Thought It Was About Time I Gave An Update/schedule. I'm Going Away For A Week Over Christmas To See

After The Fire

Evan 'Buck' Buckley X Reader

4.1k word count

Summary You and Buck are both complete done with your respective partners. Eddie is the middle man.

Authors Note: Sorry for disappearing. 2025 has been the worst year for me. I worked my own break up into this story. I wish I had a Buck to help me. Oh well enjoy!

After a long day on tour, all you wanted was to come home and lay in the bath so long you turn into the world’s largest prune. You’d been daydreaming about lavender bubbles and scalding water since lunch. You smelt strongly of smoke and sweat, and your spine had officially decided to disown you.

But the second you opened the door to your apartment, reality slapped you in the face.

The first thing that hit you was the smell—Goose’s litter box, untouched. Again. Then came the sight: dirty dishes piled so high in the sink it was a game of Jenga waiting to collapse. Laundry—your laundry—scattered across the floor like it had exploded out of the hamper. And in the middle of it all, your boyfriend, Kyle, slumped on the couch in the same hoodie he’d been wearing three days ago.

Goose waddled toward you with an indignant meow, brushing his hefty body against your legs. The poor thing looked like he’d spent the entire day plotting your murder. You gave him a quick scratch behind the ears, noting how empty his food bowl was. Again.

Before you could even say hello, Kyle piped up without taking his eyes off his phone.

“Finally. I’m starving. What took you so long? Can you make that lasagna you did last week?”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed, as if you were the inconvenience here. “I’ve been waiting for you. There's nothing to eat. You said you’d grab groceries yesterday.”

“I said I’d be working until tonight,” you said flatly, slipping off your jacket and dropping your keys into the dish by the door. “You’ve been here all day.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t know what to get. Besides, you always cook it better.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked around at the disaster zone of your home—the dishes, the laundry, the cat fur rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds. Goose let out another mournful cry, and you knelt to fill his bowl while Kyle continued scrolling on his phone like he hadn't just dropped a match into a puddle of gasoline.

That bath you’d been dreaming of? Gone. Replaced by the sharp heat of frustration rising in your chest.

“I’ve been working nonstop for two weeks, Kyle,” you said slowly, carefully, like your words were made of glass. “And I come home to this. Again.”

He looked up, clearly annoyed now. “You don’t have to make it a big deal. I’ve been relaxing. You always freak out over little stuff.”

You stared at him, and something inside you snapped—quietly, neatly, with the same finality as a door clicking shut.

“You need to leave.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’m done. You want someone to clean up after you, feed you, do your laundry—get a maid. Or better yet, grow the hell up. I’m not your mother. And I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

“You’re overreacting,” he said, rising from the couch, arms spread wide. “You’re seriously breaking up with me over dinner?”

“No,” you said. “I’m breaking up with you because I’m tired. Tired of being the only one trying. Tired of coming home to a boyfriend who thinks my time and energy are his to drain. Pack your stuff. Be gone before I get back.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, gave Goose another quick pat, and walked out the door—no bath, no prune time, just clean air and the kind of peace that comes from finally choosing yourself.

…

Bucks P.O.V

Buck’s shoulders sagged as he stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway, the weight of another brutal shift hanging heavy in every bone. Smoke, sweat, and exhaustion clung to him like second skin. All he wanted was a hot shower, a cold drink, and maybe five hours of uninterrupted sleep if the universe felt like cutting him a break tonight.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside.

The lights were on.

That was his first red flag.

The second came when he spotted her—Maya—sitting at the kitchen table with her arms crossed, a full plate of food in front of her, untouched and long since gone cold.

Crap.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Obviously,” she snapped, icy gaze locked on him. “You’re late. Again.”

He dropped his gear bag by the door, instinctively checking to make sure he hadn’t tracked ash or soot onto the floor. “We had a three-alarm warehouse fire. I texted you.”

“Oh, right,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. “The firefighter excuse. Again. You always have a reason, Buck. You’re always late, always too tired, always somewhere else. You never think about me. Or us. Or our future.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Maya, we’ve talked about this. You knew what I did when we started dating. You said you respected it. You said you understood.”

“Well maybe I thought I could handle it,” she snapped, standing now. “But I’m sick of being second place to your job. What kind of future are we supposed to have if I’m always sitting here waiting for you to show up?”

He ran a hand over his face, grit scratching under his fingers. “It’s not like I’m out at bars or cheating on you. I’m saving lives. That’s my job. It’s always been my job. And yeah, sometimes that means being late. I can’t just walk out of a burning building because you made chicken parm.”

“You always do this,” she spat, voice rising now. “Turn it around on me like I’m being unreasonable.”

“Because you are,” he said, his own frustration bubbling up now. “You’re throwing a tantrum because dinner got cold. Meanwhile, I’m out there dragging people out of collapsed buildings, Maya. I don’t get to clock out when it’s convenient.”

She stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Then quit. Quit the job. If you cared about me, you would.”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

He took a step back, staring at her like he didn’t even recognize the woman in front of him.

“You want me to what?” he said, low and sharp. “You want me to give up the thing I’ve dedicated my whole damn life to—because your dinner got cold?”

“No,” she said, but he didn’t stop.

“I pay the rent on this apartment. I pay your bills. Your phone, your car insurance, the shopping sprees, your nails, your hair—everything. I bust my ass every day so you can live like you do, and the second I’m late, you’re ready to throw a fit like a spoiled kid who didn’t get dessert?”

“Buck—”

“No. I’m done. If this is how you act when you don’t get your way, then I don’t want to be the guy you rely on anymore. Get your stuff, Maya. I want you out.”

She stood there in stunned silence, mouth parted like she had something to say but no words to fill the space. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew anywhere was better than here.

…

Eddies P.O.V

Eddie fumbled with his keys, eyelids heavy and muscles aching as he finally made it to his apartment door. The shift had been brutal—hot, chaotic, and long—and for once, he didn’t have to go home and slip right into Dad mode. Chris was spending the night at his abuela’s, and that meant one very rare, very sacred thing: peace.

He stepped inside, locked the door, and headed straight to the shower. Ten minutes under scalding water worked miracles. He emerged in clean sweats, reheated some leftover enchiladas, grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch like a man finally free.

He picked up his fork, raised it toward his mouth—and that’s when the knock came.

He froze. Chewed air.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the fork, got up, and opened the door.

There she was—one of his best friends, still in her jacket, eyes sharp and stormy. Before he could say anything, she brushed past him and made a direct line for his fridge.

“Uh… sure, come in,” Eddie muttered, mostly to himself, as she popped open a beer like she owned the place.

He barely had time to process her arrival before another knock came. He turned, still halfway to asking her what the hell was going on and opened the door again.

Buck.

Eddie stared.

“Hey,” Buck said, looking sheepish and slightly windblown. “Mind if I—?”

Eddie stepped aside with a sigh, waving him in.

“Thanks, man.” Buck clapped his shoulder in passing, heading straight for the kitchen like this was all part of the plan.

Eddie shut the door, turned slowly, and finally followed them into the kitchen, where the two stood—backs against the counter, bags dropped nearby, bottles in hand—like they'd claimed the place as neutral territory in some unseen war.

He stared at them for a beat. “Okay. Why are you both standing in my kitchen, drinking my beer?”

They exchanged a look and, like it was rehearsed, both said at the same time:

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” “I broke up with my girlfriend.”

Eddie blinked. “Seriously?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One at a time. You first.” He nodded at her.

She sighed, the fight draining out of her a little now that she wasn’t alone. “I walked in the door and all I wanted was a bath and five minutes to myself. Instead, he starts whining about how he’s starving and wants a big dinner. Meanwhile, the place is trashed, Goose hadn’t been fed, the litter box was disgusting—and he just sat there all day doing nothing. Again. Like I’m supposed to come home from work and play housekeeper-slash-chef for a grown man.”

Buck let out a low whistle.

She took a long swig of her beer. “I told him to pack his stuff and get out.”

Eddie nodded slowly, impressed. “Good for you. You?” He turned to look at Buck.

“She could’ve done better from the start,” Buck muttered. “That guy was a walking red flag with a superiority complex. I never liked him.”

Eddie turned to him. “That’s not what I meant, Buck.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“I meant your breakup. Not hers. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Buck shifted his weight. “Right, yeah—okay. So, I get home, she’s sitting there with this whole meal set up, cold as hell, waiting to ambush me. Starts going off about how I’m late all the time, how I don’t care about her or our future. I try to explain—again—that I can’t control fires, or emergencies, or the clock.”

He took a swig. “She starts screaming, like actual screaming, demanding I quit being a firefighter if I care about her. Like, she really said that. ‘Quit your job.’”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. So I lost it. Told her I’m not her sugar daddy or her emotional support firefighter. I pay her bills, her shopping, her nails—everything—and I’m done. Told her to get out.”

Silence settled for a second.

Then Eddie sighed and walked past them both, grabbing a third beer from the fridge. “I was this close to a quiet night,” he muttered, holding his fingers an inch apart.

She gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry, Eddie.”

Buck raised his beer. “We brought drama, but at least we didn’t come empty-handed.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes, dropped into a chair, and motioned between them. “You two are lucky I like you. But if either of you tries to use my shower, I’m tossing you out the window.”

…

Your P.O.V

Eddie had grumbled the whole night, but he never kicked them out.

After a shared late dinner of lukewarm enchiladas and three more beers each, the three of them ended up sprawled across his living room—Buck face-first on the carpet, you curled up on one end of the couch, and Eddie passed out in the recliner with the remote still in his hand. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t quiet. But it was safe. And after the emotional dumpster fire that was the night before, that was more than enough.

The next morning, after caffeine and mutual groans of “never again,” you and Buck left together, splitting off to check your own places. Both were blessedly empty. No texts. No calls. Just space.

You should’ve felt lonely.

But you didn’t. Because over the next few days… then the next week… then the one after that—Buck kept showing up.

Sometimes with coffee. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with Goose’s favorite treats. A few times with nothing but a tired face and a, “Hey, is it okay if I hang here for a bit?”

He started crashing on the couch. Then staying for dinner. Then leaving a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. Then a few shirts in your drawer. Then Goose started sleeping on his chest instead of yours.

You didn’t question it at first. You were just glad to have someone who saw you at the end of a shift, someone who talked to Goose like he was royalty and didn’t expect you to cook unless you felt like it. Buck washed dishes without being asked. He vacuumed. He once left and came back with a new litter box because, quote, “Goose deserves a throne.”

Eventually, though, you noticed the way he lingered.

He never seemed in a rush to go back to his apartment. Never mentioned it, really. He'd get quiet if you asked what he’d been up to there. And one night, when you found him still sitting in your kitchen at 1 a.m. nursing a beer, eyes glassy with the kind of tired he rarely showed, you finally pressed him.

“Buck?” you asked softly, standing in the doorway. “You good?”

He blinked, pulled back from wherever his mind had wandered. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge more for something to do than anything else. “You’ve been here a lot.”

“I can go,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, grabbing your own drink. “That’s not what I meant. I like having you here.”

He smiled at that—small, unsure.

“But,” you added gently, leaning on the counter across from him, “you’ve basically been living here. What’s going on, Buck?”

He hesitated. Twisted the bottle cap between his fingers. “I’m not… used to being alone. I thought I’d be fine after Maya left, you know? Like, good riddance and all that. But that apartment feels... empty. Cold. Like I walk in and the walls echo, and suddenly everything’s quiet in a way that makes my skin crawl.”

You watched him for a second, your heart softening.

Then you said, “Well… you don’t have to be alone. Not if being here helps. You can move in.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “Wait—are you serious?”

You smiled. “I’ve already lost half my fridge space to your energy drinks and Goose likes you more than me. Might as well make it official.”

He laughed, that big, boyish sound that made something warm bloom in your chest.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we already know you’re good at cleaning and Goose has claimed your lap as property. Consider this your unofficial roommate interview. You passed.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him something he didn’t know he needed. And maybe, in a way, you had.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”

You clinked your drink to his. “Welcome home, Buck.”

…

The first few days felt like a weird kind of vacation.

Buck brought over the rest of his stuff in a series of chaotic trips, including (but not limited to): two duffel bags, an entire crate of protein powder, at least six fire department t-shirts you were pretty sure he stole from other people, and a worn-out hoodie you immediately claimed as yours.

Goose sat in the middle of the living room and watched the entire process like he was supervising the transition. He didn’t complain, and that was saying something—Goose hated everyone.

By the end of the week, your apartment felt... different. Lived in, but not in a messy, suffocating way like before. It was the kind of lived in where the coffee was already brewed when you woke up, and someone left a note by the door that said "Kick ass today." Buck had that rare kind of presence that made everything feel just a little lighter.

You’d always gotten along well—working together created a kind of shorthand between you—but something about having him in your space all the time cracked things open a little wider.

Like how you noticed the way he always turned toward you when you laughed. Or how he paused a movie to ask what you thought would happen next because he “likes hearing your theories.” Or how he always cooked enough for two now, even if you said you weren’t hungry.

But it wasn’t all easy.

There were the little things, too. Like the way he left his wet towel on the floor even though the hamper was right there. Or how he used all the hot water on long showers because “thinking is a full-body experience.” One night, he accidentally used your fancy shampoo and tried to play it off like he didn’t, even though he smelled like vanilla and chamomile for two days.

You bickered sometimes—snapped over dishes or laundry or who forgot to buy more coffee filters. But somehow, it always ended in laughter. Or one of you giving the other a peace offering in the form of snacks.

The shift was slow, creeping in like sunlight through curtains you forgot to close.

It was the comfort of hearing him hum off-key while making pancakes. The way he knew exactly how you liked your tea, or that you needed silence for the first thirty minutes after a shift. It was the way he looked at you sometimes—soft, unguarded, like you were a home he hadn’t known he was missing.

One night, after a long shift that had left you both emotionally wrecked, you came home and didn’t say a word. Just sank into the couch, kicked off your boots, and stared at the wall.

Buck wordlessly brought you a blanket. Sat beside you without crowding. Waited.

After a while, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever feel like the job just... hollows you out some days?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “But being here? With you? It fills the rest of me back up.”

You didn’t respond. Just sat there, heart stuttering like maybe it had finally caught on to something the rest of you hadn’t.

You weren’t sure what this was—roommates, best friends, something else—but for the first time in a long time, it felt like you weren’t just surviving. You were healing.

Together.

…

The heater had gone out.

Of course it had—on the first truly cold night of the season. You were both bundled on the couch, buried under every blanket the apartment owned. Buck had even added one of his flannel shirts to Goose’s bed, who seemed personally offended by the drop in temperature and took it out on the both of you by yelling dramatically from his spot atop the radiator.

Buck was scrolling on his phone, one arm lazily draped around your shoulder. You’d spent the past hour wedged against him, and by now it felt so natural you almost forgot you weren’t alone on the couch.

Almost.

“You know,” he murmured suddenly, voice low and a little hoarse, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you teased, nudging him gently with your elbow.

He didn’t laugh. Just turned his head slightly, watching you. “About us.”

That made your stomach tighten—just a bit. Not in panic. Not quite. But in anticipation.

You glanced up. “What about us?”

Buck’s eyes searched your face, like he was checking if he was about to say too much.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “Didn’t plan to move in. Didn’t plan to get... attached.”

The word landed heavy between you, but not unpleasantly. It didn’t feel like a warning. It felt like an opening.

You exhaled slowly, your hand resting where his hoodie bunched near your ribs. “But you are?”

He gave a small smile—just one side of his mouth. “Yeah. I think I was before I ever moved in.”

Your heart thumped once, hard. Then again.

The blankets shifted as you turned more toward him, the soft brush of knees and hands and something else hanging in the air like static.

“I care about you,” he said, quiet but sure. “Not just in the roommate, crash-on-your-couch, eat-your-snacks kind of way. I think you know that.”

You did. You’d felt it in every small thing—every look, every laugh, every night he found his way back to you. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it.

Until now.

“I think I’ve known it since you walked into Eddie’s kitchen with a beer like you lived there,” you murmured. “And honestly? I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

Buck’s hand found yours beneath the blankets, fingers curling gently.

“We can take it slow,” he said, as if reading your mind. “I just… needed you to know. I’m here. I’m all in.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft, tentative, but no less certain than anything he’d just said. His lips were warm against yours, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it.

When you finally pulled away, you didn’t move far. Just rested your forehead against his, smiling when Goose meowed loudly from across the room.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered. “But you’re not getting out of paying half the rent.”

Buck grinned, pulling you closer. “Deal.”

…

They didn’t mean for Eddie to find out.

Not like this, anyway.

It started innocently enough—just the three of you catching up after a hellish double shift. The station had been chaos, the call-outs nonstop, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were all running on fumes and pure stubbornness.

So naturally, someone suggested beer and burgers. You didn’t say no. Buck didn’t either.

Now, you were all gathered around Eddie’s kitchen island, fries in one hand, beer in the other, talking over one another like usual. Goose had even come along for the ride and was currently sleeping under Eddie’s table like it was his second home.

Which, to be fair… it kind of was.

Everything was normal—until Buck did it.

You didn’t notice at first. You were mid-bite, something snarky on your tongue, when he casually reached over and brushed his fingers along your wrist. Just a light touch. A reflex.

But Eddie noticed.

Because of course he did.

He went completely still. Not a blink. Not a sound. Just slowly turned his head and looked at you both, brows raised in that signature really? expression that spoke volumes without him having to say a damn thing.

Buck froze, halfway through a sip of beer. “What?” he asked innocently, though he was definitely already blushing.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “No. Don’t ‘what’ me.”

You swallowed your bite with a bit more force than necessary. “Okay, so—maybe something’s… happening.”

Eddie didn’t break eye contact. “Happening.”

Buck shifted in his seat. “It’s new.”

“Clearly not that new if he’s doing the wrist thing,” Eddie replied, pointing at Buck with a fry.

You looked at Buck. Buck looked at you. Then back at Eddie.

“So you’re not… mad?” you asked, cautious.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely. “Why would I be mad?”

Buck blinked. “I don’t know. Because we didn’t tell you?”

Eddie snorted. “I’m not your dad, Buck.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Buck muttered.

Eddie just rolled his eyes and took a drink, then looked between the two of you again—this time, a little softer.

“I figured it was coming eventually,” he said. “You’ve been orbiting each other for months. Was just waiting to see who’d trip first.”

You gave Buck a sideways glance. “It was him.”

“Hey!”

Eddie laughed, for real this time. “As long as you’re good to each other, I don’t care. Just—” He paused, raising a hand. “No PDA in front of me. I already have a teenager. I don’t need you two acting like hormonal high schoolers in my living room.”

Buck held up both hands. “Noted.”

You grinned. “I make no promises.”

Eddie groaned. “God help me.”

I would love to be Colbys headache. 😜

Colby: I'm not doing to well.

Sam: What's wrong?

Colby: I have this headache that comes and goes.

*You enter the room*

Colby: There it is again.

Just want to let you know i’m really loving your Objection series ☺️ so hard to find new Rafael Barba series now on here which is sad so thank you for still writing for him, i can’t wait to see how the story unfolds 🫶🏼🫶🏼

Aw thank you and your very welcome. I noticed there wasn't much Barba stuff anymore and had this idea pop into my head during one of my SVU binges. I'm hoping to have this story run over seasons 16 to 22 so we'll see Amaro leave, everything that happened with Dodds right up until Kathy with a few surprises along the way. Consider it the universe next door to the show.

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 20 Finale

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

4.7k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings none

Authors Note: We've reached the end!

Original / Previous Chapter

The days blurred together in a haze of crying—sometimes the babies, sometimes her. Most of the time, it was both.

Y/N dragged herself from one moment to the next, barely hanging on, snapping at anyone who dared try to help. She didn’t care that everyone meant well. Didn’t care that Theresa gently offered to take one of the girls so she could rest, or that Sam would cook and leave meals outside her door, uneaten and cold. She didn’t want help. She didn’t want them.

She wanted Dean.

Her girls—Mary and Jody—deserved to know him. Deserved his rough voice humming lullabies, his arms rocking them to sleep, his wide grin when one of them smiled for the first time. But he was gone. And pretending otherwise only made the ache worse.

She kept the nursery pristine, almost obsessively so. Every bottle in its place, every onesie folded just right. The twins were fed, changed, held, and loved. But not once did she hand them over to anyone else, even when her hands trembled from exhaustion. They were all she had left of Dean, and she wouldn’t let them go.

Mornings were the worst. She would wake with one or both babies curled against her, and for a split second, she’d roll over expecting to find Dean beside her. And every time, that moment of Jody shattered like glass.

She’d sit up, hold the girls tighter, and pretend she hadn’t cried again.

It was sometime after midnight when the knock came. Not loud. Just a soft, almost hesitant tap at the door.

Y/N didn’t answer.

She was on the floor beside the crib, one arm resting against it, cradling Mary to her chest while Jody slept in the bassinet behind her. Her body throbbed with fatigue, her shoulders tight from days of tension, but nothing compared to the ache in her chest. The empty space beside her—where Dean should have been—felt unbearable.

Another knock. Then, silence.

“Y/N,” came Castiel’s voice—quiet, careful.

She shut her eyes, jaw tightening.

“Go away.”

But the door opened anyway. Of course it did. Angels didn’t need permission.

Castiel stepped inside, his presence soft but undeniable. He moved slowly into the dim room, scanning the shadows until his gaze landed on her. She didn’t bother to look up.

“You haven’t left this room in four days,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re not eating. You’re barely sleeping. The girls—”

“What I need is Dean,” she cut him off, sharply. “Not you. Not a report on how I’m doing. Not this constant hovering.”

Castiel didn’t move. “Dean is gone.”

She turned her head toward him, her eyes blazing despite the exhaustion carved into her face.

“And you can just go see him, can’t you?” she said, voice trembling with restrained fury. “You can just pop into Heaven like it’s nothing. Visit him. Talk to him. While I’m stuck here—trapped—with two babies and no answers.”

Castiel’s expression faltered.

“Don’t deny it. Don’t lie to me,” she pressed, her voice cracking. “I know what you are. I know what you can do. And yet you come here with your sympathy like that’s supposed to make it better.”

“I didn’t go to see him,” Castiel said quietly. “Not once. Because I knew it would be unfair to you.”

Y/N laughed bitterly under her breath, tears welling. “Unfair to me? He’s your friend too, Cas. Don’t pretend it doesn’t eat you alive. But at least you can. You could just walk through those gates and see his face again. Hear his voice. I would give everything for that. Do you even realize what that kind of power means to someone like me?”

Castiel looked down, then slowly crossed the room. He didn’t touch her—he never did without permission—but he knelt beside her, his tone solemn.

“I hear him in Heaven,” he admitted. “Not his voice. Not like before. But the peace? The light? It’s stronger when a soul like his is there. I feel it. It radiates outward.”

Her face crumpled. “Then tell me he’s okay. Please, just—tell me he’s happy.”

Castiel’s eyes softened. “He is. He is more at peace than I have ever seen him. But he misses you. He misses you and the girls. That pain lingers, even in a perfect place.”

A sob escaped before she could stop it. Mary stirred, whimpering, and Y/N instinctively hushed her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m drowning down here,” she whispered. “I can’t do this without him.”

“You are doing it,” Castiel said gently. “And not alone.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how many people are around. None of them are him.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they love you. And so did he. So does he. That love hasn’t left you, Y/N. It’s in every breath your daughters take.”

She didn’t respond for a long time. Just sat there, rocking Mary slightly, the pain raw and exposed between them.

“Stay,” she said finally. “Just for a while. Not because I need help. Just… don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Castiel replied.

And for the first time since Dean died, Y/N let someone stay.

The descent was gradual—so slow that at first, no one noticed.

Y/N stopped sleeping entirely. She only ate enough to keep up her strength for the twins. And when they slept, she didn't. Instead, she read. She read until her eyes burned and her fingers trembled from turning pages.

Every book in the Men of Letters library on angels, resurrection, lore from apocryphal texts, fragments from Heaven’s war, rare Nephilim accounts—she devoured it all. A growing storm of theories and possibilities formed in her mind, fraying at the edges with every passing day.

She stopped seeing Sam and Theresa, stopped letting them into her room. She only emerged to feed the girls, bathe them, rock them. And then she disappeared again, always clutching another volume.

The girls were thriving, healthy and strong—but their mother was unraveling.

Then came the night Castiel appeared again.

He had felt it—the pulse of her energy across the bunker like a beacon, unrefined and full of intent. He found her standing in the war room, her hair unbrushed, circles under her eyes, books scattered across the table in a chaos that had once been meticulously organized.

"You knew," she said as he stepped closer. Her voice was low and brittle, like a fraying wire stretched too tight. "All this time, you knew. You can bring him back."

Cas stiffened. “Y/N—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted, slamming a book down. “I’ve read it all. The Enochian rites. The resurrection rituals. The divine exceptions made during the Fall. Even the lore on Nephilim interference. Don’t you dare stand there and pretend it’s impossible.”

He moved slowly toward her, hands at his sides, calm and cautious. “There are rules.”

“You’re an angel,” she spat. “You break rules. That’s what you do. You raised Dean before, didn’t you? You pulled him from Hell.”

“That was Heaven’s will,” Castiel replied. “I was ordered to. Now? There is no order. No divine instruction. I cannot act on emotion alone.”

“Then lie,” she whispered. “Lie to them. Trick the Host. Steal him out if you have to. You’ve done worse, Cas. You’ve done so much worse for less.”

He stepped closer, voice softening. “You don’t understand what it would cost.”

“I don’t care,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’d give anything. I’d die right here, right now, if it meant he could hold his daughters.”

Castiel’s face twisted in quiet agony. “Y/N—”

“You get to see him,” she snapped. “You walk in and out of Heaven like it’s a hallway. You get to know he’s safe. You get to feel his peace. And me? I get nothing. I get to hear his voice in my dreams and wake up with my arms empty.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Y/N’s breath came in hard, shallow gasps. She clutched the edge of the war table like it was the only thing holding her up. Her mind raced with every word she’d read, every ritual that might be twisted into a loophole.

“You owe me,” she said. “You owe him. Bring him back, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes shimmered, but he didn’t speak.

“I swear to you,” she said, voice cracking, “I’ll find another way. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. I don’t care if I have to summon every goddamned archangel in existence. I’m not raising them alone. I won’t.”

The twins cried from down the hall.

Castiel turned his head, just slightly—toward the sound, toward the reminder of what Dean left behind.

“I will not desecrate his peace,” he said quietly. “Not even for you.”

Y/N stared at him, her face crumpling, fury collapsing into anguish.

“Then leave,” she whispered.

He did.

And she stood in the center of the war room, books scattered like broken promises around her feet, and let herself fall apart.

…

Castiel entered Heaven not with ceremony, but with solemn weight.

He stepped through the veil in silence, the hum of celestial energy thrumming faintly in the distance. Heaven had changed since Jack's ascension. The cold bureaucracy of the old Host was gone, replaced by something softer—more open, more human.

But even still, some doors were not meant to be opened lightly.

Castiel stood in the Garden—Heaven’s heart, where souls wandered freely beneath ever-blooming trees and gentle sunlight. Everything here was serene. Peaceful.

Except for him.

Jack was already waiting. He sat barefoot in the grass beneath an arching willow, sunlight dancing on his skin. He looked young, impossibly young for someone bearing the mantle of God. But his eyes—his eyes held eternity.

“I knew you’d come,” Jack said quietly, not looking up. “You’ve been wrestling with the question since the moment Dean died.”

Castiel didn’t speak right away. His trench coat barely stirred in the celestial breeze. He watched Jack closely, searching his face for a trace of the boy he once knew—the child he raised, protected, mourned.

“Y/N is falling apart,” Castiel said at last.

Jack nodded, fingers idly brushing the petals of a flower near his knee. “She’s grieving. And she’s not alone in that.”

“She’s beyond grief now. She’s... desperate.” Cas took a slow step forward. “She’s reading resurrection rites, apocryphal scrolls. She’s going to burn herself out trying to find a way. She thinks I’m holding back. And maybe I am.”

Jack’s gaze met his then—gentle, but immeasurably ancient. “Are you asking me for permission? Or for power?”

Castiel swallowed. “Both.”

Silence hung between them, thick and sacred.

“I could bring Dean back,” Jack said, voice steady. “With a word, I could restore his body. His soul. His memories. He could walk back into that bunker like nothing ever happened.”

Cas felt a flicker of hope, painful and sharp.

“But,” Jack continued, “there is a balance. Dean died fulfilling his purpose. He died at peace, surrounded by love. To bring him back would mean unraveling that final thread.”

“He didn’t get to meet his daughters,” Cas said. “He didn’t get to live the life he earned. That wasn’t peace—it was unfinished.”

Jack looked away again, toward a distant hill where a soul wandered alone, humming some long-forgotten tune.

“Sometimes peace isn’t a full story,” Jack said. “It’s a quiet ending. And sometimes love means letting go.”

Castiel stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “She’s drowning, Jack. The girls—Dean’s daughters—will grow up without knowing him. If there is a way, if there’s even a chance... I have to ask. What would it take?”

Jack was silent for a long time. The wind whispered through the Garden, and for a moment, everything was still.

Jack looked up at him again. “It would take sacrifice. A life for a life. Or something greater. Dean’s return would echo across realms—it would upset the natural order, fracture the peace of countless souls. He would not come back without cost.”

Castiel stood still, the quiet words settling over him like snowfall. He understood. He had always understood.

He looked at Jack—really looked at him. The boy who had become God. The child he had raised. The one who had once looked to him for guidance, for love, for identity.

Now Castiel looked with nothing but certainty.

Jack didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

And Castiel didn’t speak. He only bowed his head.

Just once.

A silent agreement passed between them—wordless, sacred, irreversible.

The wind in the Garden shifted.

The light grew warmer.

Jack closed his eyes.

And Castiel disappeared.

…

The night air was cold, biting at my skin as I stood in the center of the old crossroads.

It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made you feel like the world was holding its breath, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes. The box in my hands felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Inside it, every piece of me I had left to give. Dirt crusted my boots. My hands shook.

I was really going to do this.

I fell to my knees, digging. Just like the books had said. Four corners. Unmarked earth. Blood if needed.

I wasn’t afraid. Not of the demon. Not of the deal. Not of what it would cost.

Dean was gone. And there wasn’t anything left of me without him.

The girls were safe. Sam and Theresa were doing everything right. But I couldn’t do this anymore—pretending like my soul wasn’t already six feet under with him. I needed him back. I needed to be whole again.

I pressed the box into the earth. A tear slid down my cheek as I whispered the words.

But before the last syllable left my lips, the air cracked like thunder.

Grace.

The light around me shimmered with gold.

“Don’t,” came a voice, quiet and calm but firm as iron.

I spun around, stumbling to my feet.

“Cas—” I nearly choked on the name.

He stood just outside the circle, trench coat fluttering, face drawn tight with something I couldn’t place. Grief. Resolve. Love.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You were never meant to.”

My voice cracked. “Then who was? Who’s supposed to live like this—raising his daughters without him? Pretending everything’s fine when I feel like I’m drowning every second of the day? I need him, Cas.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” I snapped. “You can go to Heaven. You can see him. I’ve read every book in the library. I know you can visit. And yet you let me rot down here with nothing but memories. You let the girls grow up never knowing their father!”

Cas didn’t flinch. He just walked closer.

“I did visit,” he said softly. “And I spoke with Jack.”

I froze.

“What?”

He looked at me then, and something passed between us—something deep and ancient. The kind of weight only an angel could carry.

“You were never meant to carry this pain alone. And you won’t have to for much longer.”

I stared at him, hope and fear clashing violently inside my chest. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t promise when. Or how. But I made a vow. To Jack. To Dean. To you. And soon… you won’t have to call the dark things anymore.”

My knees gave out. I dropped to the ground, sobbing into the dirt. The box spilled beside me, its contents scattering—photographs, Dean’s amulet, his old flask.

Castiel knelt beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

“I will not let you be alone forever,” he said.

For the first time in weeks, I believed him.

…

The sun was just starting to rise, washing the sky in soft strokes of pink and orange when Cas brought me to the house.

It didn’t feel real.

Two stories. White shutters. A little porch swing that creaked softly in the breeze. There were flowerbeds, already blooming, and a patch of wild green yard out back that looked big enough for the girls to run wild in.

It looked like something out of someone else’s life—somewhere safe. Somewhere still.

“Where are we?” I asked, voice thin, like I was afraid speaking too loud might break whatever fragile thing was happening.

Cas didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the house with that quiet reverence he sometimes got when he looked at the sky or talked about humanity. Then he turned to me.

“This is your home now. Yours, the girls’, and Dean’s.”

The world stopped moving.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I spoke to Jack,” Cas said, stepping closer, his voice soft but sure. “We reached an agreement.”

I could barely breathe. “Dean…?”

Cas nodded. “He’s coming back. But there’s a condition.”

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Anything.”

“You and Dean have to let go of hunting. No demons. No ghosts. No monsters. You live a normal life. This house is warded, protected by Jack’s power. No supernatural being can enter without your permission.”

My knees went weak. I grabbed the porch railing to steady myself.

“A normal life?” I whispered, like I didn’t quite understand the words.

“You raise your daughters. You rest. You heal. Dean gets to be a father, and you get to be with him again. But this is your only chance. If either of you return to hunting… the deal ends.”

I didn’t respond. I just stared at the front door like maybe if I looked hard enough, I’d see Dean stepping through it already. Alive. Whole. Real.

Cas placed a hand on my arm. “He’ll be here soon.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until he gently wiped a tear from my cheek. I turned and looked up at him.

“Why?” I asked. “Why did Jack say yes?”

Cas hesitated. “Because he saw you. Saw what this grief was doing. And because Dean—he earned peace a thousand times over.”

“And you?”

Cas offered a faint smile. “I believe in second chances. Even for the broken.”

I nodded, unable to speak. My chest felt cracked open, all the pain and rage and ache pouring out, replaced with something softer. Something I hadn’t let myself feel in months:

Hope.

Cas gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Go inside.”

I opened the door and stepped into a home that already smelled faintly like cedar and lemon. There was furniture—simple, warm, familiar. Two bassinets sat by the window, facing the sunlight. The couch had a dent in it, like someone had already spent time curled up there. There were picture frames on the wall—empty now, but waiting.

Waiting for a life to begin.

And then I heard it.

Footsteps on the porch.

My heart slammed into my ribs, and I turned so fast the world blurred.

The door creaked. The air shifted.

And there he was.

Dean.

His eyes locked on mine, and everything inside me broke and stitched itself back together in the same breath. He looked exactly like I remembered—tired eyes, crooked smirk, soul-deep weariness tucked behind every glance—but alive. So vividly alive.

He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around me. I clung to him like I’d never let go again. My hands tangled in his shirt. His lips pressed against my temple.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice rough.

“I love you,” I breathed.

He pulled back just enough to cup my face. “I love you too.”

Outside, the sky kept shifting, the world kept spinning.

But inside our little house, time finally stood still.

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion. Everything around me—Dean, the house, the air itself—was just… perfect. The kind of perfect you don’t ever really expect to happen in your lifetime, but here it was. Here he was.

Dean.

He was holding me, holding on like he wasn’t sure if he could, like maybe he’d disappear again if he let go. But he didn’t. We just stood there, breathing each other in, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us like a soft blanket.

“Dean,” I whispered, pulling back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” he said, voice thick, like he couldn’t believe it either. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw as if making sure this wasn’t some dream I’d wake up from. “We’re really doing this. We’re really—”

Dean’s lips pressed to mine, cutting off the words I didn’t know how to finish. When he pulled back, I could see it in his eyes—the promise, the relief. “We are. You and me, and the girls.” His voice dropped a little, as if the weight of it hit him too. “We’re a family.”

Tears burned my eyes again. This time, they weren’t from grief—they were from something deeper, something quieter. I nodded, feeling it in every part of me. “Yeah. We are.”

And then, like a gift, like a miracle, the sound of tiny coos filled the air. The soft gurgling noise that was both a question and an answer, coming from the other room.

“Come on,” I whispered, taking his hand and tugging him toward the nursery.

His steps faltered just slightly, but he followed. We passed through the living room, where the sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow on everything, and into the room where our daughters were sleeping soundly in their cribs.

Dean paused in the doorway, his breath catching as his gaze landed on them. The twins—our girls—lay there in the soft pink blankets we’d picked out weeks ago. Their tiny faces were peaceful, round, perfect.

I stepped into the room, guiding Dean with me. Slowly, he approached the first crib where one of the girls lay. His hand hovered just above her, like he wasn’t sure how to touch her, but then he reached down, his fingers brushing gently against the baby’s tiny hand.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, looking up at me, his face full of awe.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” I said, voice thick with emotion. “They’re going to know how loved they are.”

Dean’s lips trembled, his eyes shining with something I hadn’t seen in so long. “I can’t believe this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to be their father.”

I stepped beside him, wrapping my arm around his waist, and together we looked down at the girls, at our daughters. I could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and I knew mine was matching his beat for beat.

And then, Dean did something I’ll never forget. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the forehead of the girl in the crib. He whispered something, so soft, so tender, that I could barely hear it, but I knew what it was.

“I’ll always be here, baby girl. Always.”

And just like that, the world shifted. The pain, the loss, the years of fighting, of struggling—all of it seemed so far away in that moment. Because in front of us, right there, was everything we’d ever wanted. A family. A home. A future.

Dean stepped back, standing straight again, but still keeping his eyes on the twins. “They’re gonna be alright, right?” he asked, as though it was the only question that mattered.

“They’re going to be perfect,” I said, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. “Just like you.”

We stood there together for a while, just watching them sleep. The sound of their breathing filled the room, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby that was just for us. And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of peace. In the possibility of something real.

For the first time in a long time, I felt whole.

…

It’s strange how life has a way of weaving moments together. The simple, everyday things that used to feel like they were just part of the grind—things I didn’t even notice—now feel like a blessing.

Like the soft click of the front door opening and closing. Like the way the air smells after a spring rain, fresh and clean. Like the sound of tiny feet shuffling on the hardwood floor.

And then there’s Dean.

Every moment with him feels precious now. The way he moves around the house, the way he looks at me as though he can’t quite believe we’re here, together. It’s like we’re both waiting for something—waiting for the world to remind us that this is real. But I don’t need a reminder anymore.

We’ve settled into a routine, something I never thought I’d have. Dean helps with the twins when he’s not working on the house, and we’ve even started making plans for things we never thought we’d get to do.

Like a trip to the beach.

“Alright, baby,” Dean says, his voice rough with exhaustion but soft with love, as he reaches for one of the babies from the crib. “Let’s get you ready for your bath, huh?”

I watch him from the doorway, my heart swelling in my chest. His hands are steady as he lifts our daughter into his arms, cradling her with such care that I can hardly believe how far we’ve come. His touch is gentle, like he’s still learning how to be her dad, but he’s getting better every day.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are full of warmth. “You doing okay?”

I nod, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

Dean walks toward me, his steps slow and deliberate as he carries the baby. “You sure you’re okay? It’s been a lot, I know.”

I smile softly, feeling the weight of the words in my chest. “I’m better now. I just… I never thought I’d get to see this. Us. Together. Our girls.”

He stops in front of me, his free hand reaching out to touch my face. “Me neither,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But here we are.”

I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to just feel. To feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, the promise of a future we thought was lost.

Dean presses his lips to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here.”

I open my eyes and look up at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him. I believe in us.

We’re a family now. And nothing—no matter what came before, no matter what might come next—could change that.

The sound of the babies gurgling softly in the other room pulls me back into the present. Dean looks toward the nursery, and we both share a quiet laugh. It’s a laugh that says we’re in this together, no matter what.

“We should probably get them fed,” I say, my voice light, teasing.

Dean smirks. “I’m on it. But you’re doing the diapers.”

I raise an eyebrow, mock-horrified. “Oh, so we’re trading roles now?”

“You bet,” Dean says, the grin on his face wide and full of that familiar cocky charm. “But you’re better at it. Trust me.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Alright, alright. I’ll take it this time.”

Dean chuckles, and as he walks away, I watch him with a softness in my chest. It’s a feeling I never thought I’d get to have again. Not after everything.

We’re here. We’re safe. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be okay. We’ll face whatever comes next together. As a family.

“Ready for this?” I ask as he turns back to look at me, baby in his arms.

Dean smiles. “Always.”

And with that, we walk into the next chapter of our lives. Together. No more demons. No more hunts. Just us and our girls, building a life we never thought we’d have.

And I know now, more than ever, that this is where I was meant to be.

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Master list

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20 Finale

Oh no mistakes were made! Tumblr what have you done to me!!!! I confidently finished and submitted my Web Design assignment only to then go back and look at the Tumblr screenshot I used for my example and welp....

I am mortified! My Uni assignment has now been smut bombed and by Eddie Munson none the less!

Objection! Part 6

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

2.1k 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

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Sonny’s P.O.V

I woke up with a stiff neck and a sour mood. The cot in the bunk room wasn’t exactly built for comfort, but it worked when you needed a quick nap. I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had taken up permanent residence there, and glanced at the clock on the wall. Two hours, tops. Not enough, but it’d have to do.

Dragging myself out of bed, I grabbed my jacket and headed back to the bullpen. The precinct was buzzing, the low murmur of voices filling the air. Olivia was leaning over Amanda’s desk, talking quietly, while Finn stood off to the side nursing a coffee. Rafael was pacing with his phone in hand, looking as sharp and stressed as ever.

But something was off. It took me a second to realize what it was. Or rather, who was missing.

“Where’s Amaro? And Y/N?” I asked, my voice cutting through the noise. Everyone paused for a moment, looking at me.

Finn was the first to answer, taking a sip of his coffee. “Think they went chasing a lead. Y/N was deep in something earlier. Looks like she had a breakthrough.”

I frowned. “A lead? Nobody told me about a lead. When’d they leave?”

Amanda shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Maybe an hour ago? She and Amaro were at the board, talking about something. Didn’t catch the details.”

That didn’t sit right with me. Y/N wasn’t the kind of person to rush off without looping someone in, but Amaro? If they went off together, it had to be important. My gut twisted, that bad feeling I couldn’t quite name settling in.

I pulled out my phone and typed a quick message to Y/N.

“Hey, where are you? Finn says you and Amaro went chasing a lead. Let me know you’re okay. Don’t make me come find you.”

I hit send and stared at the screen, willing it to light up with her reply. Nothing. The seconds dragged on like hours.

“Anyone hear from them since they left?” I asked, glancing around the room.

Rafael looked up from his phone, frowning. “No, but that’s not unusual. They could be following up on something.”

“Yeah,” I muttered, trying to convince myself that was all it was. But my gut wasn’t buying it.

Olivia must’ve noticed the look on my face because she walked over, her expression soft but serious. “Sonny, what’s going on? You think something’s wrong?”

I hesitated, weighing my words. “I don’t know, Liv. It just doesn’t feel right. Y/N’s not impulsive, not like Amaro. If they went after something, it must’ve been big. And if they’re not checking in…”

Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder. “Let’s give it a little more time. If we don’t hear from them soon, we’ll start tracking them down.”

I nodded, but the knot in my stomach wasn’t going anywhere. Something was wrong—I could feel it. And I couldn’t shake the thought that whatever Y/N and Amaro had gone after, they were in way over their heads.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

The air down here was suffocating, thick with the stench of mildew and something far worse I didn’t want to identify. My flashlight cut through the darkness, casting long shadows on the crumbling walls around us. Ahead, the tunnel forked into three paths, each one darker and more foreboding than the last. The labyrinth’s promise was clear: choose wisely or regret it.

Nick stood next to me, his flashlight aimed toward the middle path. His jaw was tight, his usual calm demeanor strained by the growing unease that matched my own. I could tell he didn’t like this any more than I did.

“So,” I said, trying to mask the anxiety creeping into my voice. “Which way do you think our mystery sadist wants us to go?”

Nick sighed, stepping forward to peer into the tunnels. “None of them, if he has his way. He’s probably banking on us wasting time or walking into a trap.”

“Well, he’s not wrong. It’s not like we’ve got much else to go on.”

He reached for his phone, his fingers moving quickly as he pulled up a map app. “Let’s see if we can make this easier. Maybe there’s an old city blueprint or something we can—” He stopped, frowning at the screen. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I glanced over his shoulder. The screen showed a single, dreaded message: No Service.

“Perfect,” I muttered, my frustration boiling over. “Because of course the psycho picked a spot with zero reception.”

Nick slid his phone back into his pocket, his shoulders tense. “We’re on our own here. No maps, no backup, no way out but forward.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting real tired of forward being such a bad option.” I swung my flashlight across the tunnels again, trying to make sense of the choice in front of us. The left path was narrower than the others, with streaks of something dark smeared along the walls. The middle one had standing water at the entrance, the faint ripple of movement suggesting something alive down there. The right path looked the most “normal,” if you could call it that, but the air felt heavier when I aimed the light toward it.

Nick stepped back beside me, studying the same paths. “We can’t just pick one and hope for the best. There’s got to be a clue, something we missed.”

I turned in a slow circle, scanning the walls and floor for anything—anything at all—that might point us in the right direction. My eyes caught on a faint marking near the base of the left tunnel, a symbol scratched into the concrete. A spiral.

“Hey, look at this,” I said, crouching down to get a closer view. “It’s the same symbol that was on the last clue. The one on the note.”

Nick knelt beside me, studying it. “You think it’s pointing us this way?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just another trick.” I glanced down the tunnel, the beam of my flashlight barely cutting through the gloom. My stomach churned at the thought of what might be waiting for us.

Nick stood, his voice firm. “We’ve got to make a call. If we wait too long, he’s going to start wondering why we’re not moving.”

I nodded, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Alright. Left it is. But if this spiral ends up leading us straight to whatever nightmare this guy’s cooked up…”

Nick gave me a grim smile. “Then we do what we always do—figure it out and fight our way through.”

I tried to take comfort in his steady presence, but as we stepped toward the left tunnel, my gut was screaming that this was exactly where he wanted us to go.

…

Sonny’s P.O.V

Five hours. Five hours since anyone had last spoken to Amaro or Y/N. I’d been staring at the board, trying to piece together what she might’ve seen. My coffee had gone cold hours ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Every clue, every detail—none of it was adding up, and it felt like the answers were just out of reach.

“They’ve been gone too long,” I said, more to myself than anyone else. My voice broke the silence in the bullpen, making everyone glance up. “What the hell did Y/N see?”

Finn, leaning against the edge of his desk, finally spoke up. “The only thing all the dead ends had in common? Each spot had an entrance to an old, unused sewer system. That’s all I got.”

I blinked, my mind racing as I turned back to the board. Sewers. I should’ve seen it earlier, but everything else—the dead ends, the letters, the missing teens—had been such a distraction.

Before I could say another word, Rafael stood abruptly, his face pale as if something had just clicked in his mind. “That’s where they are,” he said, his voice sharp with certainty. “The tunnels.”

Olivia straightened, her expression turning grim. “You’re sure?”

“Think about it,” Rafael said, gesturing to the clues on the board. “The guy keeps sending us to places connected to these tunnels. He’s been teasing this the whole time. If Y/N figured it out, and Amaro went with her…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “That’s where they are.”

I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair, adrenaline kicking in. “Then we’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go.”

The bullpen came to life around me. Finn grabbed his coat, muttering something about knowing the nearest access point. Olivia called for patrol officers to stand by in case we needed backup. Rafael looked like he was trying to keep his calm, but I could see the tension in his hands as he adjusted his tie.

“Alright,” Olivia said, her voice steady but firm. “We stick together. If they’re down there, we find them and bring them out.”

I nodded, clutching my phone tightly as we headed for the door. Every step out of the precinct felt like it took too long, but the thought of Y/N and Amaro down in those tunnels kept me moving.

I couldn’t shake the feeling in my gut, the one that had been eating at me since I woke up. They were in trouble—real trouble—and if we didn’t find them soon… I didn’t want to think about what might happen.

…

Y/N’s P.O.V

My legs ached, and my back wasn’t doing much better, but the adrenaline kept me moving. The tunnel seemed endless, the walls closing in more with every step. Nick and I had been at this for what felt like hours, shining our flashlights into every crack, crevice, and too-small offshoot we passed. Each one was a dead end. We’d check, just in case, but nothing. No teens. No way out. Just more darkness and the echo of our footsteps.

The tunnel finally widened ahead, revealing another fork—this time, two paths stretched into the gloom, one veering left, the other right. I stopped, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand, and turned to Nick. “Well, here we go again. Left or right?”

He didn’t answer immediately, scanning the floor and walls like he was trying to read the mind of the psycho who’d set this up. I joined him, squatting down to inspect the ground for any markings, scuffs, or clues that might point us in the right direction.

That’s when I saw it. A faint scrape on the floor to the right, almost like something heavy had been dragged through. My stomach sank as I followed it with my flashlight, the beam catching on a glimmer of something small and metallic further down.

Nick was already moving to grab it, crouching down to examine it. When he stood, his expression was grim. He held up a bracelet—one of those cheap charm ones you find at gift shops. A tiny heart charm dangled from it, the kind a teenager might wear.

“This has to belong to one of them,” he said, his voice low. “The missing kids.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling over me. The right path wasn’t just another tunnel—it was leading us to one of them. Maybe alive. Maybe not.

But then there was the left path, dark and foreboding, with no clues at all. The logical part of my brain screamed at me that it had to be the way out, the next step in the sick game we’d been pulled into.

Nick’s voice pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts. “So, what’s it going to be? Do we keep looking for a way out, or do we go after the kid?”

My heart pounded in my chest as I looked between the two tunnels. Left meant survival, maybe a chance to regroup and call for backup. Right meant walking headfirst into who-knew-what—probably a trap—but also a chance to save someone.

I turned to Nick, my voice steadier than I felt. “If that bracelet’s theirs, we can’t just walk away. We go right.”

Nick studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. But if this is another dead end, we’re turning around and finding a way out.”

“Deal.”

With one last glance down the left path, I turned toward the right, gripping my flashlight tighter as we stepped into the unknown.

…

Rafael’s P.O.V

We reached the third entrance, and it was the same as the others. Locked. Rusted. Impenetrable. The padlock stared back at me like it was mocking me, its cold steel glinting under the faint streetlight. I clenched my fists, my chest tightening with frustration.

“This can’t be happening,” I muttered under my breath.

Olivia moved to inspect the lock, her flashlight steady in her hand. “This one’s been sealed for years,” she said, her voice calm. Too calm. “We’ll call Finn, see if he’s had better luck.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure, the helplessness, the damned guilt—it boiled over. I slammed my fist into the door, the sharp clang reverberating down the empty street. The pain in my knuckles was immediate, but I didn’t care.

“Rafael!” Olivia grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “What the hell are you doing?”

I let out a shaky breath, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “This is my fault, Olivia. I should’ve stopped her. I shouldn’t have let her go chasing clues on her own, not even for a minute.”

“You didn’t ‘let her,’ Rafael,” she said firmly. “Y/N’s capable. She’s smart, and she’s with Amaro. She’ll be fine.”

The mention of Amaro made me tense involuntarily, and Olivia noticed. She always noticed. Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

Then she tilted her head, her tone softer but pointed. “This isn’t just about her being out there, is it? Why are you so worried about Y/N?”

I looked away, staring at the graffiti-covered wall beside the door, trying to will my emotions back under control. But it was no use. The truth had been clawing its way to the surface for months now, and there was no hiding it anymore.

“You care about her,” Olivia said, more an observation than a question. “No, it’s more than that. You’re in love with her.”

The words hung in the air between us, undeniable and suffocating. I ran a hand over my face, letting out a bitter laugh. “Does it matter, Liv? She doesn’t know. I never told her. And now—” My voice caught, and I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

Olivia’s expression softened, her voice gentle but insistent. “You’re going to tell her. When we find her, Rafael, you’re going to tell her how you feel.”

I shook my head, the thought of it almost laughable. “What if we’re too late? What if—”

“No,” she cut me off, her tone firm. “We’re going to find them. Y/N and Amaro are out there, and they’re alive. You don’t get to give up on them, and you don’t get to give up on this. On her.”

I looked at her, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “And what if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Olivia’s smile was small but knowing. “You’re smarter than that, Rafael. You know she does.”

I stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. She wasn’t just saying it to reassure me—she meant it. And for the first time in hours, a spark of hope flickered to life inside me.

“Alright,” I said quietly, the promise forming in my mind before I could stop it. “When we find her, I’ll tell her.”

Olivia nodded, her hand briefly squeezing my shoulder before she stepped back toward the car. “Good. Now, let’s go find another entrance. We’re not stopping until we get them out of there.”

I followed her, the determination in her voice pulling me forward. No matter how many locked doors stood in our way, I wouldn’t stop. Not until I saw Y/N again—and told her everything.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight

Got myself a little treat, can't wait to start them when I get home from working tonight.

The amount of awkward I feel cannot be accurately quantified right now. I'm currently sitting on a bus travelling to the next town over with a bunch of school kids. Behind me is 2 girls that I'm guessing are about 15/16. Apparently, they have been spying on my phone and text messages and they saw I was talking to my finance whose saved in my phone as 'My Man's' and ask me if the guy in the pink hoodie on my home screen is my boyfriend because his cute.....MY HOMESCREENS FRICKEN OLIVER STARK. Like girls in my dreams.

The homescreen photo in question.

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.