Hello, Do You Do Don Flack History?

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Chaos Controlling Masterlist

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I write for Stranger Things, Law and Order SVU, CSI, CSI: Miami, CSI: New York, 9-1-1, The Rookie, Criminal Minds and Supernatural. Happy to other shows, movies, musicians, actors and YouTubers assuming I know who they are.

Stranger Things

Eddie Munson

I Want To Ruin Our Friendship Part 1 / Part 2

Stranger Things Guys

The Dating Odyssey Part 1 / Steve / Eddie / Jim / Billy / Jonathan

Supernatural

Dean Winchester

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love (Revisited) (Complete)

(Most unserious banner for the most unserious show)

911

50 Ways to Say Goodbye

Evan 'Buck' Buckley

After the Fire

Edmundo 'Eddie' Diaz

Through the Dark

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

A Well Kept Secret Part 2 Part 3

Law and Order SVU

Rafael Barba

Objection!

Dominick 'Sonny' Carisi Jr.

Cannoli's and Carisi's

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 16

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

2.4k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings MDNI 18+ unprotect p in v, oral F recieving

Authors Note: I'm terrible at writing 18+ content so sorry in advance.

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

By the time I got back to the bunker, the plastic bags were digging into my hands, and my mind was still spinning from what Cas had said. I pushed the door open with my shoulder and made my way to the kitchen, setting the groceries on the counter.

The bunker was quiet as usual, save for the faint sound of metal clicking in the lounge room. I peeked in to see Dean sitting on the couch, a gun laid out in front of him as he cleaned it with practiced ease. His bandaged hand moved a little slower than usual, but he didn’t seem to care.

As I started unpacking the bags, I felt his eyes on me. A few seconds later, I heard the soft scrape of the gun being set down on the table.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” Dean asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

I froze for a moment, my hands still on a carton of eggs. “What do you mean?” I replied, trying to sound casual.

Dean leaned back, crossing his arms. “I know that look. Something’s weighing on you. What happened?”

I sighed, abandoning the act. There was no point in trying to hide it from Dean—he could always see right through me. I turned to face him, leaning against the counter.

“Cas came to see me,” I said quietly.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his expression shifting from curiosity to something darker. “What did he say?”

I hesitated, but then the words came spilling out—the whole conversation, God’s so-called plan, and how we were apparently breaking it. By the time I finished, I could feel the tears welling in my eyes, though I blinked them back.

Dean stood up, pacing a few steps before turning to face me, his green eyes sharp. “You can’t listen to a word Cas says about that crap. He’s been too close to God’s playbook for too long—he doesn’t get it. We’re not pawns, Y/N. Not you, not me.”

“But if we’re really screwing up some grand plan—”

“I don’t give a damn about his plan,” Dean cut me off, his voice firm but not unkind. “I care about you. About us. Whatever comes at us, we’ll handle it. Together.”

I looked at him, his determination so unwavering that it made some of the tension in my chest ease.

Dean must have noticed, because his tone softened as he added, “Look, Sam and Theresa are out on their date night. Maybe we should have one too.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, feeling a small smile tug at my lips despite myself. “A date night? In the bunker?”

“Why not?” Dean shrugged, his usual cocky grin starting to appear. “I’ll grab some beers, we’ll put on a movie, and it’ll be just as good as anything those two are doing.”

I reached into one of the bags and pulled out a tray of ground beef. “How about we start with this? I make a killer burger.”

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up. “Oh, sweetheart, if your burgers are half as good as your chili, I’m sold.”

“Are you really still going on about my chilli all these months later?”

I laughed softly, feeling lighter for the first time all day. “Just wait. You’ll be begging me to make these every week.”

As I started pulling out spices and ingredients, Dean moved closer, grabbing a cutting board and a knife. “Alright, chef, tell me what to do.”

“Step one,” I teased. “Don’t get in my way.”

Dean chuckled, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”

For a little while, the kitchen filled with the sound of sizzling meat and lighthearted banter, the weight of Cas’s words temporarily pushed aside. And for now, that was enough.

…

The smell of freshly cooked burgers filled the bunker as Dean and I settled on the couch, plates balanced on our laps. The Nightmare Before Christmas was playing on the TV, and I couldn’t help but hum along to the opening song between bites.

Christmas was just a few weeks away, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a little spark of excitement. I glanced over at Dean, who was completely focused on his burger, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, “we should really do something for Christmas this year.”

Dean arched an eyebrow at me, chewing thoughtfully. “Like what?”

I grinned. “The whole shebang! Christmas shopping with Sam and Theresa, decorating the bunker, cooking a huge lunch—turkey, ham, roast veggies, all of it. Eggnog, gingerbread, maybe even one of those cheesy holiday movies Sam secretly loves.”

He let out a small chuckle. “Cheesy holiday movies, huh? Can’t wait to see Sam squirm through that.”

“Exactly!” I said, my excitement growing. “It could be fun, Dean. We’ve never really done Christmas right, you know? Not like this.”

Dean tilted his head, his smile softening as he watched me ramble on. “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

“Not yet,” I admitted, taking another bite of my burger. “But I will. I was thinking about dragging Sam and Theresa out to do some Christmas shopping tomorrow. There’s gotta be a few stores still decked out with trees and lights. We could pick up some decorations for the bunker.”

Dean shook his head, his grin turning into a smirk. “Decorating the bunker? You do realize this place isn’t exactly a Hallmark set, right?”

“That’s the point,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “It needs some holiday magic. Imagine it—twinkling lights in the library, a tree in the corner, stockings hung up in the war room.”

Dean let out a small laugh, shaking his head again, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he looked at me, his expression softer now. “You’re really into this, huh?”

“I am,” I admitted, glancing back at the TV as Jack Skellington started singing about Christmas Town. “I just think we deserve to have something nice, you know? After everything.”

Dean didn’t respond right away, and when I looked over, he was staring at me, his burger forgotten on his plate.

“What?” I asked, self-conscious under his gaze.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice low. “Just... you’re really something when you’re excited like this.”

My cheeks warmed, and I quickly turned back to the screen, trying to hide my smile.

Dean might not have been entirely convinced about the Christmas spirit, but I could tell he didn’t mind indulging me. And for now, that was enough.

…

The plates were abandoned on the coffee table, the remains of our impromptu dinner forgotten as Dean and I found ourselves tangled up in each other once more. His lips on mine, the warmth of his touch—it was all-consuming, electric.

Dean grabbed my hand and lead me to his room, the world outside the door fading away as we gave ourselves over to each other completely. He freed me from my clothes, allowing his hands to trace each inch of skin that was revealed to him. Once he had me completely nakes he pushed me gently onto his bed, hovering above me. He connected our lips in a hungry kiss, stealing my breath away. He kissed slowly from my neck down to my breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth sucking and licking before moving on to the next. I bit down on my lip to keep from being loud.

“It’s just us here sweetheart no need to be quiet” Dean looked up at me like a man starved of touch.

He returned to my breasts earning a breathy moan. I could feel him smile against my nipple as he kissed in and moved on to kiss down my stomach. He reached the place I needed him most. He spread my legs, bending them at the knee and pushing them out to the sides opening me up in front of him. He licked his lips before placing a soft kiss on the sensitive bud waiting for his attention.

“If you want me to stop just say so” Dean looked up at me. I mustered up small nod before looking off to the side now embarrassed to be naked in front of Dean while he was still completely clothed.

Dean made himself comfortable between my legs before placing my legs over his shoulders. He licked one line up my folds causing me to shake and let out a small squeal mixed with a moan. He immediately went to work licking and sucking at my clit causing my back to arch. The moan that escaped my lips was nothing short of pornographic. Dean knew what he was doing with his tongue and mouth. And he knew it. I could feel the smirk that was plastered on his face. I could feel the heat building in my belly.

“D..Dean I’m going to…” The band tightening in my belly snapped before I could saying anything more. I could feel my legs shaking. I closed my eyes and let the pleasure wash over as Dean worked me through it.

Dean stood up and told me to move up the bed as he pulled his shirt off. I wriggled up the bed not taking my eyes of Dean, wanting to see every part of him. As he pulled down his pants his dick now free from its denim cage sprung up and smacked his stomach. I was far from a virgin but never had I seen a dick so long and thick as his. I was sure he was going to break me. Dean, however, quickly ruined the moment when he hit the ground with a crash as he tried to remove his boots. I couldn’t help but laugh at him. He gave me a cheesy grin from the floor as he got his boots and jeans off. Once he was completely stripped he climbed onto the bed taking his place in between my legs.

“Just remember if you want me to stop…”

“Just say so I know” I smiled up at him.

Dean dipped his head, capture my lips in a kiss full of love. While I was distracted by his lips he took the chance to sneak a hand between us and guide himself into me. The sudden stretch caused me to gasp, throwing my head back onto Deans pillows. Dean stilled once he was completely inside giving me a chance to adjust. But now being in this position I froze up. I think Dean could feel something was wrong. He leaned down and kissed me. The movement caused him to move inside me sending an intense feeling of pleasure ripping through me. I moaned into his mouth as he began to move. Slowly at first but soon he began to move faster. Soon he had my legs up over his shoulders as he found that one spot deep inside me that he hit with precision with each thrust of his hips. Before I knew it I was a babbling mess under his as my release hit me for the second time. Deans movements became sloppy and I felt his hips come to a stuttering holt as his own release washed over him.

 The way he held me, whispered my name like it was the only thing that mattered—it was as though all the tension, all the fear and doubt, had melted into something softer, something unbreakable.

Afterward, I lay against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His fingers lazily trailed up and down my arm, a comforting gesture that made me feel safe, grounded.

“Never thought we’d get here,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckled softly, his chest rumbling beneath my cheek. “Yeah, well... guess the universe finally got something right.”

I smiled, closing my eyes. “Let’s not jinx it.”

His arms tightened around me, and I felt him press a kiss to the top of my head. “Not a chance.”

Before long, the comforting rise and fall of his chest lulled me into sleep.

A sound startled me awake—a flutter of wings that sent my heart racing. My eyes flew open to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, his expression a mix of disappointment and worry.

“Cas,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with sleep. Dean didn’t stir beside me, and I turned to him in confusion.

“He won’t wake,” Cas said flatly, his gaze steady on me. “I’ve ensured it.”

My stomach twisted at his words. “What do you want?”

Cas stepped closer, his hands clasped in front of him. “I’m very disappointed in you, Y/N. And I’m scared.”

“Scared?” I echoed, sitting up carefully. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t bear the thought of seeing my daughter or my granddaughters hurt,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

I froze, the words crashing over me like cold water. “Your what?”

Cas sighed, his usual stoicism faltering. “When you were born, you were dead. There was no life in you. Your parents prayed, begged for a miracle... and I answered. I gave you part of my grace to save you, Y/N. You are my daughter—a Nephilim.”

The world tilted on its axis, and I stared at him, unable to process what he’d just said. “I’m... I’m a Nephilim?”

“That is why you heal so quickly,” Cas explained, his tone measured but soft. “It’s also why God’s plans have been so... complicated where you and Dean are concerned.”

“But the granddaughters—”

“You’re pregnant,” Cas interrupted, his voice low. “With identical twin girls.”

My breath caught, my hand instinctively going to my stomach. “That’s not possible. I can’t—”

Cas held up a hand. “You can. And you are.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to know what’s at stake,” Cas said, his tone firm now. “And because... I’ve said too much already.”

Before I could say another word, he vanished, leaving only the faint sound of wings in his wake.

“Cas?” Dean’s groggy voice broke the silence, and I turned to see him sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “I heard him. Where is he?”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The weight of Cas’s revelations had left me rooted to the spot. Dean frowned, his gaze locking onto mine.

“Y/N?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Are you okay?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I stared at him, wondering how I was supposed to tell him what I’d just learned.

Objection! Part 4

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

3.2k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

I kept a steady pace as I navigated the crowded sidewalks, my breath visible in the cool morning air. 7:24 AM. Twelve blocks to go, but I was determined to get to the precinct on time—if not early. Today, I had to show up sharp, like the professional I aimed to be.

A quick glance at my watch made me quicken my stride. I wasn’t just going to make it; I was going to be early. Prepared. Polished. Ready for anything. By 7:55, I rushed through the precinct doors. In the elevator, I took a moment to smooth myself down, hoping to hide any trace of the near sprint across New York.

Stepping into the bullpen, I nearly tripped over my own feet. Rafael emerged from Olivia's office, laughing at something, Olivia walking beside him.

“Morning, y/n. Nice of you to join us,” Rafael greeted me with an easy smile.

“Good morning, Rafael. I thought you said to meet at 8?” I asked, glancing at my watch.

“I did. And you're right on time,” he said, his grin widening. “We’ve got a perp waiting in interrogation. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Before I could ask any questions, Rafael placed a hand on the small of my back, steering me toward the interrogation room. Inside, he motioned for me to take a seat, then sat down beside me. Across the table, I recognized Rita Calhoun. The man next to her, clearly the suspect, shifted nervously in his chair, eyes darting between the three of us.

The look on his face could only be described as pants-shitting terror.

"Who’s this? A new detective eager to get their toes wet or…"

"ADA Y/n Carisi," I cut Rita off before she could finish. "I’ll be assisting ADA Barba and SVU for the foreseeable future."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rafael smirk.

"Not related to Detective Carisi, I hope," Calhoun glanced between Rafael and Olivia, a smirk tugging at her lips. "We all know he unfairly detained my client. This could be seen as a cover-up."

"Your client walked out of his room into the common area during a search, holding a sizable bag of cannabis. I fail to see where Carisi went wrong," Rafael replied, leaning back in his chair, his smirk widening. "But let's not dwell on the past. All we want is information on your roommate. If the information’s good, we can look past the drugs."

Rita looked at each of us, searching for confirmation that we agreed with Rafael. I took the file Olivia had placed on the table, slid it toward the man—whose name I still didn’t know—and hit record.

"You can start by stating your name, the date, and that we’ve reached an agreement," I said, offering him a reassuring smile.

He glanced nervously at Calhoun, swallowed hard, and began.

"M-my name’s L-Lester Hollis. It’s the 15th of January, 2013," he stammered.

For the next two hours, Lester spilled everything he knew about his roommate. Anthony Cutler, a man with a disturbing fondness for young girls. And Lester, it seemed, had a fondness for spying on people. If it weren’t for the drug dealing, he might’ve made a decent detective. The information he handed over was more than Olivia had expected; she stood in the corner, stunned by the sheer amount he laid out for us on a silver platter.

When Lester finally ran out of things to say, he glanced between us, still just as terrified as when we began.

"I-I-I don’t know any more, I swear," he stammered, eyes pleading with me.

"I believe you," I said, leaning back from the table, still processing everything I’d just heard.

"So... am I free to go?" He looked nervously between Rita and the rest of us.

"Calhoun, why don't you show your client out," I said, turning to Rita. "And don’t forget—make sure he’s available for trial."

Rafael smirked as Rita stood, pulling a shaky Lester to his feet. Olivia followed them out, still in a daze from the flood of information.

Once the door shut behind them, Rafael turned to me, smiling. "I must say, y/n, I’m impressed. You're the first new lawyer I've seen go toe-to-toe with Rita Calhoun so confidently."

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, a twinge of panic rising.

"Not at all. In fact, I admire your bravery—it’ll serve you well. Just be sure you don’t over reach or get too overly confident."

He stood, motioning for me to follow him out of the room. "For now, we've got to head to Rikers. Olivia’s perp from yesterday needs a visit, we’ve got court at 1, and after that, we’ll go over the new cases Carisi left for us."

I nodded, falling in step behind Rafael as he strode confidently out of the precinct.

…

Sonny’s P.O.V

I shuffled nervously at my desk, tapping my pen against the surface. I’d seen y/n come in, only to be immediately pulled into interrogation by Barba and Liv. My eyes stayed glued to the door, waiting for them to come out. Ten minutes turned into an hour. One hour into two. I could hear Amanda and Amaro talking nearby, but their words barely registered.

When the door finally opened, I jumped in my seat. Rita walked briskly across the room with Lester in tow, Liv following close behind. Lester looked terrified—definitely not a good sign. The fact that Barba had stayed behind with y/n only made the knot in my stomach worse.

I was about to get up and head toward the interrogation room when Barba finally emerged, y/n walking quickly beside him, grinning from ear to ear. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and turned back to my half-abandoned report, trying to focus.

“Gee, looks like I might be out of luck with that one,” Amaro chuckled from his desk across from me.

“God damn it, man. Always taking my money,” Fin groaned, standing up to slap a $20 bill into Amaro’s outstretched hand.

"Wait—were you betting on whether you could sleep with my sister?" I snapped at Amaro before I could stop myself.

"Actually, he was betting on whether she’s crushing on Barba," Amanda chimed in with a knowing smile. "And from the way she was looking at him..."

“Barba? My sister?" I scoffed, crossing my arms. "No way. Sure, she admires the guy, but he’s got like 15 years on her.”

"Denial’s not just a river in Egypt," Fin chuckled.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

I sat quietly, my fingers laced together on my lap, as Rafael conducted the interrogation. We were inside the cold, sterile walls of Rikers, the oppressive weight of the place settling over me. The inmate sat across from us, his hands cuffed, a mix of desperation and calculation in his eyes. I had been briefed, but not in enough detail to know the full extent of the charges. That lack of certainty kept me from speaking, from throwing my voice into the tense negotiation. I wasn’t about to risk making a deal if the information didn’t live up to the inmate’s demands—and there was a lot on the line.

From what I could gather as the conversation progressed, the man was angling for a reduced sentence and a transfer to a more secure cell. In return, he dangled the promise of a list—a list of men and women involved in a child trafficking ring, exploiting kids for cheap household labor. The thought of it made my stomach churn. The details were grim, and I could feel my pulse quicken with every word that passed between him and Rafael. But I forced myself to remain composed, knowing this was just the beginning of what I’d have to deal with in this line of work.

Rafael, as always, was unfazed. His posture was relaxed, his expression unreadable as he leaned forward, elbows on the table, engaging the inmate with a calm, almost disarming professionalism. His focus was clear—he wasn’t interested in the middlemen or low-level traffickers the man was offering. Rafael wanted the head of the ring, the person running the entire operation. The way he methodically steered the conversation in that direction, never losing his patience or control, was impressive to watch.

But the inmate, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, insisted that he didn’t know who ran the operation—only who to contact when someone wanted to request children. The idea that this could be a known process, with specific contacts for placing “orders” like they were talking about goods instead of lives, made my skin crawl. I could feel the disgust rising in me, a sick feeling coiling in my gut. I wanted to speak, to call out the horror of it all, but I knew that wasn’t my place, not yet. I was here to learn, to observe, and to support Rafael in whatever way he needed. For now, that meant silence.

As the interrogation dragged on, I found myself studying Rafael more than the inmate. He didn’t flinch. Not once. His questions were sharp, deliberate, cutting through the inmate’s evasions like a scalpel. He pushed, but never too hard—just enough to keep the man talking, to pry open the cracks in his defenses. And while I sat there, fighting the urge to fidget or let my expression betray the revulsion I felt, Rafael remained a picture of control. It amazed me. How did he do it? How did he manage to listen to this kind of filth without letting any of it get under his skin? I imagined it was something he had learned over years of practice—years of dealing with the worst humanity had to offer.

Meanwhile, I could feel the disgust written all over my face, my clenched jaw, the tightness in my chest. I wasn’t as good at hiding it, not yet. Maybe I never would be. But I knew this was something I’d have to learn. If I wanted to make a difference, if I wanted to be the kind of lawyer who could stand in these rooms and fight for justice, I couldn’t let the horror of it all show. I couldn’t let them see how much it affected me.

Still, it was hard. Harder than I expected.

The exchange finally ended without a clear resolution. The inmate remained insistent—he didn’t know the head of the operation, just the contacts. Rafael leaned back in his chair, his expression still unreadable, as if the conversation hadn’t rattled him in the slightest. For him, this was just another day on the job, another piece of the puzzle to be fit into place.

For me, though, it was a stark reminder of what this job would demand. Not just the legal knowledge or the courtroom battles, but the emotional endurance. The ability to look evil in the eye and not let it break you.

As we left the interrogation room, the weight of the situation lingered with me. Even after we’d passed through the heavy steel doors of Rikers, the silence between Rafael and me felt thick with unspoken thoughts. I stayed quiet, still processing everything I’d heard, still trying to understand how to do this—how to keep myself from being consumed by the disgust, the anger, the frustration.

Rafael didn’t speak either as we climbed into the car. But as we drove toward the courthouse, his voice finally broke the silence, soft yet firm.

"I know you're probably thinking about a hot shower and scrubbing your skin raw," Rafael broke the silence, his voice soft. "Your skin’s crawling in disgust, but... this is the job."

He glanced at me, and I met his eyes.

"I know," I said, offering a small smile. "And it's a job I want to do—to the best of my ability. I’m not running away."

"Good," Rafael smiled back. "Because out of all the lawyers I've worked with, you're the first one I truly believe deserves to be here. You're going to do well, I know it. Which is why I want you to take over as first chair today."

My heart skipped a beat. "Oh no, Rafael, I can’t—especially not against Buchanan."

"If you can stand your ground against Calhoun, you can handle Buchanan." He gave me a reassuring nod. "I have faith in you."

We pulled up in front of the courthouse, the taxi coming to a halt amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and reporters. Rafael climbed out first, stepping onto the curb with his usual confidence, then offered me his hand. I took it, feeling the reassuring warmth of his grip as he helped me out of the car. The sight of the courthouse steps, now swarmed with media, made my stomach tighten. Buchanan was already in the thick of it, standing tall in front of the cameras, his smarmy grin plastered across his face as he used this case to grandstand, soaking up the attention like a seasoned showman.

Seeing him surrounded by microphones, using a case as serious as this for his own ego, sparked something hot inside me—anger, maybe something more. I stole a glance at Rafael, who, of course, noticed. He shot me a knowing smile, as if he could sense the fire building in me.

Buchanan always played dirty, but this—turning the courthouse steps into a circus—felt like a new low. My jaw clenched. Today, I would make sure he lost. Spectacularly.

Rafael placed a steady hand on my back, guiding me up the stone steps. The media, sensing our arrival, immediately swarmed toward us, the noise escalating as reporters shouted for statements, their cameras flashing like a storm. I could hear them calling Rafael’s name, asking about the case, but he waved them off with a practiced nonchalance. He never let them faze him, and I admired that calm. We kept moving forward, cutting through the chaos, when Buchanan spotted us.

His eyes lit up with curiosity as they flicked over to me. He leaned into his performance, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Barba! Who’s this beautiful woman you’ve got on your arm? Have you gotten such a big head that you need an assistant to keep you in line now?"

The reporters snickered, and Buchanan laughed at his own joke, like the slimy opportunist he was. I felt the heat rise in me, but instead of letting it rattle me, I channeled it. I turned on my heels, straightening my spine.

"ADA Y/n Carisi, Mr. Buchanan," I said, my voice clear and firm. "And I look forward to taking you down a notch in court today—with ADA Barba as my second chair."

A ripple of surprise passed through the media. The cameras and questions instantly shifted from Barba to Buchanan, now the one under the spotlight, as reporters scrambled to get his reaction. They pounced, asking if he knew anything about me and whether he was prepared to face off against a fresh ADA. Buchanan’s smirk faltered just a touch, but Rafael stood to the side with his signature cheeky grin, clearly enjoying the shift in power dynamics.

"See?" Rafael chuckled, falling in step beside me as we continued up the steps. "I told you—you can handle Buchanan."

"The man’s a slimeball," I muttered, shaking my head, though a smile tugged at my lips. "He’s good at his job, I’ll give him that, but still a slimeball. I’m actually looking forward to putting him in his place today."

"I have no doubt you will," Rafael said with a knowing smile, opening the courthouse doors for me.

The cool, quiet air of the courthouse washed over us as we stepped inside, a stark contrast to the chaos of the media circus outside. It was time to get to work. The case ahead of us wasn’t complex—small enough that the media frenzy around it seemed excessive, but we both knew Buchanan loved playing to the crowd, no matter the stakes.

We walked side by side into the courtroom and took our places at the assigned table. Across from us, Buchanan sat with his defendant, the confidence practically dripping off him. I could feel Rafael’s eyes on me, his silent support clear. He leaned back in his chair and gave me a look that said, You’ve got this.

When Judge Donnelly entered the room, I felt a surge of relief. I knew her reputation—fair, tough, and not one to suffer grandstanding lightly. I hit the jackpot. She would detest Buchanan’s cocky demeanor, and from what I’d gathered about the case, she’d likely be sympathetic to the victim. All I needed to do was present a solid argument, and I was confident we could sway the jury.

Judge Donnelly settled into her chair, her sharp gaze sweeping across the room. “Mr. Barba, I see you’re taking second chair today,” she said, arching a brow in Rafael’s direction.

“Yes, your honor,” Rafael replied with a nod.

“And who’s taking lead?” She looked over at me, her gaze expectant.

I straightened in my seat, feeling a mixture of nerves and determination. “ADA Y/n Carisi, your honor,” I said, injecting as much confidence into my voice as I could muster.

Judge Donnelly eyed me for a moment, her gaze steady and appraising. “Don’t get cocky now, young blood,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. She then turned to Rafael. “Mr. Barba, do you trust her to prosecute this case?”

“I do, your honor,” he said, flashing me a supportive smile.

She nodded. “Alright then, let’s get this show started.” She leaned back in her chair and motioned for me to begin.

And so, the battle began. I rose to my feet, heart pounding but adrenaline fueling me. I launched into my opening argument with passion, presenting our case to the jury. I made sure to emphasize that while the victim was a sex worker, that didn’t make her any less deserving of justice. No one deserved to be assaulted. I highlighted how we could prove, without a doubt, that this wasn’t the first time the defendant had committed such an act.

Buchanan, predictably, went low. He pushed his tired argument about sex workers being unreliable witnesses, claiming the victim had only pressed charges because his client hadn’t paid the agreed amount. It was despicable, and I could feel my frustration mounting every time he opened his mouth. But I stayed focused, refuting his points and driving home the evidence. The jury wasn’t buying his argument, and it became clear, as the hours passed, that Buchanan had lost them.

By 6 p.m., the jury returned with a verdict: guilty.

A wave of triumph washed over me. In the heat of the moment, I almost threw my arms around Rafael, but I caught myself just in time, opting instead for a firm handshake. Our client, however, wasn’t as restrained. She hugged both of us tightly, tears of relief streaming down her face before practically running out of the courtroom, finally free of her nightmare.

Rafael and I gathered our things and headed back to his office. It was late, but despite the long day, I was still buzzing with energy, the adrenaline pushing me forward. We had more cases waiting, and I was eager to dive in—at least until the high wore off. Then, I knew I’d want nothing more than to head home and collapse.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee

Objection! Part 11

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

2.7k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The first night home should have been a comfort. The familiar scent of fresh laundry in my sheets, the quiet hum of the city outside my window, the distant sound of Sonny laughing at something on the TV in the living room. It should have felt safe. It should have felt like home.

But as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my body refused to relax. My muscles were coiled tight, every nerve on edge, like I was bracing for something to happen. Something I couldn’t name, something I couldn’t see—but I could feel it, waiting in the darkness, just beyond my reach.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it all over again. Hands grabbing me from behind. An arm locking around my waist. The press of rough fabric against my face. Then nothing. Just darkness swallowing me whole, dragging me under like deep water, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my sense of time. I’d wake with a start, heart hammering in my chest, breath shallow and ragged. My sheets tangled around me like restraints. My skin damp with sweat.

It happened again. And again.

I turned onto my side, curling in on myself, forcing my eyes shut. But the second I drifted too close to sleep, I was right back there. The fear hit me like a wave, cold and sudden, leaving me gasping for air as my eyes flew open.

The first time, I told myself it was nothing. Just a bad night.

The second time, I sat up and turned on the lamp, bathing the room in soft, warm light. Maybe that would help. Maybe I just needed to see my surroundings, to remind myself I was safe.

The third time, I pulled the blankets tighter around me, trying to convince myself that exhaustion would eventually win, that sleep would come whether I wanted it to or not.

The fourth time, Sonny cracked the door open. “You okay?” His voice was quiet, careful.

“Yeah,” I lied.

He didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and let the door close again.

The fifth time, he came all the way inside. Sat on the edge of my bed, running a hand over his face. “You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head.

He sighed. “All right. Try to get some rest.”

The sixth time, I didn’t even bother trying to sleep again. I just sat there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady tick of my bedside clock, the muffled city sounds outside my window. I felt like a ghost in my own body, like a piece of me was still trapped in that moment—caught between the before and the after, unable to move forward.

Then, Sonny came back. Again. This time, he didn’t ask if I was okay. He didn’t try to get me to talk. He just disappeared for a moment and came back with a pillow and a blanket.

“You’re not sleeping alone tonight,” he said simply, dropping the pillow onto the floor beside my bed. He stretched out on his back, arms resting behind his head like it was the most natural thing in the world. “If you need me, I’m right here.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him I was fine. That I didn’t need him hovering over me, treating me like I was about to break.

But the words stuck in my throat.

Instead, I let out a slow, shaky breath and turned onto my side, staring at the wall. Sonny being there didn’t erase the memories. It didn’t stop the fear from curling tight in my chest. But it was something. A small anchor keeping me tethered to the present, keeping me from drifting too far into the past.

Eventually, exhaustion won, and I fell asleep.

…

The next morning, my head was pounding, my limbs heavy as if my body had given up on trying to function properly. Sleep had come in short, restless bursts, each one stolen away by nightmares that left my heart racing and my throat dry. I felt like I had barely rested at all, but there was no time to dwell on it. There was a statement to give, and I needed to pull myself together.

A strong cup of coffee helped—not enough to erase the exhaustion clinging to my bones, but enough to give me a temporary jolt of energy. Sonny had been quiet all morning, watching me carefully, like he was waiting for me to break. His usual easygoing nature was buried beneath a thick layer of tension, his movements more deliberate, his shoulders tight. He wasn’t just my brother today. He was a cop. And he was worried.

The ride to the DA’s office was silent, the weight of everything sitting heavy between us. I kept my eyes on the city streets as they passed by, familiar yet distant, as if the world had moved on while I had been trapped in the darkness.

When we finally walked into Rafael’s office, he was already there, looking as polished as ever. Crisp suit, perfectly knotted tie, not a single wrinkle or strand of hair out of place. But the empty coffee cup on his desk told a different story. He had been here for a while. He was running on fumes, just like me.

Across from him sat a man I didn’t recognize.

He looked young, maybe around my age, though the seriousness in his expression made him seem older. Tall and athletic, dressed in a sharp but simple suit. His brunette hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place, and his green eyes were sharp, studying me with quiet assessment as I entered the room. There was something steady about him, the kind of confidence that came from years of experience. He wasn’t intimidating, but he wasn’t exactly warm either.

Rafael stood, motioning between us. “Y/N, this is Peter Stone, the Assistant District Attorney handling the case.”

Peter stood as well, offering a polite but firm handshake. “It’s good to meet you, Y/N. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

His voice was smooth, professional, but there was a hint of something softer beneath it—understanding, maybe. He had probably dealt with enough victims to know how to handle this conversation.

I gave a small nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

Peter gestured to the chairs in front of Rafaels desk. “Take a seat.”

I swallowed hard, moving to sit down. Sonny remained standing beside me, arms crossed, his presence a silent reassurance. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Peter sat back down, his hands folded neatly on the desk. “Y/N, I know this isn’t easy. But I need you to walk me through what you remember. Anything you can tell me will help.”

I inhaled slowly, bracing myself. “I don’t remember much. Just…someone grabbing me. Then nothing. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital.”

Peter nodded, like he had expected that answer. “No memory of anything in between? No voices, sounds, flashes of anything?”

I shook my head. “No. Just…blackness.”

“All right.” He glanced at Rafael and Sonny. “I’ll need to speak with Y/N alone.”

Rafael frowned. “That’s not necessary—”

“It is,” Peter interrupted smoothly. His tone was firm but not unkind. “I need to get her statement without any outside influence, no matter how well-intentioned.” He met Rafael’s eyes for a long moment before turning to Sonny. “I understand wanting to be here for her. But this needs to be a private conversation.”

Sonny looked down at me, searching my face like he was trying to gauge whether I was okay with this.

I gave him a small nod. “It’s fine.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded back. Rafael looked just as reluctant, but after a beat, he exhaled sharply and stood.

“We’ll be right outside,” he said, his voice low.

I nodded again, and they both stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Peter leaned forward slightly, his gaze focused. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

Peter studied me for a moment, his green eyes sharp but not unkind. He wasn’t treating me like a victim, at least not in the way most people had been since I woke up in the hospital. There was no pity in his gaze, just an unspoken expectation—he needed answers, and he was hoping I could give them to him.

"Let’s start from the beginning,” he said, his tone even. “You said the last thing you remember is someone grabbing you. Was that by Dominick’s car?”

I swallowed, forcing myself to think back. "I-I think so. Sonny was taking me to get a drink of water I think”

Peter nodded, jotting something down in his notebook. "And this was after the tunnels? Do you remember anything about them?"

I frowned, shaking my head. "I remember solving the clue. I remember heading into the tunnels with Nick but after that it’s all fragments”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t look surprised. “There were no cameras in the tunnels, no traffic cams in the area where you were taken. Marco knew exactly what he was doing. He planned this.”

The weight of his words settled over me, making it harder to breathe. I clenched my hands together in my lap, trying to push away the creeping panic. “But why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why would he go through all this trouble for me?”

Peter leaned back slightly. “That’s what we need to figure out. Do you know Marco?”

“No.” I shook my head firmly. “I’ve never met him. I didn’t even know his name until I woke up and Sonny told me what happened.”

Peter studied me carefully, like he was looking for any hesitation, any sign that I wasn’t being completely truthful. When he found none, he exhaled and tapped his pen against the desk. “Marco has a history with Rafael. You know that much, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why he targeted me.”

Peter tilted his head slightly. “Maybe not. But Rafael has a theory.”

I swallowed hard. “Which is?”

Peter hesitated, then leaned forward. “Marco doesn’t just go after people for the fun of it. He picks his targets carefully. When he hurts someone, it’s calculated. Intentional. And Rafael seems to think that Marco believes you…” He trailed off, choosing his words carefully. “…that you matter to him. That you and Rafael might be more than just colleagues. Enough that Marco saw you as leverage.”

My stomach twisted. “More than colleagues? Rafael and I? Why would he think that?”

Peter sighed. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

I stared at him, my mind spinning.

“Is there anything else you remember?” Peter asked, pulling me from my thoughts. “Even something small? A smell, a sound—anything?”

I opened my mouth, then hesitated. There was something. It wasn’t a memory, not exactly, but a feeling. The rough press of fabric against my face.

“There was something over my mouth,” I said slowly, trying to piece it together. “Like cloth. It smelled… chemical. Strong.”

Peter’s expression sharpened. “Chloroform?”

I nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know for sure, but it makes sense. I barely had time to react before everything went black.”

Peter jotted something down, then looked back up at me. “I’m going to make sure he pays for what he did to you.”

His words were meant to be reassuring, but all I felt was cold.

…

Rafael’s P.O.V

I straightened in my chair as Peter folded his hands on the desk. “Tell me about Marco.”

I exhaled sharply, rubbing my temple before answering. “I didn’t know him personally before all this.”

Peter studied me carefully. “But you knew his sister.”

My throat tightened. I leaned forward, my hands clasped together on the desk. “She was one of the first victims passed across my desk,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Smart, kind, and full of life. She met a man on one of those random dating apps and he took advantage of her.” I swallowed, forcing myself to continue. “She begged for months for me to put him away, but there just wasn’t enough evidence. I didn’t want to prosecute a case I knew I couldn’t win. So I turned her away.”

Peter remained silent, his expression unreadable.

“A week later, she jumped in front of a train in the subway.” My voice was hoarse now, raw. “Her brother, Marco, came begging me to charge the man who attacked Anya with her death as well, but again, it was a case I knew I couldn’t win. So I said no.”

Peter tapped his pen against the desk, thoughtful. “And Marco never forgot that.”

“No,” I said bitterly. “And he sure as hell never forgave it.”

Peter let out a slow breath. “So in his mind, this isn’t just about revenge—it’s about justice. His kind of justice.”

I gave a hollow laugh. “If you can call it that.”

Peter flipped to another page in his notes. “Let’s talk about the search for Y/N.”

I nodded, straightening. “It started the second we knew she was missing. We didn’t waste time—Olivia pulled in every resource she could. We had officers combing the last place she was seen, talking to witnesses, checking security footage.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “And Marco? He left clues, didn’t he?”

My jaw tightened. “Yeah. He wanted us to play his game. Left us breadcrumbs, cryptic messages—like he was toying with us.” My hands clenched briefly before I forced myself to relax. “Every clue led us deeper, twisting the search into a maze.”

Peter leaned forward. “And you found her at Coney Island.”

I nodded. “Under the pier. He buried her in a pile of rocks, hidden just out of sight. If we’d been a few hours later, she might not have made it.”

Peter’s expression darkened. “She was unconscious?”

I swallowed. “Barely breathing.” My voice wavered for a split second before I steadied it. “She’d been out there for hours. The tide was coming in.”

Peter sat back, exhaling slowly. “You spoke to a lot of people during the search.” He slid a list across the desk. “These are the ones I need to follow up with.”

I glanced at it before pushing it back. “Olivia and Sonny are already on it.”

A tense silence settled over the room before I spoke again. “There’s something else.” My voice was quieter now, careful.

Peter set his pen down, giving me his full attention. “Go on.”

My hands folded together on the desk. “Do my feelings for Y/N have to come up in court?”

Peter didn’t look surprised. “It’s relevant, Rafael. It goes to motive.”

I looked down, jaw tightening. “Does she have to know?”

Peter hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “She won’t be in the courtroom when you take the stand. But yes, it’s going to come up. I’ve already asked her she was aware that Marco took her because he thought there was something between you”

“And how did she react?” I asked tensing up.

“Honestly, she was confused as to why he would think that. If I was you Rafael I would consider being honest with her before it comes out at trail and she hears it from someone other than you”

I closed my eyes briefly before exhaling. “Do I need to tell Jack?”

Peter leaned back in his chair, considering. “It’s your call. But if I were you, I’d get ahead of it.”

…

Later that evening, I stood in Jack McCoy’s office, his hands resting on the edge of his desk. Jack regarded me with his usual measured expression, waiting.

I took a breath. “It’s about Y/N.”

Jack didn’t react. “Go on.”

“There’s a chance my feelings for her are going to come up in court.” I said bluntly.

Jack studied me carefully. “And are those feelings something I need to be concerned about?”

I shook my head. “No. I would never pursue anything with her. She’s worked too hard to get where she is. I won’t risk her career over this.”

Jack nodded slowly. “Then it’s none of my business.”

Relief washed over me, but it was fleeting. This wasn’t just about the case. It wasn’t just about my career or hers. It was about the way my heart had clenched when I saw her in that hospital bed. About the way I had cleaned her room, taking care with every little detail, as if that could undo the damage that had been done.

It was about the realization that I had been in love with her for a long time.

And that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight @chriskevinevans @svzwriting29

Objection!

I did have a song but I can't for the life of me remember what it was so I'm starting from scratch. I don't want to give too much away as to what I'm using the song for but please throw me your suggestions.

My Mum and I had a conversation about this exact thing right around season 4 ish. Our working theory was that despite always seeming to stuff his face at every chance he gets, he is doing it when either:

A. There is free food on offer, or

B. They are in the middle of hunting with access to a cheap dinner

Outside of that, we've seen him eat snack food, leading us to conclude he rarely eats actual solid meals and lives off cheap, unhealthy snack foods which means he is rationing his food and literally filling up when he has access to free food meaning his small weight gain from that would be quickly lost. On top of that despite as stated his not going to the gym he is:

1. Digging graves,

2. Running at or from monsters or dogs,

3. Hand to hand combat,

4. Sam has been seen working out in hotel rooms,

And I'm sure there is plenty of other physical activity as well that they do. As for the alcohol it acts as an appetite supresent, which is probably a reason Dean drinks.

I know a lot of deep thoughts for a TV show, but it was just something my Mum and I thought was interesting since I used to do a lot of acting and voice acting and she's also a writer so behind the scenes and series law interests us greatly.

Let's make this clear, if Dean hadn't been played by a handsome man, then the most of fandom wouldn't love him.

because a man in his age with alcohol addiction and who eat a lot of fast-food, (doesn't go to gym either) just can't have a tonned stomach and a beautiful shape. let alone cheekbones and jawline

A Well Kept Secret

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

1.3k word count

Summary You and Spencer have been in a secret relationship for a year. When you unexpectedly become pregnant it becomes harder to keep that secret.

fluff

Warnings none

Part 2

The suffocating fluorescent lights of the apartment were a welcome change from the sterile white of the doctor's office. Relief washed over You as you closed the door behind you, the positive pregnancy test clutched tight in your sweaty hand. Today was the day you'd tell Spencer.

Your little secret – the apartment you shared just a few blocks from the office – felt like the perfect place to break the news. Stepping into the dimly lit haven, you called out, "Honey, I'm home!"

The sounds of rustling papers filtered from the living room. Spencer emerged; a pair of reading glasses perched precariously on his nose. A tired smile spread across his face as he saw you. "Y/N! You're back early."

"Yeah," you said, you voice uncharacteristically small. "There's something I need to tell you."

Spencer's brow furrowed. He set his papers down and walked towards you, his concern evident. You took a deep breath, you heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"So, remember how I wasn't feeling well and left work early yesterday?" you started, your gaze flickering around the room before settling back on him.

"Of course," Spencer said, his brow furrowing further. "Everything okay?"

"The doctor figured out why I've been feeling so..." you hesitated, a shy smile playing on your lips.

Spencer reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek. "So? Why have you been feeling so...?"

"We're going to be parents, Spence," You blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush.

Spencer froze, his glasses slipping down his nose slightly. The colour drained from his face, replaced by a mixture of shock and something that looked suspiciously like fear.

"Pregnant?" he finally managed, his voice barely a whisper.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. It was cold and clammy. "Yeah," you said softly. "A month and a half."

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. You could almost hear Spencer's mind racing, cataloguing the implications, the potential career consequences.

"But... but what about work?" he finally choked out. "No one knows we live together, let alone..."

You squeezed his hand gently. "I know, Spence. But they don't need to know everything, do they? We can figure this out, together."

A flicker of hope ignited in Spencer's eyes. He looked at you, a hesitant smile gracing his lips. "Together?"

"Of course," You said, a warmth spreading through your chest. "We're in this together, you and me. We always have been, even if no one else knows it."

Spencer pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. Relief and a touch of nervous excitement mingled in the air of your secret haven. The future was uncertain, but for now, you had each other, and that was all that truly mattered.

The morning commute was a blur. You sat beside Spencer in the passenger seat, the weight of the previous night's conversation heavy in the silence. You stole a glance at him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel.

You knew his reservations stemmed from your hidden relationship, the unspoken pact you'd made to navigate the professional world without letting your personal lives interfere. Now, the carefully constructed barrier threatened to crumble with the news of your baby.

"You okay, Spence?" you finally asked, your voice breaking the tense silence.

Spencer startled, then let out a shaky breath. "Yeah, just thinking." He shot you a quick, worried smile. "About everything, I guess."

You understood. This wasn't just about a baby; it was about a complete overhaul of your carefully constructed world. Your secret apartment, your stolen moments of normalcy, all of it would have to be re-evaluated.

"We'll figure it out," you said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. The touch seemed to ground him, a silent reassurance in the face of the unknown.

He offered a small smile back, his grip tightening on yours for a brief moment before he focused back on the road.

The rest of the ride was filled with a comfortable silence. As you pulled up to the familiar brick facade of the FBI headquarters, You couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension. Today wasn't just any day at the office; it was the day your carefully constructed world would begin to shift, one way or another.

Stepping into the bullpen, a familiar buzz of activity greeted them. Morgan was already at his desk, barking into a phone, while JJ, Garcia and Emily chatted by the coffee pot. You offered weak smiles, your mind preoccupied with how to navigate the coming day.

Settling into your own workspace, you found yourself lost in a case file, the words blurring before your eyes. Every few minutes, you'd glance up at Spencer, who sat across from you, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on a profile. Your usual comfortable silence felt strained now, laden with unspoken anxieties.

Just as you were about to reach out to Spencer, the bullpen door swung open, and Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner entered. His sharp gaze swept across the room, landing on you for a brief moment before moving on. You felt a familiar knot of tension tighten in your stomach. Telling Hotch about the baby, even without revealing Spencer's involvement, was another hurdle you needed to overcome.

"Sir, could I speak with you for a moment?" You requested standing from your desk.

Hotch nodded, gesturing for you to follow him into his office. Briefly explaining the situation and your concerns about inter-office relationships, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders when Hotch confirmed it wasn't against protocol as long as you remained discreet.

“Why do you ask? Are you seeing someone in the office I should know about?” Hotch asked arching an eyebrow.

“Oh no Hotch but I did loose a bet with Spencer so thank you for that” You smirked at him.

“Let it be a lesson never to place a bet with Spencer” Hotch chuckled.

Elated, you returned to Spencer, a grin plastered on your face. "Hotch says we can be together, as long as we keep things private."

Spencer, however, remained apprehensive. "You told him?"

"No, I just asked about the dating rules," You clarified. "But I will have to tell him about the baby”

"I know" Spencer sighed. "And for now, let's keep me out of it."

You, understanding his reservations, agreed. You returned to Hotch’s office this time revealing your pregnancy but withholding the father's identity. Hotch, to your surprise, offered congratulations and even a hug.

"Does this have anything to do with the question you asked earlier?" he inquired, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Uh no not at all” You giggled at the awkwardness of the situation.

“So whose the lucky guy?” He chuckled.

"He wants to keep it quiet for now," You explained.

"Fair enough," Hotch said, a playful smirk crossing his face. "Just as long as it's not Morgan or Rossi."

"Definitely not!" You chuckled. "Wait, so you'd be okay if it was Reid?"

"He's intelligent and dedicated," Hotch admitted. "Besides, Morgan wouldn't settle down, and Rossi's a little past his prime."

"What about you?" You teased.

Hotch chuckled. "We wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Returning to the bullpen, you announced you pregnancy to you colleagues. While everyone showered you with congratulations, they were naturally curious about the father. They had never heard of you seeing anyone and they knew you weren’t the type to just sleep around.

"His name is Spencer, but don't worry, it's not our Spencer," You assured them with a wink.

"Well, whoever he is, we'll have to meet him," Rossi declared, a glint in his eyes.

"Why?" You questioned.

"Just to make sure the newest member of the BAU family is being well looked after," Rossi winked.

The day continued with a new case, and although You was relegated to paperwork due to your condition, a warm feeling bloomed within you. You had a supportive team, a loving partner, and a future filled with exciting possibilities.

I'm still here don't panic! Sorry I haven't been posting. I should have the next part of Supernatural Hunting Living and Love up tomorrow night AEST. And the next part of Objection up Thursday night AEST. I have been crazy busy with work. One of the people I worked with quit 5 minutes before her shift so I've been stuck doing 2 people's work. Jumped from 24 hours a week to almost 50! Hopefully they hire someone soon to take her place cause oh boy am I tired.

In other news all this extra work has meant extra money. Extra money means I was able to score a platinum ticket for All Hell Breaks Loose 13! Guess whose meeting Misha Collins in June! 🤩😁