hello! a new fic is coming.. it’s close to 10k words and has all the angst, fluff, smut, etc that a reader could ask for!!! can’t wait for you to read it.
✦ Summary: A day at the precinct turns unexpectedly playful when Rafeal slides into the detective’s workspace, sparking flirtatious banter that leaves the entire bullpen buzzing.
✦ Author’s Note: second post ever! honestly, i just love how playful and flirty this turned out. especially since i have an angsty fic i have been working on in between this and another fic. look out for that. ps. i tried my best to keep it gender neutral but if i missed something, let me know! 𑣲
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The bullpen was a hum of phones, murmurs, and the occasional clatter of files. You were elbow deep in paperwork when a familiar voice cut through the din, sharp, confident, and just the tiniest bit mischievous.
“Detective,” he drawled, leaning against the edge of your desk with that crooked grin that somehow managed to make you simultaneously annoyed and delighted. “Still pretending you don’t like doing paperwork?”
You didn’t look up. “Someone’s got to keep the precinct from imploding. You’d know if you tried it once.”
He chuckled, tilting his head, eyes glinting. “I’ve seen you in action. Trust me, chaos has nothing on you.”
You finally met his gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Flattery? That’s dangerously close to unethical, Rafeal.”
“Unethical is my specialty,” he said smoothly, sliding a folder across your desk. “But strictly legal when it’s for work purposes.”
You leaned back, smirking, pretending to consider him. “Hmm. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or call HR.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to be a conspiratorial whisper. “Go ahead. Call HR. I’ll be charmingly unrepentant.”
A beat passed. Then, in perfect sync, you both burst out laughing—laughter that drew a few curious glances from nearby detectives, but neither of you cared.
“Fine,” you said, tossing the folder back. “I’ll give you this one. But only because I like being amused.”
“Amused is my favorite state to put you in,” he said, straightening. “And just so you know,” he gestured to the folder, “I’ve got a whole stack of files we’ll be ‘working’ on together later.”
You groaned, hiding a grin behind your hand. “I’m starting to think you enjoy this way too much.”
“I think you secretly enjoy it more,” he replied smoothly, turning to leave, then pausing at the doorway. “Try to stay out of trouble until then, Detective.”
You watched him go, already anticipating the next round of teasing, the back and forth that made the precinct feel a little less like a cage and a little more like… this.
In the Sargent’s office, Olivia and Rafeal were mulling over a case file. Barba explaining the witness timeline, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at you from across the bullpen. “So,” Olivia said, voice casual but pointed, “the detective seems… unusually cheerful today. And you, ADA Barba,” her eyebrows went up slightly “are leaning a little too close to make that ‘just professional’ line believable.”
Rafeal raised an innocent brow, tapping the folder. “Professional curiosity only, Olivia. You know me.”
Olivia smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. And I suppose sliding folders across desks and whispering in confidential tones is part of your professional toolkit?”
He chuckled softly, pretending to shuffle papers. “A man’s got to keep the workflow interesting.”
You glanced over at the scene, trying not to laugh outright as Olivia gave Rafeal a pointed look. “Interesting, huh? I’ve seen you flirt less subtly in depositions.”
Rafeal’s grin faltered just a fraction. “I—uh—strictly procedural. All business.”
Olivia’s smile deepened. “Mmh-hmm. We’ll see how long you can keep that up before someone notices. I’m… watching.”
You couldn’t hold it in anymore, laughter spilling out across your desk, and Rafeal finally threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, yes, maybe there’s a hint of… charm. But it’s still work-adjacent.”
“Work-adjacent,” Olivia repeated, teasing, shaking her head. “You lawyers and your euphemisms.”
Once Olivia returned to her office, you leaned back with a sly smile, tilting your head toward Rafeal. “So,” you murmured, voice low enough for just him, “I guess it’s true… everyone notices when you’re trying to charm me. Even Olivia.”
Rafeal froze for a beat, then quirked that signature half smile. “Oh? And what do you think that says about me?”
You tapped the edge of your desk, leaning forward. “That you’re either very confident, or very reckless. Maybe both. But honestly? I’m entertained either way.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, mock exasperation softening into something warmer. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But watch it, you might make me start thinking this is… personal.”
“Maybe I want you to,” you teased, eyes sparkling. “Keep up the charm, Rafeal. The rest of the precinct already knows your type.”
As if on cue, a few detectives at nearby desks exchanged glances, whispering with barely contained smirks. Amanda nudged Sonny, nodding toward the two of you, clearly in on the silent game. Someone else whistled softly under their breath, making you roll your eyes but grin anyway.
Rafeal caught the glance too, tilting his head at you. “Looks like the office grapevine approves of us,” he murmured, voice low and playful.
“Or they’re all betting on how long it takes for you to get flustered,” you replied, leaning back, smug.
He leaned closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth, and whispered, “I’d say the odds are in my favor.”
Minutes later, he gathered his case files, straightening his suit jacket before heading toward the exit. As he passed your desk, he paused, glanced back over his shoulder, and shot you a slow, teasing wink.
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Leaving already?”
“Duty calls,” he said, voice low, almost a purr, “but I’ll be back… and I fully intend to win that bet.”
And with that, he was gone. Leaving the precinct buzzing, your coworkers smirking knowingly, and that lingering spark between you two crackling in the air. Even in a room full of detectives, some games were meant to be played just between the two of you.
✦ Summary: A day at the precinct turns unexpectedly playful when Rafeal slides into the detective’s workspace, sparking flirtatious banter that leaves the entire bullpen buzzing.
✦ Author’s Note: second post ever! honestly, i just love how playful and flirty this turned out. especially since i have an angsty fic i have been working on in between this and another fic. look out for that. ps. i tried my best to keep it gender neutral but if i missed something, let me know! 𑣲
𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒
The bullpen was a hum of phones, murmurs, and the occasional clatter of files. You were elbow deep in paperwork when a familiar voice cut through the din, sharp, confident, and just the tiniest bit mischievous.
“Detective,” he drawled, leaning against the edge of your desk with that crooked grin that somehow managed to make you simultaneously annoyed and delighted. “Still pretending you don’t like doing paperwork?”
You didn’t look up. “Someone’s got to keep the precinct from imploding. You’d know if you tried it once.”
He chuckled, tilting his head, eyes glinting. “I’ve seen you in action. Trust me, chaos has nothing on you.”
You finally met his gaze, arching an eyebrow. “Flattery? That’s dangerously close to unethical, Rafeal.”
“Unethical is my specialty,” he said smoothly, sliding a folder across your desk. “But strictly legal when it’s for work purposes.”
You leaned back, smirking, pretending to consider him. “Hmm. I’m not sure if I should be grateful or call HR.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to be a conspiratorial whisper. “Go ahead. Call HR. I’ll be charmingly unrepentant.”
A beat passed. Then, in perfect sync, you both burst out laughing—laughter that drew a few curious glances from nearby detectives, but neither of you cared.
“Fine,” you said, tossing the folder back. “I’ll give you this one. But only because I like being amused.”
“Amused is my favorite state to put you in,” he said, straightening. “And just so you know,” he gestured to the folder, “I’ve got a whole stack of files we’ll be ‘working’ on together later.”
You groaned, hiding a grin behind your hand. “I’m starting to think you enjoy this way too much.”
“I think you secretly enjoy it more,” he replied smoothly, turning to leave, then pausing at the doorway. “Try to stay out of trouble until then, Detective.”
You watched him go, already anticipating the next round of teasing, the back and forth that made the precinct feel a little less like a cage and a little more like… this.
In the Sargent’s office, Olivia and Rafeal were mulling over a case file. Barba explaining the witness timeline, he couldn’t help sneaking glances at you from across the bullpen. “So,” Olivia said, voice casual but pointed, “the detective seems… unusually cheerful today. And you, ADA Barba,” her eyebrows went up slightly “are leaning a little too close to make that ‘just professional’ line believable.”
Rafeal raised an innocent brow, tapping the folder. “Professional curiosity only, Olivia. You know me.”
Olivia smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. And I suppose sliding folders across desks and whispering in confidential tones is part of your professional toolkit?”
He chuckled softly, pretending to shuffle papers. “A man’s got to keep the workflow interesting.”
You glanced over at the scene, trying not to laugh outright as Olivia gave Rafeal a pointed look. “Interesting, huh? I’ve seen you flirt less subtly in depositions.”
Rafeal’s grin faltered just a fraction. “I—uh—strictly procedural. All business.”
Olivia’s smile deepened. “Mmh-hmm. We’ll see how long you can keep that up before someone notices. I’m… watching.”
You couldn’t hold it in anymore, laughter spilling out across your desk, and Rafeal finally threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, yes, maybe there’s a hint of… charm. But it’s still work-adjacent.”
“Work-adjacent,” Olivia repeated, teasing, shaking her head. “You lawyers and your euphemisms.”
Once Olivia returned to her office, you leaned back with a sly smile, tilting your head toward Rafeal. “So,” you murmured, voice low enough for just him, “I guess it’s true… everyone notices when you’re trying to charm me. Even Olivia.”
Rafeal froze for a beat, then quirked that signature half smile. “Oh? And what do you think that says about me?”
You tapped the edge of your desk, leaning forward. “That you’re either very confident, or very reckless. Maybe both. But honestly? I’m entertained either way.”
He chuckled, shaking his head, mock exasperation softening into something warmer. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But watch it, you might make me start thinking this is… personal.”
“Maybe I want you to,” you teased, eyes sparkling. “Keep up the charm, Rafeal. The rest of the precinct already knows your type.”
As if on cue, a few detectives at nearby desks exchanged glances, whispering with barely contained smirks. Amanda nudged Sonny, nodding toward the two of you, clearly in on the silent game. Someone else whistled softly under their breath, making you roll your eyes but grin anyway.
Rafeal caught the glance too, tilting his head at you. “Looks like the office grapevine approves of us,” he murmured, voice low and playful.
“Or they’re all betting on how long it takes for you to get flustered,” you replied, leaning back, smug.
He leaned closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth, and whispered, “I’d say the odds are in my favor.”
Minutes later, he gathered his case files, straightening his suit jacket before heading toward the exit. As he passed your desk, he paused, glanced back over his shoulder, and shot you a slow, teasing wink.
You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Leaving already?”
“Duty calls,” he said, voice low, almost a purr, “but I’ll be back… and I fully intend to win that bet.”
And with that, he was gone. Leaving the precinct buzzing, your coworkers smirking knowingly, and that lingering spark between you two crackling in the air. Even in a room full of detectives, some games were meant to be played just between the two of you.
(Rafael can't bear to be apart from his recently deceased partner)
Rafael starts taking the medication almost immediately after that first vivid dream.
Not for sleep. Not entirely.
For you.
He lies down each night, swallows the tiny pill, and drifts into a world where you still exist, where your laughter still fills the room, where your hand fits perfectly in his.
The days blur. Court filings pile up. Files wait on his desk. Cases go cold. Emails go unanswered.
“Rafael,” Olivia says one evening, leaning against the doorframe of his apartment. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“I am doing it,” he replies softly, eyes half-lidded, gaze already distant. “I’m with her.”
Olivia steps closer. “You’re not. She’s...she’s gone. You can’t live in dreams.”
“I can,” he whispers. “She’s here. See?”
“You’re disappearing,” Olivia interrupts, voice low and sharp. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. You’re not even showing up for the office. You’re letting yourself vanish for a dream!”
Rafael doesn’t hear her.
Because the dream calls him.
Night after night, he drifts into that perfect memory. He watches you move through the kitchen. He hears the soft echo of your voice. The warmth in his chest drowns out everything else.
The medication helps him sleep, yes, but it also begins to hollow him. He starts missing days. Weeks. Cases that should matter slip through his fingers. Olivia grows more worried, even more desperate.
And still, when he dreams of you, he can’t bring himself to leave.
One night, the dream changes.
You stand in front of him, hands pressed to his chest. Your hair falls over your shoulders, light catching it in a way only he remembers.
“Rafi,” you say softly, almost pleading. “You have to take care of yourself.”
He shakes his head, voice thick. “I can’t. Not when I can see you. Not when I can touch you. Not when I...”
“You’re hurting yourself,” you interrupt, voice steady now, insistent. “You’re not here. You’re not in the world. You’re losing yourself to the dreams. Please. You have to wake up. You have to live. You can’t just… keep waiting for me here.”
He tries to argue. He wants to argue. But the weight of your presence, of your worry, presses down on him. His chest tightens. His hands curl into fists.
“I can’t,” he whispers, tears spilling down his face even as the dream world bends around him. “I just can’t.”
You reach out. For one fleeting moment, he wants to take your hand. But he doesn’t. He can’t.
And the dream begins to slip.
The world dissolves around him. The edges of your smile blur. Your voice, the one that brought him peace, fades into the background.
And Rafael wakes.
Alone.
He looks around at the empty bedroom, at the mess, at the nightstand where the pill bottle waits.
He knows Olivia is right.
He knows he can’t keep doing this.
But the ache in his chest refuses to listen.
Because you exist there.
And not here.
________________________________________
Oh my Rafael Barba... if Olive doesn't want you I will happily take up that mantle.
✦ Synopsis: mornings in a city that never truly sleeps. a small cafe. two lives running in parallel, colliding in moments of quiet observation, lingering glances, and subtle tension.
✦ Author’s Note: hey, first post here! though not my first time on tumblr. i have been watching svu forever. thought now would be a good time to devote a blog to it. enjoy!
The rain hadn’t stopped, just softened to a persistent drizzle that made the sidewalks shine like wet mirrors. Inside the little corner cafe, the smell of coffee and baked bread wrapped around you like a blanket. Outside, New York City moved in a blur of umbrellas and gray coats, but inside, the world was smaller, warmer.
You stirred your coffee lazily, glancing out the window between bites of a buttery croissant. The hum of conversation and clatter of cups formed a soundtrack you could lose yourself in. And then the door opened, the little bell chiming, sharp and insistent. You felt it before you saw him.
Rafael Barba stepped in, coat dripping lightly from the drizzle, briefcase in hand, expression all calm control and quiet command. Your chest fluttered like a careless note in the wind. You’d seen him before, of course, you were both attorneys, both frequenting this cafe when mornings permitted but something about today made the air between you feel charged.
He glanced around the cafe, and you caught the faintest flicker in his eyes when they landed on you. That small, polite recognition you shared—smiles that didn’t need words, a nod, an almost imperceptible lift of the brow.
“Morning,” he said as he approached the counter, gloves in one hand, briefcase in the other.
“Morning,” you replied, more than a little aware of how your voice carried differently when he was around. “Coffee, same as always?”
He hesitated, just a fraction, before shaking his head. “Black, no sugar. You?”
“Latte,” you said, smiling. “Vanilla today. Feeling indulgent.”
He smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching like it wanted to say something else but didn’t. He moved toward the stool across from you, not beside you, but close enough that the space between your tables flickered with possibility.
“So, how’s the merger case going?” he asked, lowering himself onto the stool. His voice was measured, smooth, but there was warmth beneath it, like he wasn’t just asking out of professional curiosity.
“Tricky,” you admitted, stirring your latte. “They’re negotiating like it’s a high stakes poker game, but nobody’s bluffing yet. You?”
He leaned back, hands resting on the briefcase. “Court was… interesting. A lot of posturing. Not much real truth.” His gaze found yours, steady and sharp, and your stomach lurched slightly. “But you’d know about that.”
You laughed softly. “We all play the same games, just different tables.”
The rain outside continued, words flowed easier than usual. You talked about cases, but also the city; the stubborn construction that seemed to move in slow waves, the way coffee tasted better on gray mornings, the music that always seemed to escape from someone’s headphones and wrap around your ears like a secret.
He tilted his head, watching you laugh at some small observation about the city’s chaos. “You have… an energy,” he said quietly, almost offhandedly. “It’s contagious.”
Heat pooled in your chest. “I think you might be enjoying it too much,” you teased, and he let a small, rare laugh escape.
The waitress dropped off a cup filled with coffee, black, steam curling between you, Rafael absently wrapped his fingers around his coffee cup. Your hands brushed briefly, accidental but electric. You both noticed, and neither pulled away.
“You ever think about just… stopping?” you asked, voice softer now, leaning slightly across the table. “Like, letting the chaos wait a second?”
“Almost every day,” he admitted. “But then mornings like this happen. And I remember why I don’t.” His eyes held yours longer than they should have. “You make it… harder to ignore.”
You smiled faintly, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with caffeine. “Good,” you said, more to yourself than him, but he caught it.
Later, when you were home, the city muted by walls and windows, you curled up on your couch with a glass of red wine. Your laptop sat open on your lap, half-forgotten, playlist humming quietly. You rested against the soft throw pillow, letting your thoughts drift back to him: the tilt of his head, the slow certainty in the way he moved, the warmth that lingered in his voice even across a table.
You imagined him walking up your street, scarf tight against the drizzle, hands deep in coat pockets, eyes scanning until they found you. You traced a finger over the rim of your wine glass, the city lights refracting gold across your walls, imagining the way he’d smile at you then, that small, almost-shy expression that made mornings feel like confessions.
The thought made your chest ache with something sweet and urgent. You typed a few words on your laptop, deleted them, typed again. How would you see him again? Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next time he wandered into the cafe. Maybe, if you were lucky, you’d catch him outside, and the conversation wouldn’t end with the bell, with the drizzle, with polite nods.
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