite being a renown assistant district attorney. Placing the newspaper down gently on the table, he stood and made his way into the living room, taking a seat next to you. If you felt his presence, you made no acknowledgement of it, fixating your attention to the television in front of you. He noticed in the countless of arguments that had ensued between the two of you that you preferred to ignore your problems in hopes of them resolving on their own; however, he was one problem you couldn’t ignore for long. Before you could even register what he was doing, he had grabbed the remote from the armrest next to you and switched the television off—much  to your displeasurement. 

“Hey, I was watching that!” 

It was nice to hear your voice again, despite the anger that currently radiated off your tone. You had turned towards him, looking at him with a fiery passion , your eyes burning with determination. It was one of his favorite qualities and something that drew him towards you in the first place, but as he stood on the receiving end—he understood, once again, why most people did not want to face your wrath. For a moment there, you had forgotten that you were supposed to be ignoring him—forgot the fact that you were supposed to be mad at him. But with one look into his green eyes, you were practically weak at the knees. Yet, you needed to keep up this argument and you couldn’t allow him to continue to get away with his actions. Once again, you turned away from him, crossing your arms and resuming your silence. 

Rafael needed some way to make you talk with him, some way to make you forgive him for these terrible past few weeks. Already, he made a mental note to take you out some place special tomorrow, but at the moment he was currently coming up blank on how to get you to forgive him. He knew begging and groveling was not the right way to go, but at the moment he was seriously considering that option. Then, an idea finally dawned on him, and you could swear it was one of the most strangest things you have ever seen Raphael do—he poked you.  

You were baffled to say the least, but nevertheless continued your position of silence. That did not stop your boyfriend, as he continued to poke you incessantly. Before you knew what was going on, you were on the floor, begging him to stop as your laughter echoed throughout the room.

“I’m not going to stop poking you until you give me some attention,” he chuckled, continuing to poke you, which only caused more giggles to escape your lips. Finally you surrendered, placing your hands up in the air, and causing him to release his hands from your body. Glancing at his face, you could see the rare smile that engulfed his lips, pure happiness overtaking his features—making you want to stop arguing and just cuddle with him. As much as you hated to admit it, you were jealous—jealous of how much attention he spent on his work rather than you. It was stupid, and honestly quite embarrassing, but you knew his work meant everything to him. And you knew, you also meant the world to him, which was consolation enough.

Leaning in, you placed a kiss on his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing yourself in his lap. He responded immediately, his hands coming around your waist and his lips beginning to move in sync with your own. Before things could get too heated you pulled away, leaving a flushed face Rafael sitting in front of you. And with a small smirk, you detached yourself from him, before speaking.

“Come on, you don’t want to burn the pancakes, do you?”

Taking your hand, the two of you enjoyed a peaceful Saturday breakfast together.

[Ask RPedia] Characterization of Emotional Manipulators

numbertwooflorien asked: Advice to rp as a emotional manipulative character?

Well okay! This post is how to RP an emotionally manipulative character, and in general a manipulative character. Useful for villains, and grimdark settings, it may include some crap people don’t want to think about. In detail. Major detail. So fair warning, I’m gonna get into psychological shit, and describe what amounts to abuse tactics with lots of explanation so if this isn’t your cup of tea, keep running. You might be able to use this as a way to spot toxic relationships as much as you can use it to play fictional ones, and I hope it helps people one way or another. But remember, keep it fucking fictional! 

This is presented as a way to understand those mindsets as a writer, which is important, and not in any way shape or form something you should do in real life. I acknowledge if you wanna do shit like this you’ll find the details on how to be an asshole somewhere anyways though, so I’m not gonna let you ruin it for everyone who just needs some writing help to make their character’s manipulation/emotional crisis more realistic. Onto the cut.

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Imagine making up with Sonny after an argument

(A/N: Dedicated to all the supportive people on this site. You know who you are and I can’t thank you enough. I hope you enjoy this!) 

WARNING: Mentions of a troubled childhood/Extensive drug use/ Explores impact a troublesome home can have on a person later on in life (I have not experienced this personally so I apologize if you have and feel that this isn’t an accurate representation) 

Imagine making up with Sonny after an argument

Love had always been a nice idea to you. For your whole life, you thought it was a nice idea, whenever anyone talked about it or being in it, you thought it was a nice idea. But you never really believed in it.

How could you?

Throughout out your whole life, you hadn’t ever seen it. No one in your life growing up had been in a stable loving relationship. Your parents were addicts and sure may be way before you were born they were in love but you never saw a glimpse of that. By the time you realized what was going on they hated each other. They couldn’t stand each other and it got to the point where every birthday and every other day for that matter your wish was for the to separate or even better divorce.

And maybe that’s extreme what else could you wish for? For them to stop doing drugs? You knew that wasn’t going to happen.

They were too far gone.

Its safe to say that you had a difficult childhood. Both your parents were addicts and basically teenagers when they had you. They were high school dropouts, unemployed and miserable. The drugs they took, took the pain away and that’s why they couldn’t live without it. Life was too hard for them so they did what they had to do to escape it all.

Escape life with each other.

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The Girl in the Pond Pt. 3 (Bones: Marvel AU)

Characters in this chapter: Steve Rogers, Female Reader, Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark, Nick Fury, Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: Language, Talks about dead body, Violence

Pairings: None. (Eventual Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: You are a forensic anthropologist working for the Smithsonian Institute in Washington D.C. when you and your team get recruited by the FBI to aid one of their top field agents, Special Agent Steve Rogers. Together, along with  your colleagues/friends you put faces on the voiceless and throw the bad guys where they belong.

Author’s Note: So this is my first Marvel AU series and I’m quite nervous on how this is going to turn out. The series is going to be based on the TV show Bones and since the show is 12 seasons long I’m just going to base the series on some of my favorite episodes including the series finale coming out in the upcoming weeks. I only hope I do it justice. I want to thank @mrs-squirrel-chester​ for convincing me into writing this and for not only being as awesome beta but because she also made this kick-ass edit above.

(P.S: Yeah this part is super long sorry!)

“Rogers! Wait up!” You shouted, catching up to Steve who was walking across the institute’s lawn. The heels you were wearing were getting stuck to the dirt so you decided to kick them off, and jog over to Steve.

“So what do you want to do first, confront the Senator?” you asked, walking alongside him once you caught up. 

He stopped in his tracks and turned to you, face grim. “Listen, Bones, I know…”

“Don’t call me Bones!” you interrupted him.

“Right,” he sighed. “I know we talked about you coming out in the field and all…”

“Seriously Rogers?!” You pushed him in anger. “You fucking bastard,” you spat. You couldn’t believe he lied to you.

“Bones, listen to me!” Steve grabbed your hands to stop you from hitting his chest. “With a case this big, the director is going to create a special investigation. And if I get all my ducks in a row, then maybe, just maybe I could lead it,” he explained fully.

“Not sure what that means, but I think I could be a duck,” you replied.

“You’re not a duck, okay,” he blurted out in annoyance. “On this one we go by  the book. Cops on the street, Squints in the lab.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, crossing your arms at him. “Well in that case, the Smithsonian will be issuing a press release identifying the girl in the pond,” was your simple reply.

“You do that and Fury will kill me!” he whisper-yelled at you. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

You looked into Steve’s baby blue eyes through your lashes. “Me? I thought it’d be clear to a top agent. I’m blackmailing you, doll,” you cooed while batting your eyelashes.

“Blackmail a Federal Agent?” Steve asked, still in disbelief as to what you were telling him.

“Oh yeah,” you replied with a sweet smile.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Well I don’t like it.”

“You’re not supposed to like it.” You let out a chuckle.

“Fine.” Steve let out a sigh in defeat. “You’re in.”

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It’s a chilly Monday night in January when John knows.

Not knows, but knows.

Clear as crystal.

They’ve just returned to the flat after a dinner out at Angelo’s (two green salads; a bread basket with dipping oil; Sherlock: pesto gnocchi; John: prawn linguine; a bottle of the second-best dry red Angelo could scrounge up; five bites each of tiramisu plus one extra Sherlock sneaks whilst John is in the gents; and one peppermint that John tucks into the pocket of his cheek as they wait for a cab.)

Back in the sitting room of 221b, Sherlock wings out of his great coat and heaps it over the shambles of what looks like the frayed end of a laptop charger and a laptop curiously missing its screen. John pretends not to notice the cover-up as he digs through the cupboards for the now mostly-empty bottle of Ardbeg Uigeadail that Sherlock had lowered nonchalantly into their mostly-full trolley during a recent spending spree at Waitrose. (Thanks to a client’s generous tip, John had also splurged on not one but two rather posh candles for bathtime. Sherlock, bless his heart, had said nothing and tossed in a packet of Twirl Bites for good measure).

“Want a little?” John gestures with an empty glass.

“A finger.” Sherlock hums, prodding the early burst of flames beneath his hands. A comforting pop shoots sparks up into the dark cool air of the chimney. “Actually give me two fingers.”

John refuses to acknowledge the way the tips of his ears heat.

He pours their shares, spins the cap tightly back on the bottle, and leaves it be on the worktop. Coming over and holding a glass out to Sherlock, he plops down in his chair. “Been thinking more about that cold case.” He lets out a low groan as he readjusts the Union Jack pillow at the small of his back. “It could be argyria.”

“Argyria.” Sherlock’s fingers curl around his glass. He cocks an eyebrow in the way only Sherlock can cock an eyebrow.

“Why not?” John leans forward slightly. “A condition where skin turns an abnormal shade of grey-blue due to prolonged contact with silver salts. Victim worked in manufacturing, something with solar energy stuff.”

“Silver’s used in the photovoltaic conductive ink–”

“–which he produced, didn’t he?”

They stare at each other for a moment. A curve of a smile teases the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. “Well done, John.”

“I’m certain that’s what it is.” John moves to set his glass down on the small table next to his chair. The fire crackles pleasantly at his feet. Sherlock’s eyes crinkle as he lets the smile blossom fully into his features, a slight flush from the warmth of the room colouring high on his cheekbones.

God, you’re beautiful, John thinks.

“I’ll phone Lestrade tomorrow,” Sherlock nods. Crosses then uncrosses his ankles.

“Not now?”

“No, I’m…rather certain.” Sherlock means to glance at the fireplace, John thinks, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t look anywhere but at John’s face. Then his gaze instead flickers to John’s mouth before circling back up.

“I’m quite certain too.” John says a hint too loudly as his grin drops fondness into the well-worn lines round his eyes.

He feels alive. Purely, unabashedly happy and alive.

“You’ve mentioned.” Sherlock lets his knees bounce apart as he eases his bum down further in his chair. A floppy curl breaks free from its twin to grace his forehead as he ducks his chin down to his chest, the whisky rolling amber and loose in the glass still in his hand.

“Have I done?” John nearly whispers. He feels magnetised, unable to look away.

God, you’re incredibly beautiful, he thinks again.

“Yes.” Sherlock’s voice is a low rumble. He winks.

We’re…flirting. And I think he knows.

I know too.

John doesn’t feel afraid.

“There’s a few other things I’m certain of.” The fire snaps a punctuation of sparks in-between his words. “For example,” he feels his tongue dip out between his lips, wetting them, which catches Sherlock’s gaze again, “I’m certain that Angelo brought out that bottle because you asked him to.”

Sherlock nods again, conceding silently, as his eyes flick back up to John’s.

“I’m certain that you already researched the argyria diagnosis and told Lestrade about it.”

Sherlock starts to shake his head, but stops when John raises both eyebrows. Gracefully he shifts into a gentle nod and lets his legs drift even further apart.

John swallows.

“I’m certain that tonight at dinner… It was nice. I liked it, being there with you.” John says. “In a way I didn’t want it to end.”

“I did.” Sherlock never fails to surprise in the least surprising ways.

The thing is, John knows better now. “You did?”

“Oh I’m certain.” A soft smile. “I like this quite a bit more than eating pesto gnocchi in public.”

“Hmm.” John expects for his heart to burst out through his ribs, or for his palms to be sweating, or for his breath to be high and tight and shaky but he feels none of those things, none at all. “Come to think of it, I guess I did too.”

Sherlock asks him the question he’s been waiting for. “Why?”

The moment is perfectly ordinary in the most extraordinary way. Sat in their chairs, fire burning, together, at home.

“Because I was certain of another thing.” John feels a long awaited dawning deep in his core. “I was certain that I wanted to come back here and ask if I could kiss you.”

He waits, searching Sherlock’s face.

It’s the best first kiss John’s ever had.


The two glasses of whisky sit, all but forgotten, until John tips them down the sink four days later with a pair of cupid bow lips pressed against the back of his neck, soft and warm just along the edge of his hairline.

Passive-Aggressive Partnership

Parts 1-24 @coveofmemories @bleedreid @my-xomatosis-s 

Part 25 

** Skip between the third and fourth page breaks if you want to complete the story sans smut.


Three months later.

Before heading home, she had to stop by the office and check on Jessica, make sure she was doing okay on her own. It had been two months since she’d transferred positions. “Hey honey,” Y/N said as she walked in that evening. “How’s everything going? Everything okay? You know what you need to do, all the paperwork that needs doing?” She kept rambling - Y/N still wasn’t quite used to her new role yet. Plus, she was a perfectionist, so she needed to know that everything was being handled the way she would want it to be handled. After all, it was her reputation that was on the line; she’d established the practice - it was just that Jessica was carrying the reputation now.

“I’m all good,” she smiled. “I’ve got two bodies coming in tomorrow morning. Not murder victims thankfully. And I’ve even got a filing system in place for paperwork now.” She took Y/N’s hand and brought her over to the corner of the room. “I made this into a file room. Over here is the blank paperwork, filed for every occasion imaginable, and then over here is where I keep the files. I make a copy and keep them here for myself. It’s very neat and orderly don’t you think?” As she turned around, she smiled wide, trying to impress her former boss. 

After all that had happened, Jessica was amazed that Y/N trusted her enough to take over her office. “Woah,” she chuckled, “This is even more organized than I’m used to. It’s amazing. You’ll call me if you need any help right?” Although she was loving her new role, it was definitely more difficult than she intended to let go of her former position.

“I’m good, Dr. Y/L/N,” she smiled softly. “I promise I’ll let you know if I need anything. I just can’t thank you enough for giving me this chance after everything that happened.”

“Two things,” she said, walking up to the young woman’s side and placing her hand on her shoulder. “One, please call me Y/N, no need for formalities anymore, and two, what happened was not your fault. You did everything right, we both made it out and you’re an amazing medical examiner, okay? You’ve earned this.”

Before heading back out to the car where Spencer was waiting for her, Y/N wrapped her arms around Jessica. “You’ve more than earned this.”

“Thanks, Dr…Y/N.”

With a laugh, she turned to walk out the door. For the past two months, she’d been coming in compulsively to check on everything and make sure it was being run properly, but Jessica had it handled. Just like with Boyland, she knew what she needed to do. Y/N trusted her to do the right thing then. And she trusted her now.


“How’s everything in there?” Spencer said, leaning over from the driver’s side of the car to look out her window. “Jessica okay?”

“Yea,” she said, opening the passenger’s side door and giving him a peck on the lips. “She’s all good. She’s even got a filing system in there now that puts my system to shame.” Spencer looked on in surprise. Y/N was a neat freak and a perfectionist, so for her to say that Jessica outdid her was a lot.

“Do you think you’re going to come back as often?” he asked, pulling away from the curb and back toward’s their apartment building. 

Even though they’d only been dating for about two months when she was taken by Boyland, the whole ordeal made Spencer realize just how much she meant to him and he’d asked her to move in with him. “Probably not,” she said, “she’s got it covered and I’ve got a new job now. I did tell her to call me if she needed my help though.

“She’ll be fine,” Spencer replied confidently as he turned onto their street. “You trained her well.”

“I’d like to think so.”


After walking upstairs into their apartment, Spencer turned to her and grabbed her hand, spinning her around the room and dancing in place. “So how do you think you’re settling into your new position?” he asked playfully. “The people are nice? The work is interesting?”

“Definitely,” she smiled, grabbing him by the waist as they danced their way into the kitchen. “It’s very different, but I’m enjoying it and my co-workers are great.”

“Fantastic,” he said, pulling her towards the bedroom. “For now, no more work talk.” With a smoothness she wasn’t accustomed to from him, he shrugged his suit jacket off outside the bedroom door and turned the door handle, leading her inside. He loved having her next to him as they fell asleep every night. They may not have been dating for long, but he didn’t care; he’d found the person he loved and never wanted to be without her. “Only sex talk.”

“Yessss,” she said, happily pumping her fists in the air while Spencer pulled her shirt off over her head. It had been a long day, but he needed her and she needed him. Her hands cradled his neck as he lowered her to the bed, gliding down slowly against the sinewy muscles of his chest. It was only a month or so ago that his bruise from that day had finally faded away. She placed her hand over his heart and he brought her up to the head of the bed, at which point she rolled him over she could lay flush against him. She hadn’t noticed that a thin veil of tears had formed against her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. 

She pressed her lips against his. “I’m fine. I just keep remembering that day, and what you did for me. You almost died.” Under her fingertips, she could remember the massive purple bruise that had formed after he’d taken the bullet. “I just love you a lot is all.”

“I love you too. And I’d do it again.”

After divesting themselves of the rest of their clothes, she ground her pelvis into his, teasing him ever so slightly until neither of them could take it anymore - it didn’t take long. He reached down to place himself at her entrance, but she did the rest, sliding onto his length and lying against him. She was in the mood for slow, lazy lovemaking. Even in this position, completely flush against him, they both found that they couldn’t get close enough. He wrapped his arms around her back, reaching for her hair and balling it on top of her head as they devoured each other.

“Oh god, Y/N,” he breathed, his head falling back into the pillow as she rolled her hips against his. With her right hand, she reached down, grazing it over his balls as she rode him. Grabbing her left hand, he placed it on the side of his neck and begged her to take him harder. They were both so close. “Fuck me.”

“Ah, fuck,” she cried, trembling as the waves started to roll through her. “I love you.” She collapsed onto him as his own orgasm crested and came to shore. As he spilled himself into her, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, fucking him with her tongue while he rode out his high. “That was amazing…and…”

“Necessary,” he chuckled softly. “Yea, it was. And I love you. So much.” She rolled to the side, coming to nestle herself in his embrace. She enjoyed being the little spoon and he was a cuddler, so he made a great big spoon. “Ready for work in the morning?”

“Yea,” she sighed, her eyes becoming heavy with sleep. “Especially after that. I’ll sleep like a baby.” She craned her head back and puckered her lips against his. “Night, baby.”


The next morning, they both got ready and headed to work. After all she’d been through, she’d realized she had a gift for working with victims. It was difficult sure, but she had a knack for it and she was stronger than she’d given herself credit for. For some reason, she knew exactly what to do to keep herself safe and keep others out of harm’s way. 

That’s why when Hotch approached her with the possibility of joining the BAU, she jumped on it. They didn’t have anyone on the team with a medical background, so she added to the team something they didn’t already have. She meant what she’d told Spencer the night before - her co-workers were great. She loved them before she started. 

“Coffee?” Spencer asked, placing her favorite specialty drink on the table. Peppermint mocha - it didn’t matter how warm it was out, peppermint mocha was everything. “I figured you should have a special drink today considering you’re officially a member of the team now.” After accepting the role, she’d needed to pass quite a few tests, marksmanship, psychological, especially after her ordeal with Boyland, but she’d passed them with flying colors and today was the day that Hotch could officially welcome her to the team.

She smiled as she picked up her coffee, accepting Hotch’s handshake. “Welcome to the team, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Hotch,” she replied, taken aback when Garcia slapped her hands against her face in surprise. “What is it Garcia? You knew I was gonna pass right? If you doubted me I might have to hurt you.” She only squealed and pointed behind Y/N’s back, causing her to turn around and see Spencer, on one knee, with a velvet box in his hand. “Oh my god.”

“Yes, it is what you think it is,” he said with a smile, reaching out his hand and bringing her toward him. As she looked around, she saw the surprise on some faces and not on others. JJ and Morgan knew - she knew it. The rest of them had no idea. “So just shut up and listen or I’m not going to be able to get this out.”

“You can’t tell me to shut up,” she laughed, bringing her hand to her mouth as she started to cry. “But go ahead.”

“If someone had asked me a year ago, whether or not I thought I would be madly in love with the obnoxious medical examiner, I would’ve laughed and said no freaking way, but I am. And when I got that call from you that day, and heard how scared you were, I knew I would’ve done anything to trade places with you. Unfortunately I couldn’t, but, if you let me, I will be there every day for the rest of our lives. So,” he said, looking up at her with tears in his eyes, “Y/N, Will you marry me?”

As she looked down into his eyes, she started to sob. “Yes,” she cried, laughing as the rest of the team applauded. Garcia was also sobbing, waving her hands in front of her face in an attempt to dry the tears. But they kept flowing. “Yes. Then we get to piss each other off for the rest of our lives.”

“That’s the plan,” he said. He stood up and placed the ring on her finger as she kissed him. “I found the person I want to annoy for the rest of my life.”

                                                    —THE END—