Bobby Coming Up To Buck's Side And Buck Was Holding His Head Wound*

The Dating Odyssey: Jonathan

Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Jim Hopper/Jonathan Byers x fem!reader

1.6k word count

fluff, idiot reader, reader who can't say no, choose your own adventure-ish

Part 1 / Steves Ending / Eddies Ending / Jims Ending / Billy's Ending

Authors note: And so we reach the final part. I hope you have all enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you waited for Jonathan. He called you a few days after your date his shyness amplified over the phone. "Would you like to go on another date? I'd love to, uh, capture you, I mean, take your picture, in different settings."

It was endearingly awkward, and you couldn't help but agree. Here he was, looking even more nervous than on your first date, clutching an old camera with a worn leather strap. "Hi," he mumbled, a faint blush creeping up his neck.

"Hey, Jonathan," You smiled. "Ready to unleash your inner paparazzo?"

He chuckled, a dry, self-deprecating sound. "Something like that. But more... artistic, I hope."

You started at a nearby park. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, dappling the path with golden light. Jonathan fumbled a bit, muttering under his breath about focus and aperture, but when he finally looked up, his eyes held a quiet intensity. "There," he said, a shy smile gracing his lips. "You look... radiant."

There was something magical about seeing yourself through his lens. In the photos, the park wasn't just a park anymore; it was a scene from a dream, and you, the unexpected protagonist.

Next, you wandered through a quirky antique store. Jonathan captured you amidst dusty gramophones and chipped porcelain dolls, a playful glint in your eyes. He even snapped a candid shot of you trying on a feather boa, the laughter lines around your eyes crinkling joyously.

His shyness seemed to melt away with each click of the shutter. He talked about his passion for photography, the way light and shadow could tell a story, the fleeting beauty he found in the everyday. With the last of the photos taken Jonathan had spoken off heading home to his home-made photo processing lab to develop the photos. It didn’t take much pressing on your end to convince him to take you with him to see the photos develop. The drive out to his house was extremely quiet. Jonathan spared a few awkward glances to you during the drive, it was evident by the look on his face that he was nervous about having someone watch him develop his photographs.

The silence in the dimly lit photo lab was broken only by the sound of music playing in the background. Jonathan, his brow furrowed in concentration, meticulously hung the film canisters from a rack, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he caught you watching.

"You sure about this?" he mumbled, his voice barely audible above the music.

"Positive," You grinned, leaning against the counter. "I can't wait to see how they turned out."

He offered a shy smile back. "Me neither, to be honest. It's one thing taking the pictures, another entirely seeing them come to life."

The photo lab was a far cry from the bustling coffee shops and sun-drenched parks where your dates usually unfolded. But here, with the pungent smell of chemicals hanging in the air, a different kind of intimacy blossomed. You were sharing a secret, a peek into the process behind the magic of capturing a moment.

Jonathan, usually so reserved, transformed into a focused maestro. He explained the steps in hushed tones, a gentle pride radiating from him as he spoke about the dance of light and dark on the film. He described the anticipation of waiting for the image to appear in the developer bath, a baptism into reality for the fleeting moments he'd captured.

As the minutes ticked by, you watched in fascination. The nervous fumbling you'd witnessed the first time he held his camera had vanished, replaced by a quiet confidence. He moved with an almost ritualistic grace, his movements practiced yet imbued with a reverence for the process.

Finally, the first print emerged from the fixer bath, dripping with a clear, pearlescent sheen. Jonathan held it up to the dim light, his breath catching in his throat.

"There you are," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

It was the picture from the park, the one bathed in golden sunlight. But seeing it here, fresh from the developer, held a different kind of magic. The light seemed to glow from within, your smile radiating a newfound serenity.

He met your eyes, a shy smile gracing his lips. "Not bad, huh?"

"It's incredible," You breathed, reaching out to touch the wet paper. "It's like seeing myself through your eyes."

The next few minutes became a blur of anticipation and awe. Each photograph emerged from the chemical bath, a story revealed in silver and light. The playful chaos of the antique store, the quiet intimacy of the bookstore, the city skyline transformed into a canvas of dreams under the starlit night – each image brought back a flood of memories, enhanced by Jonathan's unique perspective.

When the last print emerged, shimmering wet in the dim light, a comfortable silence settled between you. You stood there for a moment, surrounded by the hum of music and the faint scent of chemicals, a connection forged in the shared experience of giving birth to these memories.

Finally, Jonathan turned to you, his eyes filled with a quiet intensity. "So," he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "What do you think?"

You smiled, your heart brimming with a warmth that had nothing to do with the chemical baths. "I think," You said, stepping closer, "we have a lot more stories to tell together."

Stepping out of the photo lab, the crisp night air felt like a welcome slap after the chemical haze inside. The streetlights cast a warm glow on Jonathan's face, his smile brighter than any neon sign. "Ready?" he asked, holding out the manila envelope filled with your memories.

You nodded, taking the envelope from him. Its weight felt significant now, a tangible record of the day. A day you didn’t want to end. You walked in comfortable silence to his car, a quiet understanding hanging between you. The drive to your apartment was filled with stolen glances. Each time your glances met, a shy smile would bloom on his face, mirrored by yours.

The radio played a slow ballad, the melody weaving itself into the comfortable silence. Jonathan seemed lost in his thoughts, a contemplative smile playing on his lips. You couldn't help but take a closer look at him in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. He looked different somehow – more confident, perhaps, with a spark of pride in his eyes.

Suddenly, he caught you staring. A blush crept up his neck as he quickly looked away, muttering something about taking a wrong turn. You let out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tense silence.

"It's okay," You teased, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. "I like this detour."

He chuckled, then finally stopped at a red light, turning to face you. "Me too," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper.

His eyes held a depth you hadn't seen before, an unspoken question lurking beneath the surface. You felt your cheeks burning, a delicious mix of anticipation and nerves swirling in your stomach. Leaning forward, you brushed a stray strand of hair off his forehead.

"You're amazing," You whispered, surprising even yourself with the boldness.

He stared at you for a moment, his gaze so intense it stole your breath away. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that spoke volumes more than any words could.

The light turned green, and Jonathan pulled back into traffic. But the quiet magic of the moment lingered. You talked in snippets, about the pictures, about your shared dreams, about anything and everything that came to mind. Yet, the silences felt comfortable, filled with a new understanding that transcended words.

Finally, you pulled up in front of your apartment building. The engine hummed softly, neither of you wanting the night to end. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a question he didn't dare voice.

You reached over, your fingers brushing against his as you turned off the radio. "Would you like to see the pictures again?" you asked, offering the envelope.

A grin spread across his face, chasing away the nervousness. "I thought you'd never ask."

We walked up to your apartment, hand in hand, the weight of the envelope feeling lighter now, replaced by the warmth of connection. Stepping inside, you flicked on the lights, casting the room in a soft glow. He pulled out the pictures, and you spent the next hour reliving your adventure through Jonathan's lens. The pictures weren't just photographs anymore; they were keys that unlocked a treasure trove of shared memories, each one etched not just on film, but on your hearts.

As you sat staring at the photographs in the comfort of your apartment, he confessed, "You inspire me, you know? You make me see the world differently."

"Your greatest muse, huh?" You teased, remembering the phone call.

His blush deepened. "Well," he stammered, "maybe it's a bit too soon to say that, but..." he trailed off, then took a deep breath. "There's something about you. You light up a room, even with just a smile."

Walking him back to his car, the weight of his camera a comforting reminder of the afternoon, you realized it wasn't just him who'd been inspired. Jonathan, with his quiet passion and shy observations, had opened your eyes to the beauty in the ordinary.

As you reached his car, he handed me a small, worn print – one from our first date of you trying to take a photo of a lone flower. "For your inspiration," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You took the picture, the warmth of a blush echoing in your cheeks. "Thank you, Jonathan," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "You're my muse too." It felt true. In his own unique way, Jonathan had shown you the beauty of being seen, truly seen, and you couldn't wait to see where this shy photographer and his camera would take you next.

I literally took a whole University Unit on fandom, about Rice, The X-Files and Star Wars fiascos and now how some companies will take peoples fanart and use it has free advertising for the movie/TV show/game or whatever else. When I first started making fan content I would only share it with my close friends. I had a folder I carried everywhere with my physically copies of fanart and fanfics in it. I never kept any digit copies of any of it. I had 12 stories, 3 poems and 7 drawings in my folder the day my school principle destroyed all of them. A fellow student took my folder and handed it to a teacher saying I had brought 'porn' to school. It was an X-Files fanfic and the porn was my badly described take on the scene where Moulder is directed to the warehouse of human clones or human/alien hybrids I don't quite remember. My principle gave me a huge lecture about how I was infringing on copyright and that because I printed the story off at school I had opened them up to a lawsuit too. I started a new folder that I kept hidden in a hole behind my bed. It took me like 5 years to even considering sharing my work again after that and even then I use to put massive disclaimers on everything.

So I’m on AO3 and I see a lot of people who put “I do not own [insert fandom here]” before their story.

Like, I came on this site to read FAN fiction. This is a FAN fiction site. I’m fully aware that you don’t own the fandom or the characters. That’s why it’s called FAN FICTION.

A Well Kept Secret Part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

1.8k 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 mention of cheating while drunk.

Part 1

Six and a half months had crawled by since the life-altering night. Exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, your belly a growing testament to the little miracle nestled within. Today was the day you were finally going on leave, a bittersweet escape from the whirlwind of the BAU. No one knew the true story of the baby's father, a secret that gnawed at your conscience with every passing day.

Spencer had been a constant source of support, his gentle nature a balm to the storm brewing inside you. You'd even discussed godparents, a picture-perfect tableau of the BAU family surrounding your child.

"So how are you feeling?" Hotch asked as you lumbered into the office, the weight of the baby making every step a conscious effort.

"Fat and tired, but okay," You replied, managing a weak smile.

"How much longer will you be with us?" he inquired.

"Just here to pick up some things, then I'm heading home," You explained.

"Did you drive yourself?" he asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

"No, Spencer dropped me off," You replied, your stomach clenching at the thought of the conversation that loomed.

"Well, get him to drive your home, then tell him he can have the day off too," Hotch said with a rare smile.

"Thanks, Hotch. See you when I get back, I guess," You shrugged.

Gathering your belongings felt like an eternity, each familiar object a reminder of the life you were leaving behind, at least temporarily. Stepping back out into the crisp morning air, you found Spencer waiting by the car.

"Ready to go home?" You asked, the words heavy on your tongue.

"Let's get you settled in, then I'll get back to work," he replied, his voice neutral.

The ride home was a tense symphony of silence. Every stolen glance at Spencer revealed a growing distance, a hurt you understood all too well. You kept your eyes glued to the ever-expanding landscape, the weight of your secret threatening to crush you.

Reaching the house, you managed to drag a box inside before collapsing onto the couch, the familiar ache in your back a dull throb. Spencer entered a few moments later, placing a bowl of popcorn and two drinks on the coffee table before settling the DVD player.

"What are you doing?" You finally managed, surprised by the sudden break in the tension.

"Well, if we both have the day off, why not spend it together before the baby comes?" he offered, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Relief flooded you, warm and welcome. "Good idea," You whispered, scooting across the couch to lean against him.

"There's something I've been wanting to talk about," You began, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" he asked, his gaze holding yours.

"It's about the baby's father," You confessed, bracing yourself for the storm that might follow.

"I thought I was the father," he said, his voice betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

"You were," you stammered, "but there's something you need to know..."

The words caught in your throat, the memory a bitter pill to swallow. Taking a deep breath, you blurted out, "There was someone else."

"I don't know," you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "The night we were together, I...I had a little too much to drink, and then the next morning..." Your voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the memory a blur of self-loathing.

Spencer stood abruptly, his entire body radiating anger and hurt. The air crackled with unspoken accusations. "So, you're saying the baby could be Morgan's?"

"I don't know," you repeated, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "The timing just…lines up with that night. But you're the one I wanted, Spencer. You're the one I..." Your voice broke, unable to express the depth of your feelings or the regret that gnawed at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. You both knew the implications. The life you'd envisioned, the little family you were building – it all hung precariously in the balance.

He stood abruptly, his entire body radiating anger and hurt. "We need to get this figured out."

Relief warred with fear in your chest. At least he wasn't walking out. "I thought maybe a paternity test…"

"Yeah," he snapped, his voice tight. "Let's do it."

The drive to the clinic was a blur. Neither of you spoke, the unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air. The sterile atmosphere of the clinic did little to ease your anxiety. Spencer held your hand silently as the nurse drew blood, his grip tight enough to leave white marks on your skin.

"How long will it take to get the results?" Spencer finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

The nurse glanced at a chart on the wall. "Typically, paternity tests take about a week to come back," she explained. "We'll call you as soon as we have them."

A week. Seven days stretched before you, an agonizing limbo. The weight of the unknown settled in your chest, a leaden companion. Looking at Spencer, you saw a similar worry etched on his face.

"What are we going to do until then?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance. "We wait," he said, his voice gruff but determined. "And we try to focus on the good news, no matter what the results are."

"The good news?" you echoed, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest.

He offered a strained smile. "That you're finally on maternity leave, and we have a little miracle on the way, one way or another."

The forced cheer in his voice couldn't quite mask the underlying tension. You both knew the good news could turn sour depending on the test results. But for now, you clung to that fragile hope, a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty.

The following days were a blur. The house felt suffocating, the silence punctuated only by the tick of the clock. Every ring of the phone sent your heart racing, only to plummet when it wasn't the clinic. Spencer tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, even taking a rare day off work to keep you company.

One afternoon, while flipping through baby magazines, you stumbled upon a section on twins. Double the bottles, double the diapers, double the trouble. A nervous laugh escaped your lips. The possibility of twins, once a distant thought, now loomed large, a complication layered on top of the paternity question.

Looking up, you saw Spencer watching you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Thinking about double trouble?" he asked.

You managed a weak smile. "The doctor mentioned it as a possibility, didn't she?"

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Maybe that explains why you've been so exhausted lately."

His words brought a faint blush to your cheeks. The exhaustion was real, but so was the constant worry gnawing at you. You both knew the weight of the wait, the unspoken fear that hung heavy in the air. But for now, in the face of uncertainty, you clung to the possibility of a future, a future with a baby, or maybe even two, on the way.

You'd watch movies, fold tiny baby clothes, and talk about nursery paint colours, all the while a dark cloud of uncertainty hung over you.

One afternoon, while attempting to assemble a ridiculously complicated crib (courtesy of Rossi's overenthusiastic gift-giving), the phone rang. Spencer, closer to the receiver, snatched it up with a speed that belied his usual composure.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice tight. A beat of silence followed, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes, this is SSA Spencer Reid. Yes, I've been expecting your call."

Your breath hitched in your throat. The crib parts clattered to the floor as you scrambled to his side, your gaze locked on his face. He listened intently, nodding occasionally, before finally murmuring, "Thank you. We'll be there shortly."

He hung up the phone, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, they were a stormy gray, reflecting the turmoil within him. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows.

"We need to get going," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"The results?" you stammered, your voice thick with anticipation.

He took your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "The good news, the bad news, or both? We'll find out at the clinic."

The car ride was a tense dance of silence and stolen glances. Your mind raced with possibilities; each one tinged with a sliver of fear. Would the results confirm your worst nightmare, shattering the fragile hope you'd built? Or would they clear the air, allowing you to move forward with a future you could finally embrace?

Pulling into the familiar parking lot of the clinic, you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. Spencer squeezed your hand reassuringly, his silent support the only anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You walked into the clinic hand-in-hand, a united front despite the uncertainty gnawing at you. The receptionist, recognizing you, offered a sympathetic smile. "Dr. Lee will see you now," she said, her voice gentle.

Following the nurse down a sterile hallway, you entered the doctor's office. Dr. Lee, a woman with kind eyes and a calming demeanour, greeted you warmly. "Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards two chairs in front of her desk.

You sat, the silence deafening. Dr. Lee placed a file on the desk and took a deep breath. "I'm happy to report that we have the results of your paternity test, Mr. Reid. Okay, so do you want the good news or the bad news first?" the doctor asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"The good news," you squeaked out, your voice barely audible.

"Spencer's the father," the doctor announced with a warm smile.

A wave of relief washed over you, so intense it almost knocked you off your feet. Spencer, however, remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"And the bad news?" he finally inquired; his voice low.

"It's twins," the doctor replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Your jaw dropped. Twins? That would explain the constant exhaustion and the way your clothes seemed to be shrinking daily. Looking at Spencer, you saw a mixture of shock and a hint of amusement flicker across his face.

"Well, that explains a lot," you finally managed, a shaky laugh escaping your lips.

"Double trouble," the doctor chuckled, her eyes twinkling.

Spencer chuckled too; the sound rough around the edges. Then, in a gesture that surprised you, he reached out and took your hand in his. "You got that right," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "We can do this, together."

Leaving the clinic, hand in hand, the weight of the secret lifted. You were the happy (albeit slightly terrified) parents of twins, a future both daunting and exhilarating. There was still a lot to work through, the memory of Morgan a lingering shadow. But for now, the knowledge that Spencer was by your side, ready to face whatever came, was all the comfort you needed.

Objection!

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

1k 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

Next Chapter

The day had finally come. I had successfully graduated Harvard Law. My Mum, Dad, brother Sonny and sisters Bella, Teresa and Gina had made the trip out of Staten Island to witness the graduation. The youngest of the Carisi clan, I choose to follow Sonny into the criminal prosecution career track. Sonny had recently transferred to the Elite Manhattan Special Victims Unit and was also studying at Fordham Law ‘to make myself a better detective’ he had said. Sonny and I, despite our 11-year age gap, were completely inseparable. He had been the one who got the rest of our family together to be here today. Sonny is the whole reason I was graduating today. He had encouraged me even after Mum and Dad had voiced their disappointment at my choice.

I had barely made it off the stage when Sonny had scooped me up in his arms and began spinning us around. He had the worlds biggest smile on his face and repeated over and over again how proud he was of me. Our parents and sisters soon joined us.

“I’m going to cook a big feast tonight just for you” Mom smiled.

“You always cook a big feast, that’s every meal for you” Dad scoffed.

“Oh shush you cranky old man” Mum swatted at him with open hands.

We all laughed at the pair and walked off to the cars. We had a long drive ahead of us back to Staten Island. After dinner I would then have to drive back into Manhattan with Sonny. I had come here with Sonny yesterday from his apartment in Manhattan and had no choice but to go back there with him tonight. Now I had graduated I had no clue what I was suppose to do. I had been applying for positions in almost every law firm in New York with no luck. I’d even applied for the DA’s office with no success. I knew Sonny would let me live with him for however long it took for me to find my feet. He had insisted on it in fact when I’d moved back to New York last month. This had been Mum and Dads complaint. I would waste my time on a piece of paper that would lead me nowhere. I’d even put in an extra two years on a masters degree just to increase my chances.

“Hay kiddo is everything okay?” Sonny spoke up “You’ve been silent for the last 45 minutes and you look worried”

“Maybe Mum and Dad were right” Was all I could get out.

“About what? Don’t tell me your doubting yourself now” Sonny smiled over at me.

“I spent the whole month applying for positions with no luck, all I’ve managed is a minimum wage bodega job. I can’t rely on you forever Sonny, you have your own life, the woman at work you said you fancy, while I just wasted six years to get a piece of paper that’s turning out to be useless. I wanted to be up there with the greats like Alexander Cabot and Rafael Barba” I sighed picking at my nails.

“Y/N Carisi always worrying” Sonny chuckled “Give it time you’ll get something soon; you don’t need to rush”

“I’m not trying to rush I just don’t like not knowing” I threw my hands up.

But wait I did. For 9 months I applied for any law jobs that came up. I worked my ass off at the bodega, saving every penny I could to get out of Sonny’s flat. Then one day it happened. I had been busy cooking dinner, a simple chicken alfredo, when Sonny basically smashed his way through the door. I hadn’t expected him home until much later. I knew they were having trouble catching the Central Park Strangler as the papers had dubbed him. A horrid man who would stalk lone women in central park, strangle and rape them. Sonny had said he was escalating an attack every night, he hadn’t killed anyone yet but Sonny was sure he would soon. He had made me promise not to leave the flat alone at night until they got the guy. He had left DNA at every scene so as soon as they got him he was going away for life. No chance of a plea bargain, no way to weasel out of it. Sonny had a huge smile on his face as he walked into the kitchen.

“I’m guessing by the smile on your face you caught your guy? That or you finally grew a pair and asked Amanda out and she said yes” I chuckled.

“Yes, well no, but yes” Sonny stumbled over his words while he hung his coat up and took his shoes off.

“Well which is it?” I laughed.

“We caught the guy, Barba had him shipped to rikers an hour ago” Sonny put his brief case on the bench and dug through it producing a manila envelope. “I also got this for you” he handed the envelope to me. 

I wiped my hands off on my apron and took the envelope. I turned it over in my hands taking note of the District Attorneys office logo in the corner. I disregarded it as just being an envelope Sonny had handy. I turned the envelope over once more and unwound the string keeping it closed. Inside was a stack of paperwork maybe 30 pages thick. Written on top of the first sheet in bold letters were the words OFFER OF EMPLOYMENT. I looked up shocked at Sonny before looking back at the papers. We are pleased to offer you a position as an assistant to ADA Rafael Barba at the New York District  Attorney Office.

“Oh Sonny this is amazing thank you”  I pulled him into a hug.

“It was nothing I just called in a favour when I heard Barba needed some extra help”  Sonny chuckled “All you need to do is fill in the forms and drop them off to Barba tomorrow. He says he’ll in his office from 3 onward”.

“I’ll fill them in first thing but for now lets eat!”.

“Oh you mean the food that’s burning on the stove?” Sonny chuckled.

“Shit!” I spun back to the stove but it was pointless the chicken had already started turning black and the pasta was almost boiled dry.

“I’ll order out and you can trying to salvage my pot and pan” Sonny laughed walking off phone in hand.

Heyy are your requests open?

Yep! Always happy to take requests!

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

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love (Revisited) Part 4

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

3.6k word count

Summary A break in the case happens and you question if you want to be around the Winchesters anymore.

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, slow-burn

Warnings mention and description of death

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

We wrapped up breakfast with my mum, and while Sam and Dean handled the dishes, I hurried the guys out the door to fetch the Impala before my mum could offer them anything else. As usual, she was all smiles and charm in front of others, and it took everything I had not to snap. Once we had our bags, we set off towards the car yard, hoping this time we'd finally get the Impala back.

The boys chatted ahead of me, oblivious to my inner turmoil. They sensed something was off but knew better than to pry. I had already made up my mind: I’d help them finish this case, then dive into the next one. I planned to start my research as soon as I had some alone time. I figured we’d wrap this case up in a couple of days, and I already had a strategy for digging into the next one.

At the car yard, Dean darted off to find the Impala. It took him far less time than it had taken Sam to retrieve the car earlier. Dean and Sam began stowing their weapons and gear in the truck. I tossed my suitcase onto the back seat and climbed in to wait. As I did, I spotted a t-shirt on the floor. Curious, I picked it up. It looked like one of Dean’s shirts. I brought it to my nose, confirming it was his. Before I could stop myself, I unzipped my bag and stuffed the shirt inside, quickly zipping it back up. The truck’s cab shielded me from view, so neither brother saw what I’d done.

I had no idea why I took Dean’s shirt. It wasn’t like having something of his would help me get over him—in fact, it might make things worse. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I deserved it. After everything he’d done, I felt entitled to something of his. He’d never miss it, and it was unlikely he’d even notice it was gone. No harm done, right?

The trunk slammed shut with a resounding thud, and Sam and Dean climbed into the car. We drove the 40 minutes back to the hotel. When we pulled up, I grabbed my bag and made a beeline for my Impala. I had the keys, so there was no need to go into the hotel room. Tossing my suitcase onto the driver’s seat, I slid into the driver’s side just as Dean stopped at the room door and looked at me.

“Where are you going?” Dean asked.

“Research,” I replied curtly, revving the engine and speeding out of the parking lot.

I headed straight for the library. I needed to investigate the deaths at the pool without the distraction of the Winchesters. I parked my Impala in the library lot, grabbed my research notebook, and headed inside. The library was already bustling, and I had to wait in line at the reception desk for what felt like an eternity, though it was probably closer to 20 minutes.

When it was finally my turn, I plastered on a bright smile and used my sweetest voice.

“Hi, I’d like to book a computer and access any information you have on the Blacktown pool,” I said.

“Can I ask why?” the receptionist inquired.

“I’m working on a paper about places that seem to have persistent bad luck and exploring why some places fare worse than others.”

“That’s an interesting topic. Are there any other locations you’re interested in?”

“No, just the pool, thank you.”

“Alright, here are the login details for one of our computer cubicles. I’ll have someone bring you the rest shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the paper with a smile.

I walked to the designated cubicle, sat down, and entered the login details. A timer appeared on the screen, indicating I had one hour of computer time before I’d need to log in again.

Determined not to waste any time, I dove into researching the deaths at the pool. Knowing we were dealing with a spirit, I figured the best approach was to compile a list of everyone who had died there. A quick Google search yielded 47 names. I scribbled them all into my notebook, ready to dig deeper when a guy around my age approached with a stack of papers and books.

“I pulled everything we have on the pool and made copies of old newspaper articles for you,” he said, handing over the materials.

I thanked him for his help and returned to my task, narrowing down the list to 30 names based on the idea that the spirit would likely see itself as a burden. Given how long the hauntings had been going on, I wasn’t surprised by the lengthy list. As the computer timer ticked down, I wrapped up my research and returned the books to the desk. I drove back to the hotel in silence, taking the longest route I could manage to avoid running into the others.

When I finally pulled into the parking lot and parked next to Dean’s Impala, I saw Dean examining the side of the car intently. I grabbed my notebook and approached him. Sure enough, there was a noticeable dent on the side, just as Sam had described. The damage didn’t seem too severe—the dent could be fixed, and the scratches looked like they would polish out.

“The damage doesn’t look too bad,” I said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, luck of the draw,” Dean replied, crossing his arms. “It’s nothing I can’t fix once we’re back at the bunker. Where have you been?”

“I was researching. I think I found our spirit. What’s the bunker?” I asked, turning to look at Dean.

“The bunker is a safe house for hunters, covered in sigils and wards, basically impenetrable by anything we hunt,” Dean explained, looking down at me. “Let’s go get Sam, and you can show us what you’ve found.”

Dean unfolded his arms and headed into the hotel room. I followed, casting one last glance at the Impala—yet another thing I felt responsible for. Inside, Dean plopped onto his bed, and Sam sat at the table, typing away on his laptop.

“Put that thing away, Sammy. Y/N here thinks she’s found our spirit,” Dean announced. Sam looked up with a raised eyebrow.

“Hey, don’t get too excited; you might pull something,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, clearly unimpressed by my attempt at humor.

“Well, I made a list of everyone who died at the pool and narrowed it down to those the spirit might consider a burden, which leaves us with 30 names,” I said.

“How did you decide who to include on your list?” Sam inquired, his tone almost interrogative.

“From the first death, a young girl who slipped and impaled herself on a pole, there was nothing suggesting she was a burden—no health issues, mental health problems, or family issues. I ruled her out, just like the 82-year-old who had a heart attack and the 14-year-old who broke his neck while showing off,” I explained.

“Okay, I get the point. Have you figured out which of the names on your list is our spirit?” Sam asked, clearly frustrated.

“I’d start with the first person on my list. Not just because they died first, but because the article about them quoted their mother saying, ‘Even though I am heartbroken at losing her, I also feel a sense of relief knowing that she’s no longer burdened by the health issues she had to deal with in her short life.’ Sounds like a recipe for a vengeful spirit to me,” I said, crossing my arms with a smirk.

“Sounds pretty solid to me,” Dean said, glancing at Sam.

“Well, there’s only one way to know for sure,” Sam sighed in defeat.

“Salt and burn the body. One problem, though—the family had her cremated,” Dean said.

“Then something else of hers must remain. A hair, a fingernail, something,” Sam suggested.

“So, what if we split up? You guys check the burial plot, and I’ll search the pool?” I offered.

“What did you find about her death?” Sam asked, his curiosity piqued. “Do you know how she died?”

“According to the reports, she wasn’t technically at the pool when it happened. She was walking past with her family and tried to scale the fence around the pool. At that time, the top of the fence was covered in barbed wire. She managed to reach the top before falling. The portion of the fence she climbed had a post without a cover. In her fall, she impaled herself through the stomach on the pole. She was still alive when they removed her but died on the way to the hospital from extreme trauma and blood loss,” I explained.

“Is the pole still there?” Dean asked.

“I don’t think so. From the records, it was all torn down and replaced about a year ago during a major remodel. But if we’re lucky, the old fencing materials might still be in the area,” I shrugged. “If you two check the pool for the old fencing materials, I’ll look into the burial site.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said, standing up to get his keys.

My keys were already in my hand, so I quickly headed out of the room and into my car before either brother was ready. The less time I spent with them, the better. I drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the burial site, which was more of a hole in the wall than a traditional cemetery. I had my notebook open with the location of the girl’s ashes noted. I glanced at it occasionally, muttering the row and plot number aloud to make it seem like I knew exactly what I was doing. Distracted, I almost drove past the cemetery gates.

I parked as close as I could, took one last look at my notebook, and climbed out. The girl’s ashes were kept in a large, purpose-built building. Inside, everything was white marble, making the place feel cold and eerie. Every footstep echoed off the walls, the sound almost painfully loud. I walked to the back of the building where the older ashes were stored. From what I’d read, these had been kept in brick walls until the cemetery upgraded to something nicer—probably to justify higher prices for plots.

The back wasn’t as well-lit as the front, likely because fewer people visited. It didn’t take long to locate the nameplate for the girl. Each nameplate had a small window above it with an urn and personal items. From what I could see, nothing in the window seemed significant—mostly notes and pictures. Feeling frustrated, I decided it was a bust and headed back to my car.

I hoped the Winchesters were having better luck. As soon as I was back in my car, I sent a text to Dean letting him know the cemetery had yielded nothing. I locked my phone and tossed it into the passenger seat, hearing the almost immediate ping of his reply but choosing not to look. I didn’t want to return to the hotel or my mother’s place. I only had one other place to go.

I put the car in drive and sped out of the cemetery, navigating the familiar streets toward my old refuge. My haven away from my mother’s turmoil. I didn’t even have a chance to stop the car before a familiar, hyperactive face appeared, bounding out the front door. Theresa bounced around and screamed in her driveway as I parked.

“Y/N, you’re back!” Theresa squealed, tackling me in a hug.

“Theresa! I didn’t expect you to still be here. I honestly thought I’d have to ask your parents for your new address,” I smiled, hugging her back.

“Oh, this is my place now. Mum and Dad moved further out of the city,” Theresa shrugged. “Anyway, where have you been traveling? How much of the world have you seen? I want to know everything!”

“Ah, about that… how about I come inside and fill you in?” I suggested.

Theresa grabbed my hand and pulled me into her house. We settled on her couch, and for hours, I poured out my story. I told her how, instead of seeing the world, I’d taken up hunting. I recounted the monsters I’d encountered and the current case at the pool. I mentioned the Winchesters’ return and how, once the case was done, they’d be gone. I even spilled everything about Dean, breaking down over him. Theresa held me close, letting me cry. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen me like this; for years, it had just been the two of us.

After I finally pulled back, Theresa asked, “How do you know Dean isn’t just telling Sam what he wants to hear?”

“Dean’s a player. He admitted it himself. I don’t want to be the girl he strings along while he’s working cases,” I said.

“Y/N, I saw the way he looked at you last time they were here. If love at first sight had a look, that was it,” Theresa giggled.

“Taz, honestly, I don’t want to risk my heart. Like Sam said, hunters don’t get happily ever afters. Maybe it’s best if I learn to be cold now,” I sighed.

“Well, I can see I’m not going to change your mind, and I know arguing this with you is pointless,” Theresa shook her head. “Now, about this case you’re working on—have the boys found anything yet?”

“How should I know? My phone’s in the car.”

“Then go get it, woman!” Theresa squealed.

I reluctantly got up from the couch and made my way back outside. As I approached my car, I could already hear my phone ringing. With a sigh, I walked over to the passenger side. I cringed visibly when I saw the over 40 missed calls and nearly 100 messages from Dean. They were mostly frantic texts of “Where are you?” and “God dammit, woman, answer your phone.” Just as I was about to call him back, my phone rang again.

“Yes, Dean?” I answered.

“Oh, thank God!” Dean practically shouted. “Where have you been?”

“I was catching up with a friend. Did you find anything?” I asked, trying to keep the focus on the case.

“Now is not the time for social calls.”

“Did you find anything?” I repeated, ignoring Dean’s comment.

“Yeah, we found the pole. All the old fencing material has been moved to a scrapyard. I don’t think we’re getting it out of there,” Dean said. “But there are traces of blood inside it. I know we can’t be certain it’s hers, but I don’t want to take the chance that it isn’t.”

“Okay, give me a minute. I have an idea.” I pressed the phone to my chest and yelled back into the house, “HEY, TAZ!”

“That’s my name,” Theresa called back as she came jogging out.

“Is your brother’s ute still in the backyard?” I asked.

“What do you think?” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Can we borrow it?”

“If we can get it to start.”

“Okay, did you hear all that, Dean?” I put the phone back to my ear.

“What’s a ute?” Dean asked.

“A truck,” I said. “Since you know a thing or two about cars, do you mind coming around to help us start it?”

“Yeah, just text me the address,” Dean sighed.

I hung up and texted Dean the address. I knew it wouldn’t take him long to get here, which bothered me a bit. I didn’t want to say anything because Theresa was clearly excited to see Sam. I sighed and sat on the steps outside Theresa’s house, waiting for them. All we needed to do was get the pole, burn the blood, and then Sam and Dean could leave. I kept reminding myself of that. I also had a small window of time to practice ignoring my feelings. After all, Dean was probably going to be the last guy I found myself crushing on. Yeah, that’s all this was—a crush. I’d get over it. What was that thing my mother always said? “You don’t love them; you lust after them. There’s a difference.” Yeah, that was it. I just needed to act like he was a friend, and eventually, that’s all he’d be—a friend.

I heard the Impala roar into the street, much like my own car would have. No wonder Theresa knew I was back before I even got in front of her house. Theresa began shaking me, squealing with excitement as the car pulled into the driveway. I stood to greet the Winchesters. Dean parked his Impala behind mine and climbed out, removing his flannel shirt as he went. He tossed it behind him, revealing his black t-shirt.

I stepped back and let Theresa take the lead. She quickly guided the boys through the house and out to the backyard. I sat back down on the front steps and waited. The sounds of Sam and Theresa’s conversation drifted through the house—Sam laughing at something she said, and Theresa’s infectious laughter in return. It seemed like Sam was enjoying himself, unlike Dean, whose presence I was trying hard to ignore.

I zoned out the sounds from inside and instead focused on the half-dead grass covering Theresa’s front yard. I began to daydream, retreating to a fantasy land I hadn’t visited since I was a teenager. I imagined a world where I had never met Dean Winchester and never fell into this life. In my fantasy, I was somewhere peaceful, far away from the complications of the real world.

My Upcoming WIPs!

You suddenly decided to take the leap with Don Flack on a whim. In less then a week you'll be living together, with a child and your father Mac Taylors disapproval. This is certainly not how your suppose to start a relationship.

Your a firefighter with the 118. Your engaged to Evan Buckley who you've been madly in love with for 4 years. Life is perfect. That is until a late night in the fire house sees a spark between you and your Captain Bobby Nash who happens to be a married man.

When the new firefighter in the house Eddie Diaz becomes best friends with your boyfriend Evan Buckley you can't help but notice a change in him. A bad change. Late nights and hushed conversations are just the beginning of this thrill ride.

Yes Barba can indeed get it. It's written law.

Been watching a lot of Law and Order SVU lately. Is it a like common knowledge in the fandom that Barba can indeed get it?

Meeting the Firefam

Eddie x reader

~1600 words

Warnings: epileptic reader. Hopefully accurately portrayed.

You parked in front of the station and turned off the ignition. Taking one final deep breath, you pushed the door open and stepped out. You didn't know why you were so nervous. Meeting Eddie’s coworkers shouldn't seem so frightening.

What if they hated you? What if they told him to break up with you? You knew they were more like family to him than just coworkers. Their opinions mattered a lot. You had only been dating him a little over a month but you had fallen hard. You really couldn't imagine your life without him and Chris and even Carla.

You needed them to like you.

Making your way inside, you quickly spotted Eddie as he approached. You greeted him with a kiss before he pulled you into a hug.

“Hey, you. How was traffic?” He asked.

You shrugged. “Normal. Slow.” Eddie knew it was your least favorite part about LA.

“I think lunch is almost ready. You ready to meet everyone?”

“No.” You wrapped your hands around his bicep as he started walking toward the trucks.

He leaned over and kissed your temple. “I told you they’re going to love you. You have nothing to worry about.” He pulled you along with him towards Buck and another firefighter beside the truck.

Buck smiled when he spotted you. “Hey, Y/N. Glad you finally decided to come have lunch with us.”

“Hi, Buck. Someone has been persistent.” You looked at Eddie just in time to catch his shrug.

“Y/N, this is Ravi.” Eddie introduced.

Ravi lifted his hand for you to shake. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.”

Eddie pulled you away towards the stairs that led to the loft. You couldn't help but look around at everything. “This is a beautiful building.”

Eddie nodded. “I agree. It's my favorite station in the city.”

You had barely made it to the top of the stairs before you were being engulfed in hugs. “Oh, uh, hi.”

Eddie chuckled. “This is Hen and Chimney.”

“We are so excited to finally meet you. Eddie here won't shut up about you,” Chimney said.

You glanced at Eddie, catching him trying to hide his blush. “I don't talk about her that much,” he argued.

“Constantly,” Hen mouthed at you with a grin.

Next, Eddie led you over to the kitchen. “And this is Cap.”

The man in front of the stove wiped his hands on a dish towel before reaching out for a handshake. “It's Bobby.”

“Nice to meet you. It smells amazing in here.”

Bobby smiled. “Well, thank you. This will be done in a few minutes. Eddie, can you grab everyone down stairs?”

“On it.” Eddie pointed to the couches. “You can make yourself comfortable over there.”

Within ten minutes, everyone was getting settled at the table. Eddie took your hand to pull you up from the couch. As he pulled out a chair for you, you suddenly felt your left arm go numb.

“Oh no.” You mumbled. You reached out towards Eddie as your knees buckled and the world around you disappeared.

Eddie was quick to catch you before you could hit the ground. “Woah. Y/N?” When you didn't open your eyes he slowly lowered you to the floor. Seconds later you were convulsing violently. Eddie couldn't help but to just stare at you in shock.

Chim was on the floor beside Eddie a second later. “Eddie, we got her.”

“I'll grab a med kit,” Hen announced as she ran for the stairs.

Chimney kept you rolled on your side. Bobby stepped closer to pull Eddie away. “They need room to work.”

Eddie tried to resist. “I should help.”

Buck stepped beside his best friend to keep him out of the way.

Bobby stepped towards you and grabbed your foot, pulling off your shoe. “Medical alert. Epilepsy.” He pointed at the shoelace tag as he looked towards Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. “I didn't know. Why didn't she tell me?”

Hen returned with a monitor and med kit and Chim filled her in. “Epilepsy. Let's just give it a minute.”

Eddie pushes past Buck and sat down on the ground by your head. He whispered soft reassurances in case you could hear him.

Chim pulled a pulse ox monitor out of the med kit and clipped it on your finger.

“She's barely breathing,” Eddie pointed out. He knew that was common with seizures but still couldn't help the mild panic he felt.

“That's normal,” Hen reminded him. She started to attach an oxygen mask to the tank she’d carried upstairs just in case.

Next, Chim started to attach cardiac leads to your chest. Once he'd finished, they waited for the seizure to stop.

“That's five minutes,” Bobby pointed out.

Hen and Chim sighed as they locked eyes with each other. “Alright, let's push Ativan,” Chim said.

“I'll start an IV,” Hen announced. “Eddie can you hold her arm?” He did as asked, trying to hold your arm as still as possible without hurting you. “I'm in.”

Chim pushed the meds he'd drawn up as soon as IV was secured. It took about another twenty seconds for the seizure to finally stop.

Everyone let out a relieved breath. Eddie pushed some hair back behind your ear.

“Let's get her loaded up and to the hospital,” Chimney broke the momentary silence.

Hen nodded. “I'll go radio dispatch and get ready.”

Within five minutes you were loaded into the ambulance with Eddie and Chim beside you as Hen shifted into drive.

“Ugh.” You groaned a few minutes later. “N-no hospital,” you mumbled out fighting your grogginess.

Eddie ran his hand over your head. “Yes, hospital.”

You huffed, frustrated you can't get the words out to explain. “E-epi–”

“We know about your epilepsy, we found your alert tag,” Eddie interrupted. “Sweetheart, your seizure lasted almost six minutes. Hen and Chim had to push meds to stop it. You have to go in.”

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. Suddenly you were glad you'd been with them for lunch and not alone at home. You knew he was right and allowed yourself to relax. “Tired.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “That's the medicine. You can sleep.”

You nodded as your eyes drifted closed. You weren't sure you could have stayed awake even if you'd tried.

A few hours later, you were finally settled into a room after being poked and prodded. They had run all kinds of tests trying to figure out what might have caused the long seizure.

“Anything I can get for you?” the nurse asked.

You shook your head as you shifted in an attempt to find a comfortable position. Every muscle was sore.

“Okay. I'll let your visitors know they can come in now, if that's alright with you,” the nurse says as she walks toward the door.

“Visitors? Plural?” You ask surprised.

“You have a whole herd of firefighters waiting out there for you,” she explains.

“Oh, wow. Could you just send Eddie in for now?”

She smiles kindly. “Of course, honey.”

Eddie pushes the door open not five minutes later. He pulls up a chair and takes your hand in his, careful to avoid your IV line.

“Hi,” you greeted

“Hi. How ya feeling?” He asked.

“Kinda like someone put me through a blender.”

He chuckled and nodded. “You scared me. I'm just glad Bobby noticed your medical alert tag.”

“I'm sorry,” you sighed. “This is definitely not how I planned to tell you about my epilepsy.”

He locks eyes with you. “So you were planning to tell me.” He looks annoyed or maybe hurt that you hadn't already told him.

“Eventually.” You drop your gaze to the bed. “It's not exactly an easy conversation. It's caused a few break ups over the years.”

“What do you mean?” He looks genuinely confused.

“I'm too much to deal with. No one wants to deal with seizures,” you try to explain. “And you already have to deal with sick people all day at work. I'm sure the last thing you want to do is deal with the same at home.” You sniffle. “I'll understand if you want out now.”

“Y/N,” Eddie said, placing a finger under your chin to make you look at him. “I love you. This could never change that. Any guy who dumped you because of this is an asshole.”

Tears rolled down your face before you were suddenly sobbing, relief washing over you in waves.

Eddie moved quickly to sit beside you on the bed. Pulling you into his side and shishing you softly.

You had been so worried about telling him for so long. “I-I'm sorry. I should have told you.” You sniffled harshly. “I should have known you'd accept this part of me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know now. That's all that matters.”

Eventually you calmed down but you were beyond exhausted. “Hey, isn't everyone still out there waiting?”

“Yeah.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I'll text them that you're okay and let them know they can head home.”

Placing a hand over his screen, you shook your head. “No. I want to see them.”

“You need to rest,” he argued. “They can come back tomorrow or we can go to the station if you're discharged.”

“Just a quick visit. Please? Fifteen minutes.”

Sighing, he stood from where he was still perched on the bed. “Ten.”

“Deal.”