#if anything i mean wut i say MORE when im drunk then when im sober

[vanityluvsme]

y tx does no1 in my fam get rhat i care abt my brother n his gf even uf they fuckme over agin and agin. i still cate abt them and i wish th that they do the best they fucking can butnevery time i say that they gucking brush me off like i dont know qhat thw fuck to do anymore bc i care abt them n i cant stop bc thats my bro n his chick like

[olderjustneverwiser]

It Wasn't Getting Drunk I Loved, It Was Being With You (Rafael Barba)

Masterlist

Request for anon: im the one who requested either carisi or barba for the friends to lovers and i would love a drunk kissing one!!! that like maybe turns smutty when they get sober WUT. lololol 

A while back, @moresvuheadcanons was going through some hard stuff, and I promised I’d write her a little something about Rafael comforting a reader (I actually think I still have my handwritten notes for that fic somewhere). Since nothing I was trying to wrote for that was working, Caitlin, this one’s for you and I hope you enjoy it! 

Also, thanks to @am-i-right-counselor for her help!

This didn’t turn smutty, but I think i was able to make it gender neutral? I don’t think I added any pronouns.

When you first made your move from Vice to SVU, you weren’t quite sure how handling these types of cases would affect you. You were determined to never get too close to a case, though, and you were fine, for the most part. The cases were disgusting and disheartening, you dealt with the absolute worst kinds of perps, and witnessed things that made your stomach turn, but still you pushed through, case after case. However, after one particularly sickening case involving a neglected child and the Department of Child Services, you reached your breaking point.

After the trial, you found yourself at a bar, nursing a drink. The trial went well, considering; the DCS was going to undergo a revamping, but still, you felt as though justice had not been served. Keisha was still dead, and poor Bruno was in foster care. He was better off there than with his dead-beat mother, but you still felt for the kid. It made you sick.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw someone take the bar stool next to you. You turned your head to see that Barba had taken it, and was shimmying out of his suit jacket, “Looks like we had the same idea, detective.”

You offered up a small smile, “Yeah, that was a tough case.”

“It was,” his face was solemn, “That’s why we drink. How about next round’s on me?”

From that night on, going to the bar after a hard case had become you and Barba’s ‘thing.’ It was always the same bar, The Grouse Room just a few blocks from the courthouse, and more often than not it was the same thing every time; you would share a plate of fries over a few drinks and talk. Neither of you ever got too drunk, it was just a nice way to let off steam. Over time, you and Barba became friends. 

Over the passing months, talk about the cases you worked turned into talk about your private lives. Barba had told you about his childhood, about how his father treated him and his mother. He told you about his time at Harvard and why he decided to become a prosecutor. You soon realized that you were getting to see a side of Rafael Barba that few people got to see. It was clear that you were becoming his closest friend on the squad, and part of you found solace in that.

In fact, it did not take long for you to develop feelings for the man. What had started out as blowing off steam after work turned into hanging out with a dear friend. While he was sassy and threatening in the courtroom, he was kind and softhearted with you. These conflicting personalities of his were alluring, and sexy as hell. You told yourself that nothing could come from these feelings, though. He was your ADA and you were his detective and who says he would ever feel the same, anyway?

 ‘Grouse Room? Meet at 9?’

You needed to see Barba. This was going to be a horrible, disturbing case. You already knew, when you arrived at the hospital with Carisi and met the victim. Such a young kid, sodomized with a hockey stick. A damn hockey stick. Thinking about it almost made you vomit. 

Barba sent a quick reply, saying that he’d be there. That made you feel a little better, but time seemed to drag until you were able to punch out for the day. You headed to the bar and waited for Rafael, and were already on your second drink when he arrived.

His eyes widened at the scowl on your face, “Tell me, how bad is it?”

“Thirteen year old. Sodomized with a hockey stick in the locker room.”

“I swear, they just seem to get worse,” he took his seat as he ordered his usual.

“I think one of the teammates did it,” you finished your drink in a gulp and promptly ordered another one.

“Don’t you think you should pace yourself?” Barba sounded worried, but you could not care less about your well-being at the moment.

“Nope. I need to forget about how horrible our world is for a while.”

You felt Barba’s hand on your leg and saw him smile, “Then let’s talk about something not horrible.”

It didn’t take long for you to get a nice buzz, and before long you were drunk. You didn’t know how long you and Barba had been at the bar, or how much you had to drink, but the room was spinning. You had been rambling for a while; you weren’t sure if you were even coherent or not, but Barba had just been sitting there, listening to you go on with a smile on his face.

“And, Barba, I just don’t understand why everybody is so mean! Why are people to awful to one another? To kids?”

“I don’t know. I wish I could tell you.”

You cocked your head and looked at him. God, he was handsome. You wanted to kiss him, and you thought that he might just be drunk enough to want to kiss you, too. If not, you could just blame the drinks.

“You’re not awful, ya know.”

“Thank you. You’re not too awful, yourself.”

It was now or never. You leaned your body towards him, you were still sitting on the bar stool to keep your balance. You stopped just a few inches from his face, waiting for him to stop you, to push you away. He didn’t; he just stared at you, his brows furrowed at your advance. Your hand found his tie and you closed the gap between you, crashing your lips into his.

Barba stiffened at your kiss, but quickly he relaxed into you, his large hands grabbing at your waist to pull you closer. Kissing him felt amazing, his lips were dominant, but soft and gentle. A perfect mix of him. Too soon he pulled away, and asked if you wanted to go home with him.

When you woke up the next morning, you knew two things; that you were in an unfamiliar apartment, and you had one of the worst hangovers you could remember. As you looked around the room, pieces of the night came back to you. Drinking way more than normal, kissing Barba. 

Fuck, Barba. Had you slept with him?

You looked down, seeing that your dress clothes were still on. That was a good sign, but still, you were embarrassed. How could you work with Barba again after last night? Your badge and gun weren’t on you, you couldn’t remember taking them off. The bed you were in was empty, but you didn’t get a chance to wonder where its owner was. Barba entered his room, coffee and aspirin in his hands.

“Hey, you,” he handed you the aspirin as he sat on the edge of the bed, “there’s some water in the night stand.”

You smiled as you took the medicine, and drank the entire glass of water.

“Don’t worry, we didn’t do anything. I just knew I had to get you out of there so you could sleep.”

That made you feel a little better, “I’m really sorry about kissing you.”

He frowned, “Why are you sorry?”

You were confused, “Um, because I kissed you? And we were drunk? I made a fool of myself.”

“Did you kiss me because you were drunk?”

“Well, it definitely gave me the confidence to,” you replied sheepishly.

He was staring at you, you couldn’t read the expression on his face. You desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. You didn’t have to wonder for long, though, “Did you think I went to the bar all those times just to drink? I went to be with you.”

You could practically feel your heart burst at his words. “Really?” you asked.

He nodded, and held one of your hands in his own. “I can drink at home. There’s nothing really special about that bar, except that we were there together. You’re something special, you know, not just another drinking buddy. I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe you need to be a little more obvious, then,” you replied with a grin.

He flashed you his signature Rafael Barba smirk before he wrapped one of his hands around the back of your head and pulled you in for another perfect kiss.