Disclaimer: I do not own Law and Order: SVU, any of the characters from the show, or any referenced storylines. I do own original characters and plots. I am making no money from this work of fiction. It is for entertainment only.
Pairing: Barba/Reader Insert (Female)
Rating/Warnings: NSFW. Sexual assault, abuse, rape - as is related to SVU Canon and beyond in later chapters.
Summary: When a NYC transplant from the Midwest meets Rafael Barba, her world is turned upside down in ways that make her heart beat fast, her breathing grow shallow, and her senses to be alert to every new development. Once everything changes in a moment of tragedy, she struggles to find her footing with the help of her new beau.
PROLOGUE:
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For the first time in recent memory, you couldn't understand why you were trying so hard to make something of yourself. As a first generation college graduate, that one achievement could have easily been enough. Your mom cried when you received your degree, your dad hugged you and told you just how proud he was of his baby girl, and your older sister and her two kids, well, they radiated so much joy that you couldn't help but smile with each glance at them.
It might have come from a small state college, but you did it. The day you graduated with a bachelor of arts in French, with high honors in the major, was one of the best days of your life. It was probably your biggest accomplishment to date. Not that it was all sunshine and roses. You made mistakes after receiving your degree, too. You held it over your family, as though you were better than them. Your sister cried because she realized what she'd chosen not to have in lieu of a family. Your dad would raise his voice firmly, asking why you still lived at home and reinforcing that his experience could outshine your degree any day. But your mom, that one you felt the worst about now. She would scamper into her home office, shut the door, and pray for forgiveness because you had convinced her that she hadn't done enough for you.
In hindsight, your family had worked harder than you could ever ask for to give you everything, and you squandered their love over a piece of paper.
Your shame caused you to flee.
Growing up in the Midwest, you yearned for something different and new. A place where you could be completely anonymous - where no one knew your name, your family, or what standards you were being held up to. Even if they were only your own. Having never traveled farther east than Chicago, you decided a coastal move would be the best plan.
After months of research, you found the perfect graduate program and applied. Only weeks later, you were accepted into the NYU Institute of French Studies Master's Program. After a year of hard work and receiving your degree - all on a full ride - you graduated at twenty-seven years old, found a small studio apartment above a coffee shop in Manhattan, and worked as a grants administrator with a global human rights organization.
Your apartment was as much your solace as your own personal hell. It was the one safe space amidst the people and commotion of the big city. You decorated it, dusted and vacuumed weekly, and were always collecting new trinkets from some country or another that you visited and helped, seeing the fruits of your labors. While you focused on French-Speaking nations, you found that you traveled almost forty percent of your year. It helped with the loneliness. At least, sometimes.
Three years of desolation and anonymity there were only abated by the occasional happy hour drink with coworkers or holiday visits home. Home where things were still tense, but manageable. Home where your mother begged you to move back to the Midwest. Home where your sister and niece and nephew lost some of the glimmer as she fought to make ends meet. Home where your dad hadn't managed to rediscover the pride he once held for you as his baby girl.
In fact, your childhood home only seemed to make things worse.
So you threw yourself back into school, a six year doctorate program at NYU in French Studies and History. You would make something of yourself one day. You would show them that you were the same person while achieving dreams none of them even thought to have. You just didn't know exactly what that looked like yet.
Not until you looked up from your normal corner table, littered with notebooks and journals, textbooks overflowing to chairs, an empty coffee mug and one still half full, and your MacBook open in the back corner as you typed. Stray strands of hair fell out of your ponytail and into your face as you chewed on the end of your pen. Your eyes landed on a man you didn't recognize, his three piece suit perfectly tailored and paired with a checkered shirt, red tie with gold stripes, and matching pocket square.
He was clearly a professional, but something else caught your eye. It was the way he carried himself with such confidence, even if his stature was shorter than society would deem attractive for men. It was the few grey strands of hair you could see when the light reflected just-so off of his perfectly combed, dark mane. It was the lilt in his voice as he ordered his morning coffee. You couldn't take your eyes off of him.
Until he turned and almost caught you. You looked down hastily, pretending to find something very interesting in your notes.
Because a man like that, no matter his story, would never look at a Plain Jane like you. A woman in her early thirties, clad in leggings and an NYU t-shirt, with messy hair, oversized glasses, and no makeup on, working on a French Politics assignment in the coffee shop under her tiny apartment before going back up to shower, change, and start her work day. He looked for sophistication and grace, beauty that couldn't be contained, and more money than you could imagine having in your humanitarian line of work.
But all of that didn't stop your heart from fluttering at the thought of him as he walked out the door. You glanced at the time and made a mental note to study at your usual table more often.
"Soyez toujours mon cœur," You sighed, letting yourself daydream for but a moment before laughing quietly and shaking your head. Love at first sight could never be a part of your destiny.
Translation:
Soyez toujours mon cœur - Be still my heart