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I thought you were exaggerating with the Unreadable Bloodstained Paper. Until I saw the picture. It was not exaggerated. Pasta, I am CACKLING.

Me: (high as balls in the middle of the night, sleepy, laying in the metaphorical writer bed, plotting the end of Rhett's oneshot and how to write Bob's oneshot as I fall back to sleep)

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Matt, covered in blood: (slams open door, a bloody scrap of paper clutched in his hand) Matt, breathing heavily as he shoves a drunk Rhett out of bed before gently placing a bloodstained paper on my chest: here, an idea for a oneshot that's better than Rhett's or Bob's Rhett, now on the floor: the fuck- Me: why are you like this Matt: It - quiet, Rhett - it uses some of your favorite tropes. And it has me. Instead of them. They don't know you like I do. You'll have more fun. Me: Matt: I made this idea just for you Me, blearily holding up the bloodstained paper: ...I literally can't read this Matt: don't worry, it'll make sense when you wake up. And then you can write it with me Me, hours later when I get up: ...you fucking liar

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Law & Order: SVU | Ep: October Surprise

Rafael Barba appreciation ➩ 261/∞

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no

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me, covered in my blorbo’s blood after I wrote a fic about them

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Shit I’m sorry. I just saw that your requests are closed.

Oh, it’s totally fine!! I always get requests here and there, even with them closed, and I just save them for when I’m in the right mindset to actually work on them. Since I’m in a Barba mood lately, that might be sooner rather than later in this case. Also, your request is actually so good. Like, I’m obsessed! I genuinely can’t wait to work on it <3 (and thank you for trusting me with it)

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source

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pasta this is so real rn

I need you to know this is metaphorically happening in my brain as I slowly work on getting my brain back into writing in between working to unfuck my health both mental and physical stupid thyroid stupid trauma stupid depression stupid fucked up med change

Me: (writing again, tentatively, slowly, gradually getting into it) Matt, fondly, supportively: are you writing for me again? Me: Yup, got a little done last week. Matt: is that what you're working on right now? (muted whispering under my desk) Matt, suspiciously: Wait, who is that? That's not Michael, Michael's on the couch reading. Me, quickly: IT'S JUST A TOY THAT MAKES NOISE. IT'S THE CAT, IT'S A CAT TOY- Matt, yanking Rhett Abbott out from under the desk: the drunk cowboy? Really? Rhett, grinning: she really likes me. I think it's the hat. Me, exasperated: Look, it's just a oneshot for him, and I even wrote part of a oneshot for you last week, so you need to chill. I don't control what sparks a little bit of creativity right now. Besides, it's just Rhett- Matt, growling: then who's that you're hiding in your shirt Bob Reynolds, cuddled up inside my shirt like a baby possum: she wrote a little thing about me, she's keeping me here just in case she wants to add more Matt: Matt: Matt: are you leaving me

[farfromstrange]

The Rafael Barba Anthology

Find Me On AO3!

⤹ NAVIGATION.

🫀 → comfort for the aching hearts

🔥 → Smut/explicit sexual content (18+)

🌻 → Fluff

💧 → Angst

⤹ ONE SHOTS:

☽ Daydreaming [F!Reader] ��

✑ You can’t help but admire the ADA that has turned your head, and imagine all the things he could do to you. Lucky for you, he doesn’t mind taking care of you.

⤹ MULTIPLE PARTS/SERIES:

(To Be Added)

⤹ EVENTS:

(To Be Added)

[farfromstrange]

Daydreaming | Rafael Barba x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Read Me On AO3!

Pairing: Rafael Barba x F!Reader

Summary: Sometimes, you can't help but objectify the ADA who has turned your head. Not when he looks that good. Lucky for you, he is just as obsessed with giving you what you want as he is with winning cases.

Warnings: Smut (18+), porn without plot, office sex, mentions of murder (that has nothing to do with the porn), established relationship, mentioned unprotected p in v, mentioned choking, body appreciation (is that a warning? i don't even know), mentions of blowjob, implied soft!dom!Rafael, oral f!receiving (that man eats pussy like it's his last meal don't argue), coming untouched, sexting, fluff

WC: 1.9k

A/N: Heh. Hi. I'm new here. Not to Tumblr (I’ve been a Daredevil Fic Writer for 3 years now), but to the SVU fandom. First time writing for Rafael, too. Bit scary, not gonna lie, but he came on screen, put a belt around his neck, and I fell in love. He's my new blorbo. I'd die for him. I'd kill for him. I do not want to talk about The Undiscovered Country. I just need to love this man, be loved by this man, and let this man do unspeakable things to me. With his slutty little outfits. Fuck him. Literally. This is inspired by that dress shirt suspenders sleeves rolled up situation he had going on that one episode in Season 18. I am not sorry. Don't have a tag list for him yet, but I'm working on something else right now (something a lot longer), so I might start one then. This was written in, like, 2 hours, but I hope you like it anyway!

The way he looked should have been illegal.

He stood behind his desk in that tight-fitting dress shirt you loved so much, with those brown suspenders holding his perfectly tailored trousers up by the hem while simultaneously keeping them hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his shirt sleeves rolled up far enough to reveal every last vein stretching from his forearms to the back of his wildly gesturing hands.

The streaks of grey in his dark hair glistened in the usually so unflattering ceiling light as it danced over every inch of his tan skin. You sat there and counted them one by one, wondering what he would look like in a few years when it would all go grey and maybe, just maybe, you could convince him to grow out his beard. It would be grey, too, you thought. It would be grey and it would be beautiful because either way, it would match his piercing green eyes.

It wasn’t fair how good he looked without even trying. And he wasn’t trying, by any means. He wasn’t trying to look good or sound like sex personified while talking about a gruesome murder you were still gathering evidence for, but he still managed to do so.

You shifted a little further back in your seat to ease the erratic pulse between your thighs—to no avail.

That nose… sometimes, you looked at him and all you could think was, I want to sit on his face. You knew how good it felt when it rubbed against your clit. When his tongue was so deep inside you that you were starting to fuse.

You would have spread your legs for him right there if he’d asked, if he’d commanded you. You would have let him dive in and eat you out. You would have done the same for him, too, gotten on your knees right there and then, putting his thick cock into your hot mouth and sucking him off until he was writhing beneath you. You would have let him grab your hair and push you up against the wall, the fireplace, or one of those huge windows that gave him a perfect view of the city, and the city a perfect view of you.

You would have let him fuck you from behind in front of all of New York City until his cum was seeping out of you. Hell, you would even have let him wrap those long, slender fingers around your throat while he was pounding into you over and over and—

“Are you even listening to me?”

You snapped out of it. “I’m sorry, what?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and fuck him, he put his hands on his hips as if he knew exactly what you'd been daydreaming about.

“You okay?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Why did he have to be standing? This way, you had a perfect view of his waist, his perfect tummy, and God, his—

“Cariño?” he sounded a little more concerned now.

“I'm fine,” you choked out. “What were you saying?”

You needed a cold shower, or a gun to your head. You just had to drop off some files after your shift, knowing he would be busy for a little while longer. You wanted to see him, yes, but this was more professional than personal. Except that it was personal. It always was with him.

Fuck. Now you were wet and embarrassed.

“I was saying that I need more evidence,” he said. “I couldn't even convene a Grand Jury with what you have so far.”

“You always need more evidence,” you said.

“Because I want a guilty verdict, not to be humiliated by a public defender in open court.”

He was always so wound up. It was sexy but utterly exhausting, considering you were trying to do your job right.

“Well,” you rose to your feet, “once I've figured out how to make evidence magically appear out of thin air, I'll get back to you. But first, I'm gonna need some sleep.”

He said your name in that low tone of his that always made goosebumps travel like dominoes down your spine. You stopped.

“C'mere,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I know you've been daydreaming about my head between your legs for the past ten minutes, and I'd like to spend the next ten giving you exactly what you want.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Rafael,” you gasped.

He smirked, reaching a hand out to you. “Come here,” he echoed, firmer this time.

He smelled like sandalwood and coffee. Like heaven and hell. Like home.

Rafael cupped your face. “Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

Every time he looked at you, you found yourself drowning in his eyes. They were always so soft with you, so gentle and loving and full of a kind of passion—lust, even—you had never experienced before. You'd never been wanted like this before, and it was utterly terrifying yet so incredibly fulfilling at the same time.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

You barely managed a nod.

He didn't waste another second, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. It was nothing more than that, just a brush, the softest of kisses. You tried chasing him for more, but he pulled away.

Rafael placed his thumb against your bottom lip. “Shh,” he cooed. “It's gonna be a while 'til I can get out of here, so…” He traced his other hand up your thigh and under the sundress you'd decided to change into.

“So?” you asked.

“Sit your ass on my desk and spread your legs for me.”

Fuck his silver tongue. Literally.

You complied almost instantly, and he was on you like a man possessed just as fast. His lips crashed into yours. His hand tangled in your hair and pulled, hard, so your head was angled back. Teeth scraped down your throat to your collarbone, then back up to your lips.

A moan slipped past yours into his mouth, and Rafael swallowed it like it was the best meal he'd ever had. He was getting hard in his slacks, but he didn't even let you think about touching him.

Oh, if there was one view you could never get sick of, it was the sight of Rafael Barba on his knees.

“Rafa,” you breathed.

You couldn't get more vulnerable if you tried.

He shushed you again. Spanish curses tumbled from his lips. You could have sworn you heard him pray to God at the mere sight of the wet patch on your panties, and when he glanced up at you, pure adoration was all there was.

“You're beautiful,” he branded those words into your skin with his breath.

His fingers dug into your thighs as he threw them over his broad shoulders, his lips drawing trails of fire up and down the inside of your thighs, though every time he got close enough to your throbbing cunt, he pulled away again. He covered every last inch of you in him. He consumed you, and then, only then, when you were quivering from the sheer force of his lips on your skin, did he push your underwear aside.

And he feasted.

You cried out so suddenly and so fucking loudly that he reached up and slapped his hand in front of your mouth. He loved it whenever you screamed his name, but he couldn't let Carmen walk in on you like this. He didn't want the entire DA's office to know that he was eating you out, that he got you like this, because you were his and no one else's to enjoy.

You grabbed his hair.

That godforsaken nose.

Yes.

Fuck.

You shifted your hips against the thrusts of his tongue, his nose bumping your clit just right, and you dug your teeth into his palm like a fucking animal.

Rafael groaned, but he didn't stop. He would never stop. Not when he could feel what this was doing to you. Not when you were thrown back on his desk in utter ecstasy with his head between your legs, your dress bunched around your waist, and your pussy dripping wet for him as you rode his face. It was as close to heaven as he would ever get.

The knot in your belly kept growing tighter and tighter and tighter; every nerve in your body was alight with the heat of a thousand fires, and it just kept burning and burning and burning and—

Your orgasm slammed into you so hard that your vision turned from black to white to black again, and you fell.

Rafael didn't stop until the aftershocks had subsided. Until you stopped shaking and twitching, and your fingers unclenched from the upper edge of his desk. Until you finally, finally, let go of his hair and he could breathe again. Not that he would have minded to die right there, with your cum in his mouth and that sweet, sweet whine of overstimulation in his ears. He would have been a happy man if your pussy had killed him, but he preferred the thought of being able to do this for many, many years to come.

Your clit was swollen, throbbing, pleased yet angry, but that didn't stop him from giving it one more gentle kiss.

“¿Bien?” he asked.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Uh-huh,” you breathed. “Fuck.”

Rafael gently lifted your legs off his shoulders and helped you sit up.

“You sure?” he asked again.

You nodded. He looked so good with your cum glistening on his lips. They were pink, swollen, and oh-so-kissable.

“Yeah,” you said. “I just think I died there for a second.”

He chuckled breathlessly. “The feeling's mutual.”

Your eyes trailed down.

Oh.

His dress pants were adorned with a dark patch of cum right where his hard cock had been when he started kneeling at the altar of your body.

“Did you just–” You stared at him.

“I've had a long day.”

“I didn't even touch you.”

“You don't have to touch me to make me come like a 15-year-old Catholic school boy, mi amor.” His voice was deliciously rough. “You drive me fucking crazy,” he said, followed by something so filthy that his Cuban ancestors would have turned in their graves.

You reached out to cup his face in your hands. He rose to his feet with you. One kiss landed on your forehead, one on your cheek, before he pressed his lips to yours. He tasted like you and him, and you instinctively pressed closer to him.

“You gonna come home with me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Make love to me?”

Rafael downright whimpered. “I still have work to do,” he said. That look in your eyes, though…

Make love to me? It wasn't right to say no to that. It was illegal to say no to that, but he had to, and you knew he did.

You nodded, slowly, lowering your forehead against his.

He inhaled your scent with another kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Wait up for me and I'll make it up to you later, okay?”

A tired smile grew on your face. “Okay,” you said.

With a heavy heart, he watched as you pulled away from him. Your hands touched until you were too far away, then you dropped his and made your way out.

He missed you already, terribly.

“I love you, mi amor,” he called after you.

You poked your head around the corner, still smiling, and said, “I love you too.”

Though it wasn't even five minutes after the door had fallen shut that his phone vibrated with a text from you.

Thanks for the orgasm, counselor.

Another ping.

Can't wait to feel you inside me x

Needless to say, he finished four hours' worth of paperwork in two.

Here could be a tag list. Someday.

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Do I have 10k words worth of term papers to write? Yes. Am I struggling to write even 10 words for those? Definitely. Did I just spent the past 3 days writing 10k words worth of fanfiction for a new blorbo of mine? Also yes. I have a lot of regrets, but this might also be some of the best writing I’ve ever done. (And tomorrow, it’s gonna be the worst thing I’ve ever written, and then we repeat the cycle of writer’s self-sabotage). Sometimes, I love being a procrastinating dumpster fire.

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I need to admit something to the US Tumblrinas. Philadelphia isn't a place to me. It's a cream cheese. You say "philadelphia" or "philly" and I immediately, and exclusively, think of the cream cheese. "Twelve people die in Philadelphia disaster" wow that must've been a Molasses Flood style event

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Law & Order: SVU | Ep: Twenty-Five Acts

Rafael Barba appreciation ➩ 260/∞

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part of me feels inconvenienced by new character obsessions, the other part’s like “fuck yeah, another old man to sexualize!”

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If you think DDBA is bad, let it be bad.

There is this warped thing happening across the fandom, not just on Tumblr, where someone finds a bone to pick about DDBA (there are many valid ones) and takes it past its natural conclusion, to “I hate ____ and so should you.”

The Netflix show was amazing, but this pedestal some people have it on is absurd. There were enormous plot holes, weird choices and mistakes in the original series, including the much-idolized third season. This has never been a perfect show or a perfect franchise.

Disney fumbled their first attempt at the reboot, and who knows if it’ll get better, but there are still things about it that are wonderful. I personally love seeing actors who adore each other getting to work together again. I love how passionate these people are about their characters. I love how it’s trying to figure out what it will be, and how it’s different on different rewatches like the original was. I’m mad about some stuff, but calling for cancellation because you didn’t get your way or you think you know better or you’ve imagined some parasocial feud is small and weird. No one is forcing you to watch the new season or continue engaging with it. You can rewatch the old show as much as you like.

Let people enjoy things.

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MATT MURDOCK IN THE SHOWER APPRECIATION POST