Rafeal Barba One Shots

Office Rivals to Lovers

The tension in the office was thick enough to cut with a knife. You and Rafael Barba had always had a professional rivalry, ever since you started working together as opposing attorneys on some of the toughest cases. It wasn't just that you were both fiercely competitive, or that you were both obsessed with winning. It was something more—a tension neither of you could quite name, though it was becoming impossible to ignore.

Today, it had reached a boiling point.

"You can't seriously think this argument holds up in court, Barba," you said, arms crossed, staring him down in the middle of the office. Your tone was sharp, your eyes narrowed. The case was a big one, and you were both passionate about your sides, neither willing to back down.

Rafael, ever the picture of calm, arched an eyebrow and smirked, that familiar expression of condescension that always managed to get under your skin. "Mi amor, it's not about what you think—it's about what the jury will believe. And they will believe this."

You rolled your eyes at the nickname he'd started throwing around to ruffle you, ignoring the flutter it caused in your stomach. "You're so confident, aren't you?" you shot back, taking a step closer. "But that won't matter when your star witness gets torn apart on the stand."

His jaw clenched slightly, the smirk slipping for just a moment before it returned, more playful than before. "You always think you've got it all figured out, don't you?"

"Well, one of us has to," you quipped, refusing to back down. Your colleagues watched from their desks, not even trying to hide their interest. The back-and-forth between you and Rafael had become something of a spectacle in the office. Everyone knew that when the two of you were in the same room, sparks were bound to fly.

But today felt different. The intensity was sharper, the words more biting, and the distance between you—physically and emotionally—seemed smaller than ever.

"Dios mío," Rafael sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against the desk, his eyes never leaving yours. "This case isn't about your ego."

Your temper flared at that, and before you knew it, you were closing the gap between you, standing inches away. "And it isn't about yours either, Barba. Or have you forgotten how to actually care about the people involved?"

His eyes darkened at that, and for a moment, you thought you'd gone too far. But instead of lashing out, he laughed—low, soft, the kind of laugh that sent shivers down your spine despite the heat of the argument. "Oh, I care," he murmured, his voice dangerously close now. "Maybe more than you think."

The tension between you suddenly shifted, the air crackling with something far different than anger. You stared at him, realizing how close you were, how your breathing had become shallow, how the adrenaline from the argument was mixing with something else entirely.

You cleared your throat, taking a step back, trying to shake off the strange energy that had filled the room. "We're going in circles," you muttered, glancing at the clock. "We'll settle this in court tomorrow."

"I look forward to it," Rafael said, his voice lower, more intense. His eyes lingered on you a moment longer before turning away, but you could still feel the heat of his gaze on your skin.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparation, but the tension from the argument hung in the air. Every time you passed by Rafael's office or caught sight of him in the hall, your stomach tightened, and your mind raced with thoughts you had no business thinking about your rival.

That evening, when everyone else had gone home, you found yourself still at the office, going over final preparations for the case. You had assumed Rafael had left—he usually didn't stay this late—but as you gathered your things, you heard footsteps outside your door.

"You're still here?" His voice was smooth as silk, laced with the same playful confidence that had been driving you crazy all day.

You looked up to find him leaning against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on his lips. "You too?" you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the way your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Can't let you have all the fun," he said, stepping into your office. "Besides, I wouldn't want to give you the satisfaction of thinking you outworked me."

You scoffed, turning your attention back to your notes. "I'm not trying to outwork you, Barba. I'm just trying to win."

His laugh filled the room, and he walked closer, standing on the other side of your desk now. "You're always so competitive," he teased. "It's one of the things I like about you."

You froze at his words, your heart thudding in your chest. He liked that about you? Since when did Rafael Barba, the man who drove you absolutely crazy, like anything about you?

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, looking up at him, trying to read the expression on his face.

He shrugged, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous spark. "Just that you're different. Most people don't challenge me the way you do." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping as he added, "I like it."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you didn't miss the way he was suddenly closer, the teasing tone of his voice replaced with something more serious. The tension between you, which had been building all day, suddenly felt overwhelming.

"You're impossible," you muttered, standing up, but you didn't move away. Instead, you found yourself standing right in front of him, your pulse racing.

"Am I?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper now, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again. "Or is it that you just don't want to admit you like this as much as I do?"

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. Because, deep down, you knew he was right. This rivalry, this tension—it had always been more than just about work. And now, standing in the empty office, with nothing but the dim glow of the desk lamp illuminating his face, you couldn't deny it anymore.

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped even closer, your heart pounding as you whispered, "And what if I do?"

For a second, Rafael didn't move. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he closed the gap between you, his hand slipping to the small of your back as his lips crashed into yours.

The kiss was intense, fueled by weeks—months—of pent-up tension. His touch was confident, dominant, and you responded with just as much fire, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

It wasn't until you broke apart, both of you breathing heavily, that reality came rushing back.

"Is this... is this just because we're competitive?" you asked breathlessly, unsure of how to process what had just happened.

Rafael smiled, but there was a softness to it now, something almost vulnerable. "No," he said quietly. "It's not just that."

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin. "This has always been more than just rivalry, hermosa."

The confession sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly, the lines between personal and professional felt blurrier than ever.

"But what does this mean?" you asked, trying to wrap your head around it all.

Rafael's eyes met yours, and for once, there was no teasing, no playful smirk. Just raw honesty. "It means things are about to get a lot more interesting."

And as he pulled you in for another kiss, you couldn't help but think that he was right. Things had definitely just gotten a whole lot more complicated.