artemis-writes-fanfiction

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

Hey guys, just letting you know updates for TBoP will be a bit slower this week because of ✨life stuff✨ but I’ll still try to get a couple of chapters out 🫶 thankyou for your patience!!

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden Of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: Three chapters in three days? My keyboard is on fire. That being said, here's chapter seven, I was low key kicking my feet and twirling my hair writing this. TLDR, Rafael is a gentleman, reader is a lover girl, Olivia is their number one shipper. Happy reading! :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, drugs, alcohol, some heavy petting and allusions to sex

Previous part

Chapter 7

If anyone had asked you to predict how that evening would have played out, you were certain that whatever you could hazard a guess at, would be a far cry from what actually transpired. Everywhere you turned was pandemonium, you were grateful for the stillness of the car, Rafael’s presence, the only thing grounding you to reality. Adrenaline pumped through your body, setting your limbs on fire. Despite the seriousness of the situation happening beyond the interior of the SUV, a small part of you was euphoric; the feeling of chipping away at rock and finding gold. Rafael, who hadn’t said a word to you since his outburst, clucked his tongue.

“I guess I owe you an apology.” He said it without looking at you, surveying the action taking place just beyond the door. You felt bolder then, shooting him a self-satisfied grin.

“I get the feeling you don’t normally apologise for much.” He huffed at you, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip.

“I don’t normally have a reason to.”

“And yet, is this your second or third time with me?” You were only trying to push his buttons a little bit. Judging by the sharp intake of breath, it had worked.

“I can always withdraw my offer.” His voice was stern but the twinkle in his eye told you a different story.

“No, no, I accept… And I want to apologize too.” He turned his head to you then, searching your face, waited for you to continue. “I… This was reckless. This whole thing is just so...?” You waved your hand about aimlessly, at a loss for words.

“If I had a dime for every time one of my detectives, for every time I got too close to a case, well… Noone is judging you for trying to do the right thing.” You let his words sink in. “This time things went well, next time you might not be so lucky, it’s not worth getting yourself hurt, you can’t help anyone if something bad happens to you.” He was looking at you so earnestly it made your heart clench.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were going soft on me counsellor.”

“Would you prefer it if I called you an impulsive dumbass instead?”

“There he is.” He chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling. Then, he reached for your hands, enveloping them in his, the contact warmed you to your core.

“I meant what I said (y/n)” You could feel the familiar pull reinstating itself between you. Less fiery this time though, it was sweeter, more wholesome. The moment was stolen from you as the car door pulled open. You and the ADA jumped apart like guilty teenagers, it was Olivia. You didn’t miss the smug look that crossed her features.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” You also didn’t miss the way Rafael rolled his eyes either.

“No, what’s the 411?”

“The vic is Alicia Garcia, they’ve took her to Mercy General, Carisi and Rollins are with her now. We couldn’t get anything out of her though, whatever they drugged her with is hardcore, she was completely out of it.”

“And the two kids?”

“Alex Martinez and Cole Mills. They work at the Lucky Cat, a bartender and a runner.” You exhaled sharply; Olivia shot you a look. Your mind was doing hurdles. The bar staff? It made sense, you’d heard of cases in the past of bartenders caught spiking drinks, some sick power play.

“(Y/n)?” She could see the gears spinning.

“If it was the bar staff then how do you explain the spread of attacks over eight venues?” She took a moment to ponder.

“Maybe these guys are job hoppers? It’s not unheard of in the industry.” You shook your head, no, the timeline didn’t make sense for that to be the case.

“What’s your theory?” Rafael asked you.

“If these are the guys… Then either most of the rapes aren’t connected to the ones that happened here, or there’s something else going on, something bigger.” Your heart had dropped into your throat. There was no best-case scenario here.

“We can’t remand them until Monday morning at the earliest, throw them in the tombs and see what you can dig up.” Rafael said, “Call me when you find something.”  Olivia nodded.

“I will, CSU is on the way, there’s not much else for us to do here. (Y/n), I’ll drop you home, okay? It’s been an intense night; you need to get some rest.” You pulled the jacket tighter over your frame and nodded. Rest was the last thing you wanted, but you knew she was right, the adrenaline would wear off eventually and you were already running on fumes.

You didn’t remember much of the drive, distracted thoughts about the past three hours playing on loop. Everything had changed, the theories and ideas you’d had for months flipped on their head. Your body was still tingling with energy by the time you pulled up at your apartment building. Olivia offered to walk you up to your door, but Rafael interrupted, volunteering to do it himself.

“Wait here a second.” He said, when you got the front door of the building. He turned on his heel and leant through the window of the car. He and Olivia had a quick, whispered conversation, Rafael nodded and stepped back. You watched in wonder as she started the car and drove off down the street. When he returned to your side, you cocked your head in question.

“If it’s okay with you, I thought I could sit with you for a while, you’ve had a stressful night, I just want to-“

“I’d like that.” You cut him off, relishing the shy smile he shot you.

…

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he knew Liv would rib him for later, but he was only half lying when he said he wanted to make sure (y/n) was okay. The evening had veered further off kilter then any of them could have imagined. He could still feel the dull irritation in the bottom of his chest at her carelessness, but it was overwhelmed by every other emotion that had followed. The horror of what they had almost witnessed, sympathy for the poor woman who probably still had no idea what she’d been saved from, tenderness for the journalist, but also a swell of pride at what she had unwittingly led them to. Things were about to take an interesting turn, that was for sure.

(Y/n) led him up the stairs, it was almost a play for play recap of the previous night. It won’t end like last night he mused to himself. She slid her key in the lock and beckoned him over the threshold. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her corner of the city to look like, but he was surprised by how small it was. A tiny living area that was met by an even smaller kitchen, a narrow hallway off to the side that he suspected led to her bathroom and bedroom. She must have caught him staring because her cheeks grew pink.

“Sorry, I know it’s not much, but it’s rent controlled, and the neighbours are quiet so…”  He shook his head, smiled at her.

“It’s… cute.” She shoved his arm playfully.

“And where do you live? The Ritz?”

“Something like that.” She rolled her eyes, throwing her purse down on the kitchen counter.

“You want something to drink? I have bourbon.”

“I’m more of scotch guy, but I’ll bite.”

“Sorry, I would’ve asked Olivia to stop off at a liquor store if I’d have known you were going to be so picky.” He chuckled smoothly, his back to her. He was studying the room. It was small but had a cheerful, lived in quality. There were several overflowing bookcases, a colourful array of art prints framed along the walls. A plush sofa, boxed in by lamps and house plants. Everywhere smelled like her perfume. He traced the mantle with his fingers, picking up a framed photo of her and another woman who he vaguely recognised from his late-night Instagram scrolling.

“My sister.” She said, making him jump slightly. He placed the photograph back in its spot and turned, to face her. His heart stopped and he had to fight to stop his jaw from dropping open.

(Y/n) had at some point removed the bulky NYPD jacket that Amaro had given her and a small part of him was thankful that she’d been concealed beneath it for the majority of the evening. He willed himself to avert his eyes, to be a gentleman, if his Mami could see him now she’d smack him around the back of the head. But as it turned out, Rafael was a red-blooded man, and she was the most infuriating, beautiful woman he’d ever laid his eyes on. His pants were becoming uncomfortably strained, and a coil of jealousy was tightening inside of him at the thought of her being ogled in that dingey little club, by sad little boys who didn’t deserve the honour.

“Earth to Barba.” (Y/n) chided, waving the glass of bourbon under his nose. He coughed, trying to play off the fact that he had been blatantly gawking at her. He took the glass from her hand, electricity jolting through him at the brief contact her skin made against his. He took a generous swig, trying to think of the least arousing things possible. Rafael Barba was well and truly screwed.

…

There was something delicious about the way he had momentarily lost control, eyeing you like a starved man. Something even better about the mortification that settled over his features, desperately trying to save face. You resisted the urge to mess with him, just about and took a sip of the wine you had poured for yourself, moving to the sofa. You tucked your legs underneath you.

“Make yourself at home.” You said, patting the space beside you. He actually looked nervous, despite his obvious attempts to conceal it. You were flattered, big bad Barba, king of the courtroom, reduced to red faced bashfulness. You couldn’t help the little smirk that twitched at your lips. “Barba… Rafael, is everything okay?” He forced a laugh, took a gulp of his drink and settled down into the cushions.

“Yeah, everything’s fine, long night y’know” His voice was husky, the heat rolling off of his body was tangible. You reached over, placing a hand on his leg, relishing the way his breath hitched.

“Sorry, I guess I kinda blew your Saturday night up.” His eyes were staring intently at your hand, they travelled up your arm, stopping momentarily at your chest, sending a bolt of warmth to your core, before settling on your face.

“A slight hiccup, besides, I wasn’t doing anything exciting.”

“Oh? How was the DA’s finest spending his weekend?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“That’s why I asked.” His eyes glinted mischievously, part of you thought that he probably got off on your little tete-a-tete’s. He drained the last of his bourbon.

“Refill?”

“Please” When you rose, walking to the kitchen, you made sure to add a little extra sway to your hips. It was cruel and you had strayed far beyond the realm of professionalism, but you didn’t care anymore. The adrenaline was making you impulsive, it seemed. Mixed in with weeks of building tension between you and the ADA. That and his close proximity making you realize just how touch starved you had been.

You had your back turned, so you didn’t notice him as he followed you into the kitchen. But the space was narrow, and you could feel his presence behind you. You didn’t react, but your heart was hammering in your chest, a flush working its way up your neck. Rafael reached out from behind you, taking the bottle from your hand, placing it on the counter. He had caged you in between his arms and the worktop. His breath was like fire, setting your skin ablaze. Your thighs clenched desperately.

“We shouldn’t.” His words were like velvet, whispered against the delicate whorl of your ear. “It’s a conflict of interest.”

“It is.”

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

“And if I don’t want you to?” He practically growled as he spun you around to face him, his body pressing into you. You stared at each other, the tension between you was like a wave about to crest. He buried a hand in your hair and paused, like he was waiting for permission. You nodded and then his lips were on yours, the wave finally crashing. His mouth was white hot against yours; you could taste the smokiness of the bourbon and something else, something that was uniquely him. His free hand was on you, desperately pawing at the hem of your top, skimming the exposed skin. You whimpered and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue inside of you. You could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into you, the intensity was making you light-headed. Rafael broke the kiss.

“No tienes idea de lo que me haces sentir.” He groaned, his fingers, feather light, danced over your swollen lips. You struggled to follow his words, you weren’t fluent. His eyes were blown with lust, looking at him like this had you weak at the knees, body gently trembling. He reached down again, gently grazing your lips with his own, sighing. He pulled away, much to your disappointment. You didn’t know whether to love or hate the neediness you felt in your core.

“Raf-?” You muttered, the question evident in your tone. He took your face in his hands gently.

“I want to… but not like this.”

“I don’t understand.” Your brows knitted together, your stomach swooping uneasily. You could feel tendrils of anxiety pulling at you, had you done something wrong? He kissed the furrow, smiling at you, sincere, pure.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you (y/n), it’s been a tough night, I don’t want to do something you’ll regret in the morning.”

“I’m a big girl; I can make decisions for myself.” You were only half arguing. You were frustrated, of course, you wanted him to bend you over and take you right there, next to the cookbooks and wine rack. But the other part of you, the sensible part was soaring. You couldn’t remember the last time a man had been so noble towards you, if a man had ever respected you like Rafael was in that moment. He kissed you again, chastely. You knew in that moment that you were well and truly in deep. Fuck.

“How about, I order us some takeout, you take a shower, and we can watch TV?” He proposed, rubbing your arms gently.

“Okay, but I’m choosing what we eat and what we watch.” He looked ready to counter but thought better of it.

“Deal.”

…

The next morning, you woke up tucked into your bed, pale yellow sunshine warming your face. You didn’t remember falling asleep in your room. You searched through memories of the night before. You had showered, like Rafael said and changed into one of your nicer pairs of pyjamas, wanting to make a bit of effort. When you re-entered the main room, he was sprawled out on your sofa, a pizza box sitting untouched on the coffee table. You remembered eating with him, eventually curling into his side as you watched trash TV, his fingers combing through your hair. You figured you must have fallen asleep there and he carried you to your bedroom, ever the gentleman. You wondered if he was still in the apartment, but you didn’t need to go searching because the answer lay in a folded-up piece of paper, tucked neatly under a glass of water. His neat handwriting read:

(Y/n) I didn’t want to overstay my welcome, so I’ve headed back home. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take you for lunch? We have a lot to talk about. Message me, if you’d like to. All my best, Rafael.

You threw yourself back down onto your pillows, unable to fight the grin, splitting your face or the butterflies dancing in your stomach.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

If I can ever write anything half as good as this series, I've made it

Rafael Barba:  Common Courtesy Masterlist

(Everything marked with an asterisk (*) should be considered 18+ only)

(Featuring Rafael Barba and F!Reader)

° Chapter One

° Chapter Two

° Chapter Three

° Chapter Four

° Chapter Five *

° Chapter Six *

° Chapter Seven *

° Chapter Eight *

° Chapter Nine *

° Chapter Ten *

° Chapter Eleven

° Chapter Twelve

° Chapter Thirteen

° Chapter Fourteen *

° Chapter Fifteen

° Chapter Sixteen *

° Chapter Seventeen *

° Chapter Eighteen *

° Chapter Nineteen

° Chapter Twenty

° Chapter Twenty-One *

° Chapter Twenty-Two *

° Chapter Twenty-Three *

° Chapter Twenty-Four

° Chapter Twenty-Five *

° Epilogue

° Coda

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: This was a super fun chapter to write, it's also over 3k words long! Quick summary of the chapter, Reader is a dumbass, Rafael is jealous, The detectives are good at detecting. As usual, any feedback is much appreciated, hope you all enjoy! :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe and attempted r*ape, alcohol, smoking, drugs, strong language

Previous part | Next part

Chapter 6

The one thing you were unequivocally certain of was that you needed to do something. As you lay in bed that night, you thought restlessly of ways to propel the case forward, the detectives had made it clear that they needed more to go off. You weren’t sure what more you could come up with on your own, without their access to warrants and databases and so on. If the SVU, with all their heavy artillery couldn’t come up with anything solid, then what hope did you have? As the hours crawled by, later and later, you thought resentfully that there was no point in the judicial system, when it failed so frequently. What was the point in all of those laws, when the criminals they were designed to try were able to walk the streets freely. Laws, red tape, playing by the rules.

The realisation was incendiary. The SVU could keep all of their procedures, because as it turned out, you did have something that they didn’t. The simple fact was, you weren’t bound by the same rules that they were, they had all of their loopholes and laws, but you worked alone, you could play dirty. It surprised you that you hadn’t thought of it sooner, probably blocked by some unconscious part of your brain with the sole purpose of keeping you out of danger. But you knew what you had to do, you knew how to make it right.

…

You almost backed out. You’re 5am determination had devolved into 9pm uneasiness. It was stupid and dangerous, probably the most reckless thing you’d ever do. The clothes you’d pulled out from the back of your closet felt alien against your skin; the deep red, leather halter top and black mini skirt combination you’d coveted in your early twenties still fit, thankfully. You had taken your time applying eyeliner, fake eyelashes, lipstick; you’d even teased and styled your hair into the perfect blowout. The woman staring back at you from your bathroom mirror was unrecognisable, you felt exposed. But a small part of you, the part that noticed the pronounced swell of your cleavage, the fox-like quality of your lined eyes, the plumpness of your painted lips, was gratified. You still had IT, and you would do well to remember it from time to time.

You strapped yourself into a pair of heels and took stock of the inventory in your tiny purse. Keys, cell phone, mace, bubble-gum, lipstick, a bit of cash. You took a moment to shoot back a glass of strong bourbon, a bit of liquid courage for what you were about to do. You made a snap decision, something to calm your nerves, you pulled out your cell and typed a quick message. Just in case. And then you headed out the door, into the balmy Manhattan night.

…

Rafael reached out blearily, sleep still clinging to him, for his cell, which was ringing incessantly into the darkness of his bedroom. Bold of him to think he could get to sleep at a reasonable time on a Saturday, his supposed day off. He winced at the brightness of the screen, eyes adjusting gradually to see that it was Carisi trying to reach him. He swore under his breath, sliding to answer. He didn’t even get a chance to chastise the newest detective because he was already speaking when he lifted the cell to his ear.

“Counsellor, we’ve gotta problem-“  He was still too sluggish to catch what the detective was saying rapidly over the line.

“Detective… Carisi! Slow down, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

“You need to get down here Barba, that journalist (y/n), she might be trouble.”

“I’m on my way” He was already up and out of bed, pulling jeans and a three-quarter zip from his dresser. He tried to stop his mind from jumping to assumptions about what kind of trouble she might be in. A marching line of scenarios danced across his mind as he called a car. Someone broke into her apartment. As he ran down onto the street, she was attacked on her way to a bodega to buy a pack of those goddamn cigarettes. As they sped through the night, she was more drunk than he’d realised and choked on her own vomit in her sleep. As it turned out, any trouble that she might be in, was the result of her persevering desire to be a nuisance. Hell was a journalist with the inability to take no for an answer, it seemed.

…

When Rafael entered the precinct, it was in chaos. All of the detectives were present, shouting out to one another, flipping through pages of notes from the meat packing district rapes. He spotted Liv and Rollins talking to a harried looking woman and made a beeline for them.

“What happened? Where is she?” He said, pulling them out of their conversation.

“Barba, you’re here, good.” Liv started.

“We don’t know where she is, that’s part of the problem.” Rollins finished. He shook his head, trying to infer what she meant.

“So what? You’re saying she was abducted?”

“No, nothing like that. Barba, this is Valerie Roth, she’s a receptionist with the 8th, Miss Roth, tell Mr Barba what you were telling us.” The woman, Valerie, looked sick to her stomach. With shaking hands she lifted her cell phone, showing the screen to him.

“(Y/n) and me, um, we’re friends… She texted me about two hours ago. I knew she was getting too close to the story she was working on, but I didn’t think… I think she’s using herself as bait.” Tears started pouring down her face, her hands were trembling so violently he couldn’t read the words on the screen. He pried the device from her hands.

Hey Val, sorry for the late message. Things aren’t going great on the case but it’s going to be okay, I have a plan. They need proof, so I’m going to get it for them

Underneath was another message, no doubt the reason why Valerie had reached out.

Look, it’s pretty dangerous, so if I don’t get back to you by 2am at the latest I need you to contact Detective Benson

“Jesus Christ.” It was all he could croak out. He was tied between the sick lurch of fear for her safety that flipped in his stomach and blazing anger at her stupidity. What was she thinking? Well, he knew the answer to that. She was thinking that the police had failed to do their jobs yet again, that someone needed to do something. That the only person who could, in her mind at least, was herself.

“Do you have any idea where she could have gone?” He asked this to the room.

“Well, the logical assumption is that she went to one of the bars where a rape happened.” Rollins said, passing him a bunch of papers. “My bet is either this one, La Fete, or this place, the Lucky Cat. Both had reoccurring incidents of rapes.” She said, pointing at the pages.

“So why aren’t you out there now, looking for her?”

“It’s a Saturday night counsellor; those clubs will be packed. If we’re going to strike, we need to be sure or we’re just wasting everyone’s time.” Amaro piped up, “We’re trying to establish contact, see if we can trace her first.”

The next half an hour was tense; a call had been put out to patrolling unis to keep an eye out for any women matching her description. They tried once, twice, three times to call (y/n) from Valerie’s cell phone. As time went by, the poor woman went from harried to downright distraught. The sickness in the pit of Rafael’s stomach was rising to his throat. Sly thoughts crept to the front of his mind, maybe if he hadn’t departed so abruptly from her last night things would be different. He hadn’t wanted to leave her there like that. Their conversation in the bar had left him more conflicted then ever. He’d briefly thought to push her back into the apartment, wanted desperately to explore more of her then just the fleeting glimpses into her psyche, stolen in their impromptu meetings. If anything happened, he could kiss what slim chance of that ever being a possibility, goodbye for good.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Valeries cell pinged with a single message.

Can’t talk on call, it’s too loud in here. I’m okay, I promise.

“I’ve got her!” Rollins shouted out, already pulling her jacket on.

…

You did not miss clubbing. Your head was buzzing, half deaf from the loud house music playing. The place was a tangle of sweaty bodies, pressing up against you constantly. The smell of hairspray and cheap cologne permeated your senses, colours distorted by the neon lights everywhere. The Lucky Cat was the obvious choice for your undercover scheme. The location of three separate rapes, if you were going to get targeted anywhere, it was there. But you’d been there for over two hours and the most suspicious thing you’d seen was some questionable dance moves. You had bought a lime and soda and had been nursing it the entire time, keeping a careful eye on it anytime anyone got too close for comfort. A few guys had hit on you, but their attempts were sloppy at best, cringey but not illegal.

You decided to give it another hour and if nothing happened, you’d accept defeat and return to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. Maybe this whole idea had been a dumb mistake. What did you expect? You were one of thousands of young women out on the town, it was a Saturday night after all. Besides, your feet had started to ache from your ridiculous shoes. You took a sweeping glance over the crowd, desperately searching for any clue to the rapist’s identity, when you spotted a familiar face surging through the crowd towards you. Well shit.

Detective Amaro pushed past the revellers, who were either too wasted, or too high to care much. Behind him was Detective Rollins and Carisi. You held your hands up in surrender. Valerie must have gone to them, you wanted to be mad, but you knew in your heart that what she had done was the sensible thing.

“Detectives.” You had enough sense to feel a little bit ashamed, “How much trouble am I in?”

“You’re not in any trouble (y/n).” Nick replied, putting a protective arm around you, “let’s get you out of here and we can talk about this.” He started pushing you back through the crowd towards the entrance.

“We’ll do a quick sweep.” Amanda said, gesturing at herself and Sonny, “See if we can find anything.” Nick waved them off. You felt impossibly small in that moment. Not only had you failed to find anything, but you’d also wasted police time. You also knew that if the rapist was there, the appearance of three detectives in NYPD branded jackets had probably spooked him, pushing the discovery of his identity further out of reach. The cool night air was a shock against your exposed skin, after hours in the sweaty box of the club. Goosebumps prickled all over your body. Nick noticed and took off his jacket, throwing it over your shoulders. You uttered a meek thank you. He led you to an alley off to the side where a black SUV was parked up. You didn’t think your night could get much worse, until it did. The door swung open and out climbed Rafael Barba, face like thunder. Fucking fabulous.

…

(Y/n) was safe and Rafael was simultaneously relieved and furious. They had traced her messages to the Lucky Cat and raced to get there. He didn’t miss the puzzled looks on the detectives faces or Liv’s intrigued expression when he announced that he would ride with them. It was irregular for him to tag along for something like this, but this was hardly a regular situation. His heart hammered in his chest, like a bird trying to escape its cage as they drew closer. The place was nestled in amongst multiple bars and clubs, patrons spilling out of their mouths, he grimaced, no wonder this cabron had used this place as a hunting ground, it was like a candy store for creeps. When they pulled up into a narrow alley at the side of the bar, he and Liv had stayed back, while Amaro, Rollins and Carisi went searching. He could feel Liv’s eyes burning holes into him. They had been friends long enough, he knew, that she could tell something was going on.

“What?!” He snapped, staring at the corner, praying for you to appear around it.

“I didn’t say anything!” She retaliated.

“But you want to.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“You’re right about that.” She shot him an infuriating grin.

“Did you sleep with her, is that it?” He sputtered at her brazenness, his face burning.

“NO!”

“But you want to?”

“Olivia–“ His voice was laced with warning, he didn’t want to have this conversation anyway, never mind in their current situation. She muttered an unconvincing apology, silence falling between them once again. Time moved at an unforgiving pace, and he was about to burst when the radio crackled to life. They had found her, she was unharmed, she was safe. He let out the breath he’d been holding. Relief washed over him. Then he saw her rounding the corner with Amaro, swamped in his jacket, his arm around her shoulder, and the relief was replaced with outrage and perhaps, a tiny bit of jealousy at how closely the detective was holding her. He threw the door of the SUV open, coming face to face with her.

“What were you thinking?!” His voice was acrimonious; she shrank away from him.

“Back off Barba.” Amaro squared up to him, placing himself like a wall in front of her.

“Esto no te concierne” He hissed the words; he could see the nerve in Amaro’s jaw ticking as he clenched it.

“Estas fuera de lugar.” Rafael scoffed, but before he could say anything else he was interrupted.

“Guys, give it a break.” Liv pushed them both to the side and made a beeline for (y/n) who’s shoulders had started to tremble. She muttered quietly to the journalist, who looked on the brink of tears. He couldn’t hear much of what was being said over his own rushing blood, but he caught her quiet confession.

“I just wanted to do something; I can’t live with myself if this happens to another woman.” His anger dissipated instantly. He still thought that she was an idiot for doing this, but he knew it was for the right reasons. He knew that desperation for justice all too well. Hadn’t he literally allowed himself to be strangled in court for the same reason? Amaro, caught the tenderness on his face, glancing between him and her. Rafael could practically see his brain connecting the dots.

“Oh, I see how it is.” He said, scornfully.

“Whatever you think you’ve figured out, you’re wrong.” The ADA replied. He was screwed; he hadn’t even figured out the complicated feelings he had for her himself yet. He’d assumed it was desperate lust, a result of his chaste lifestyle. But now? He didn’t have a clue, and it was deeply antagonising that other people were seeing something that he didn’t yet fully understand. Amaro didn’t get a chance to provoke him any further, Carisi and Rollins had appeared from out of the club.

“Apart from a few high-fliers, we didn’t find anything.” Rollins called out. Carisi went to (y/n), joining the whispered conversation that she was having with Liv, rubbing a reassuring hand on her arm. Rafael felt jealousy brewing in his chest again. He felt pathetic, he was a grown man for gods sake. The smaller, more petulant voice in him though, whispered wickedly. Of course, Amaro and Carisi were sniffing around her, she was enigmatic and more than easy on the eyes. She had a passion that they could relate to. They’re just doing their jobs. He scolded himself.

Rollins took stock of the scene before her, Amaro, jaw clenched, Barba, staring daggers at Carisi.

“What did I miss?” Amaro heaved a sigh. Rafael snapped back to reality.

“Nothing, we should head back to the precinct. Maybe, we can all salvage our evenings.” He said, loudly enough that everyone could hear him. They all piled into the SUV. Liv and Amaro in front, Barba and Rollins in the middle and not wanting to leave her sat alone, Carisi with (y/n) in the back. Liv put out a quick call on the scanner, the search was off. As she was asking (y/n) for her home address so they could drop her back home (making her promise to stay put, throwing a light threat of regular check ins from the rest of them) the night took yet another turn, dragging all of them further away from any chance of a peaceful end.

…

A little further down the alley, a heavy door was pushed open. Rafael caught the movement in the rear-view mirror and watched absentmindedly. It was probably just one of the bartenders, sneaking out for a few minutes of solace, a quick smoke. Except the boy (he looked barely old enough to be a man) was behaving unnaturally. He tapped Liv on the shoulder and gestured to what he was seeing. The boy was scanning the alley, his eyes sliding over the vehicle that they all sat in silently. Of course, the windows were tinted, and the engine was off so there was no actual indication that the squad and the journalist were present, watching. He nodded at someone, holding the door wide.

“Oh my god.” (Y/n) whispered, horrified. Out of the open door, another boy appeared, dragging something heavy behind him. That something was a person. A woman. Comatose. The first kid patted his partner on the back, headed back to the open door, eyes constantly searching the alley and the space behind him. So, he was a lookout. And the second was dragging the unconscious woman behind the dumpster. He reached for his belt, undoing the buckle. That was all they needed, the detectives swarmed out of the car, shouting out, tackling both boys. The next part was chaos. A bus was called, back up cars requested. At one point (y/n) had snaked a hand through the partition in the chairs, clinging to Rafael’s arm as the scene played out before them.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

He's SO babygirl

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: Whew, I originally planned to upload this days ago, but this chapter just didn't want to write itself and I've been doing crazy hours in work, so apologies for the slight delay! Anyways, plot is plotting, reader and Rafael just need to get a room at this point, also apologies if any of the spanish is incorrect, I'm guilty of using google translate. As usual any feedback is much appreciated and happy reading :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, drugs, alcohol, smoking, reader is h*rny as fuck

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Chapter 5

For a short while, nothing happened. Then everything happened all at once.

“You’re sure?” Barba stared down at the case file laid out in front of him, he already knew the answer.

“Pretty sure, I need to make some calls, let the others know.” He nodded gravely. If Olivia noticed the shadow that crossed his expression, she chose not to comment.

“And (y/n)? I assume you’re going to loop her in?”

“You don’t think I should?”

“That’s your call detective” He feigned indifference, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, instead waving his hand in dismissal.

…

It had only been a few days since you’d last stepped foot in the 16th precinct, only a few days since you and the ADA had agreed to a peace treaty in a quiet little corner of a quiet little bar. So, when your cell lit up with a message from Olivia Benson, you were instantly suspicious.

We need to talk, meet me at precinct?

Your mind raced at the possibilities. You were no detective, but you weren’t stupid enough to think that they had found your guy in just over a week, not with how circumstantial the physical evidence was. You tried to ward off the yawning pit of despair that was growing in your stomach. They probably just needed some more information, maybe clarification on your notes. Maybe they were going to ask you to try and recruit more victims to the cause. It could be anything really, some totally inane request. It’s probably nothing. You repeated it to yourself as you switched out your clothes, baggy t shirt for jeans and a blouse. You repeated it to yourself as you locked your door and headed out into the city and then as you climbed the worn steps of the precinct. Yes, it’s probably nothing.

When you entered the bullpen, Olivia was nowhere to be found. You were instead met with a group of detectives, some you recognised – Nick and Sonny – and some you didn’t. Nick jumped up to greet you.

“(y/n), it’s good to see you again! Detective Benson is just in a meeting at the moment, she shouldn’t be long, you can wait here for her.” He gestured to a lone chair next to his desk. You smiled, thanked him and settled yourself down, acutely aware that all eyes were on you.

“So, this is the infamous (y/f/n).” The older male detective quipped, smirking at you.

“My reputation precedes me; I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure?”

“Fin Tutuola, this is my partner, Amanda Rollins.” The only woman in the room inclined her head.

“Nice to meet you.” She gave you a polite smile that you noticed didn’t quite reach her eyes. Nick, similarly, looked distracted. There was an undercurrent of tension about the room, which made the chasm in your core widen even more. It’s probably nothing. Before the question of why you’d been called back could leave your lips, Sonny had loped over, holding a cardboard box level with your eyes.

“You like Cannoli’s? Made em’ myself.” Nick audibly scoffed, Amanda rolled her eyes so hard you though they might roll out of her head, but he looked so sincere you couldn’t say no, even if the thought of eating anything right now made you want to gag. Before you could pull one out of the box, you heard your name being called.  

“(y/n) thank you for coming in, why don’t we talk in my office.” Olivia said, pulling all the attention in the room. You snatched your hand back, muttering an apology to Sonny and followed her into a tiny office. She gestured for you to sit on the sofa that lay along one wall while she shuttered the blinds.

“What’s going on?” Your question came out more like an accusation. She shot you a sympathetic look as she took a seat next to you, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

“I wanted to let you know that we’ve arrested a man, his DNA matched the semen we found on Gemma Belmont’s body, he confessed when we brought him in.” Your heart soared momentarily at the news.

“That’s amazing.” Your words shrank in your mouth, realization dawning on you. Fuck. “You found semen?” You shook you head slightly, the silent horror of what that little detail meant, sending you into a plunging state of shock. So that’s why she had called you in so late in the day.

“I’m sorry (y/n), we’re still investigating the cases of the four victims you brought to us. But at this time, we’re not finding any evidence that connects Gemma to the others, the MOs are similar, but your guy used condoms and a mystery drug. Gemma… It was just an awful coincidence, some bad coke…” Your lips pressed together in a grim line. The whole reason you had come here in the first place was because of Gemma, you were happy of course that justice would be served for her and her loved ones, but what justice was there for the others? For your girls?

“Our case, have you found anything?” You asked bitterly, you knew the answer already.

“We’re trying, I promise.”

“But?” Olivia put a comforting hand on your arm, lowering her voice to a gentle whisper.

“You’ve seen the rape kits. You spoke to the victims, you know as much as we do. We’re reaching out to the bars but some of these rapes are months old…”

“So, what you’re saying is you have jack shit. There’s a serial rapist walking the streets of New York and there’s nothing you can do.”

“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“What I wanted to hear? This isn’t about ME, what am I supposed to tell Bailey? Or Lianne? Anna and Miriam?”

“We will talk to them, you don’t have to worry about that. The investigation is ongoing; we aren’t giving up on them – “

“Yet.” You interjected, holding your head in your hands, a war of emotions broiling inside of you. Your guilt at betraying the victims trust had returned tenfold because you had betrayed them for nothing, it seemed. Silence fell over you both, an unspoken sentiment settling in the space between you. Justice had to prevail.

…

One day, Rafael would leave the office at a reasonable hour but today was not that day. From the second Olivia had dropped in with the Belmont casefile, it had been nonstop. He was just grateful that the perp had confessed and agreed to plead guilty; no trial meant one less problem to contend with. But no trial didn’t mean no paperwork, or no meetings with the DA to summarise the SVU’s findings; so, there he was, exiting 1 Hogan Place at nearly 8pm, desperately in need of a drink.

He typed a quick message to Liv as he walked through the night, heading towards Forlini’s. They usually convened there after a case was resolved, no matter the outcome. A small part of him was also hoping to broach the topic of (y/n). Despite his day being especially busy, he found his mind wandering more than once to the journalist. He wondered how she had reacted to the information that Olivia had presented to him that morning. It was obvious that she was close - too close, to the case and that was almost always a recipe for disaster.

His mind had wandered for other reasons too, reasons that made the tips of his ears pink slightly and made him kick himself. In his weaker moments, he found himself drawn back to that evening at Forlini’s. He’d be a liar if he said it didn’t excite him just a little when she had rounded on him in self-righteous rage. It felt vaguely toxic, and it was undeniably unprofessional, but in his own mind he was absolved of any sins because there was no way, not even a slither of a chance that he would act on it. It was a silly little infatuation, probably born of his pitiable lack of a romantic life and nothing more.  

…

Only as he was rounding onto the street that Forlini’s was located on, did Liv message him back. The squad had caught a last-minute case so she would have to rain check; this job, always exigently demanding. He rolled is eyes, he was here now, he may as well stay for one. He pushed open the door, eyes glued to his cell as he assured Liv that it was okay, that they’d meet another time. If he had been looking up, instead of down, he would have seen (y/n) slumped at the bar but as it happened, he didn’t notice her until he was stood just inches away from her. Rafael noticed her perfume first, a deep, sweet blend that reminded him of late summer nights in the city. The second thing he noticed was the glassy sheen in her eyes. So, she took the news badly.

“Look who it is.” Her words were slightly slurred, she turned her full body to face him, cheeks flushed and wide eyed, “You still keeping tabs on me Mr Barba?”

“When did the party start?” He deflected cooly, eyeing the half empty glass in front of her. She snorted, gulping down the remainder of the drink.

“My pity party? S’couple of hours ago?” She tapped her fingers against the bar top, calling out to the bartender for a refill and ‘whatever he’s having’. Bumping into (y/n) in the same bar that they’d not long ago shared a table at was not something he’d even considered could be on the cards, but he’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t a welcome surprise, even if she was inebriated and likely to scold him at least once. When the bartender has served their round, he guided her away from the bar to a more private booth, pre-empting that the conversation would take a case related turn.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked for the second time that week.

…

Rafael Barba was the wrong kind of counsellor you decided. You had found yourself back at the little bar he’d taken you to a few days prior, after your conversation with Benson you had needed something to take the edge off (your trusty Marlboro’s weren’t going to cut it in this situation) so when you left the precinct you had subconsciously gravitated towards the only bar you knew of within a couple of blocks radius. You were a few drinks in, a soft numbness creeping into the edges of your head, when he appeared beside you, his solid presence was a jarring contradiction to the alcohol induced looseness over taking you. You weren’t entirely sure how to feel about his sudden appearance, he certainly wasn’t the first person you’d have considered calling on, but he had been kinder to you recently and you reluctantly realised that you actually didn’t want to be alone in that moment. So, you let him guide you to a booth, let him broach the conversation.

…

“You should have been a therapist instead of a lawyer.” His smile was small; he took a sip of his drink.

“Well, being a prosecutor for the SVU is a bit like doing both, so I guess I lucked out.” Before you could formulate a reply, he moved his hand onto the table, just shy of touching you, a small part of you wished he would close the distance, “I know it’s frustrating, I’m sorry.” For what it was worth, he seemed to genuinely mean it.

“How do you handle it?” You were keenly aware of how small you sounded, the several drinks you’d consumed making your tongue clumsy, “The forgotten cases, the ones you can’t prosecute?” He pondered your question for a long moment.

“(y/n) … The detectives are still investigating your case; they might still find something that could crack the whole thing wide.” You laughed dryly.

“You’re deflecting.”

“Maybe you should have been a lawyer instead of a journalist.”

“Answer the question.” His eyes twinkled as he shot you a smirk. Then, his expression turned thoughtful, almost melancholy.

“You can’t win them all, but god loves a trier.” He searched for the words for a moment, “Alls I can do is prosecute the cases I can, justice is… evasive, at the best of times, but even if I can only put one pendejo away out of ten, it’s something.” He was trying to appear reticent but the way he spat the insult told you everything. You realized in this moment that despite your previous hostilities, your goals were ultimately aligned. Truth and justice, it all meant the same thing at the end of the day, the only difference being the ways in which you had chosen to pursue it.

You also noticed that he’d used Spanish casually, which had piqued your interest, you vaguely remembered that he’d grown up in the Bronx from the article you’d read on him. You could feel yourself growing hot, normally you’d be mortified at the animalistic reaction your body was having. Anyone but this man, anywhere but this bar, having this conversation. But the alcohol had lowered your defences, made you bold.

“Entiendo.” You looked at him through your lashes, relishing the way his eyes darkened, despite fighting to keep his expression neutral.

“You’re full of surprises Miss (y/l/n).” His voice was a degree huskier. You feigned innocence.

“I took a Spanish elective in college, figured it could come in handy one day, for my work.”

“No te equivocas.” The tension between you was quickly becoming unbearable, he was undeniably attractive. Something in the way his arms looked, strong with his sleeves rolled up, capable hands. Two or three shirt buttons undone to reveal a dark smattering of chest hair. His green eyes glinting in the low light of the bar. Your mind was veering in a filthy direction, but something in you snapped. What the fuck am I doing the thought was like cold water, sobering your thoughts, allowing shame to wash over you.

“I should go.” You didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across his features, quickly replaced by something else, something harder.

“Don’t go on account of me.” Just like that the moment had evaporated. Good. Better for it to be like this, things were messy enough as it was, you didn’t need to complicate it further with whatever that was. You were expecting the familiar hostility to return, for him to give you one of his withering looks, or a snappy comment, but instead he drained his drink, stood out of his chair and offered you a hand. “At least let me take you home, it’s late.” You felt a twist of remorse, but agreed, you were still tipsy, and you knew all too well the horrors that lurked around every corner for a woman in the city, especially one in your condition.

…

Despite your objections, he paid your tab and then called a car to get you back to your place. The silence between you was thick, charged. You couldn’t meet his eyes, so you stared out of the window petulantly as the darkened streets whipped past you. The journey was both too long and too short, there was a stiff awkwardness between you but there was something about his company that you longed for. You told yourself it was just the desire to not be on your own again, just you and the four walls of your apartment and your thoughts.

When you finally pulled up outside your building, he instructed the driver to wait, insisting on walking you to your front door. You didn’t fight it, you knew there was no point. You slid your key into the lock and crossed the threshold, a strange hollowness in your chest. Turning to him, you started speaking, “Thankyou… Rafael, I appreciate- “

“Take care of yourself (y/n)” He cut you off, before turning unceremoniously on his heel, leaving you stood alone at your door. You didn’t move, until you heard the car door slam and its engine purr to life. You knew already that you weren’t sleeping tonight, the beginnings of a headache were already pressing at the base of your skull, and your thoughts were frantic. Well, you’ve really fucked up this time.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

I’ll try to get chapter 5 of TBoP out tomorrow but I’m working for the next few days so might not be able to, apologies for the slight delay everyone 🫶

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: As promised, reader and Barba finally have a proper interaction in this chapter, it was so much fun to write ;) I'd love to know your theories on what's going to happen next for our two idiots!

TW: Mentions of r*pe, alcohol, smoking, strong language

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Chapter 4

In a bewildering turn of events, your obsession with the case was rapidly becoming an obsession with the ADA instead. Every time you accompanied a victim to the 16th precinct he was there, like a bad smell. You couldn’t shake him loose from your thoughts, no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself. He was irritating, arrogant, egotistical, handsome – ‘No, you’ve just been single for a long time, too long’ you told yourself whenever that pernicious thought popped into your head, “He’s an asshole, remember? And you hate him.’ You weren’t going to let your lack of a sex life fool you into thinking Rafael Barba was anything other then a huge, inconvenient, thorn in your side.

During your second meeting, with Anna, he had regarded you coldly. You didn’t miss the way he narrowed his eyes whenever you uttered calm reassurances or doled out comforting hand squeezes. You couldn’t understand what his problem was, why he was so offended by your presence. You found it grossly unprofessional, but that was hardly surprising, this was the NYPD after all. Afterwards, when you and Anna had gone to grab lunch, she had asked you about him.

“What’s that lawyer guys problem?”

“Please, I wish I knew! He’s a real SOB, maybe he’s just mad that I’m making the cops actually do their jobs for once.” You ranted, although you knew you weren’t being entirely fair in saying that, the SVU were an elite team and all the detectives had been respectful to you. It was just him.

…

You had accompanied a further three women to the precinct. Bailey and Lianne and the fourth, Miriam Lennox, who’d had a change of heart and wanted to talk.  If he had warmed at all to you in those sequential meetings, you hadn’t noticed, or you were choosing not to notice. His existence had rooted itself in your brain and you were too proud, or perhaps too stubborn to admit that maybe he wasn’t as awful as you had first decided. What you didn’t yet know, was that stubbornness was a trait you and the ADA shared, and it was a losing game.

Despite spending months researching and reaching out to the women, to hear their testimonies back-to-back like you had been that week, was starting to take a toll on you. You wondered about the detectives, how they did this every day, week in, week out and what they did to cope? Therapy? Or maybe something else, some darker form of distraction. You had finished up for the day and Miriam, who had struggled exponentially to get through her statement had decided to just go straight home, leaving you standing alone outside the 16th. You felt older than you had in your whole life, taking long drags from a cigarette as you stared at nothing, the smell of smoke mingling with your perfume.

“You know those things can kill you?” A voice reached you through your disassociation. You turned your head, seeking out its speaker, your eyes landed on his earnest green. Rafael Barba was stood a few feet away from you, you noticed his tie had been loosened.

“Don’t get too excited, I don’t actually smoke.” He inclined his head, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

“I may be a lot of things, but I’m not blind.” He had the audacity to chuckle. You felt a flutter of irritation. Why was he even speaking to you? Didn’t he have better things to do? Like being condescending, or practicing his best scowl?

“It’s not a habit, you know what I mean. Look, it’s been a long day, okay?” You snapped, before adding, in a softer, weary voice, “It’s been a long week.” He studied your face slowly, could see the drained slump of your shoulders and in that moment, he made a choice that stunned you. He extended an olive branch.

“I was just heading out… There’s a bar near here, you look like you could use a drink?” He said, all the bravado of the past couple of weeks leaching out of his voice. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous.

“You know that can kill you right?” You replied, mocking him, but your small smile betrayed you. You followed his lead and ended up at a little bar and restaurant called Forlini’s.

…

Rafael was conflicted. While he didn’t necessarily believe that (y/f/n) was using the victims from her investigation for her own purposes per say, that didn’t mean he trusted her. She was clearly intelligent and resourceful, and he could feel himself bristling defensively the moment he was in the room with her. Despite Olivia’s terse warnings, to play nice or at the very least, be cavalier, he knew his face was betraying him. After exchanging an affable greeting, he sat in near silence, the only noise he made coming from his pen as it scratched away at his legal pad.

He watched her hawkishly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When Anna, the victim, became distressed, he watched her clasp the woman’s hand, rubbing comforting circles into her skin and reassuring her, ‘It’s okay, you’re doing so well, it’s nearly over, deep breaths.’ As much as he wanted to be right about her, he couldn’t deny what he was seeing plainly in front of his face. She didn’t speak other than those few, occasional words of encouragement, letting Anna do all the talking. And it was the same with Bailey and then Lianne and finally with Miriam. So, she wasn’t coaching them, or if she was, she was very good at concealing it.

The four women gave their statements over three days and (y/n) was present with all of them. Rafael respected her dedication, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that it came with a cost. On the third day, he had noted the weariness in her eyes, how she sat smaller in the chair, how her lips turned down in a forlorn way. It occurred to him that (y/n) had been weathering this investigation, probably, on her own; he knew the emotional tax that came with the job well, like an old foe. But when a case was hard, or a victim’s story crawled under his ribs and laid heavy on his heart, there was always the squad to fall back on. Late night drinks, working lunches, never having to be alone if being alone was unbearable. He wondered who she went to, if she even had anyone she could go to, when the weight of it all became suffocating.

When he exited the 16th precinct, a short while after Miriam and (y/n) had left, he was surprised to see the journalist, standing alone on the street. She stared at nothing, occasionally lifting a cigarette to her lips. He should leave, Rafael told himself, she wants to be left alone. But he couldn’t will his feet to move. Instead, he called out to her and in a burst of charity he offered to buy her a drink, his heart twinging at her small smile. It didn’t mean anything, of course, he told himself. He was just being kind, like how his Mami and Abuela taught him to be. And that’s how they ended up at Forlinis, tucked away at the very back at a tiny table for two.

…

Barba had surprised you, apparently his heart wasn’t completely made of ice. You sipped on the gin and tonic he’d ordered for you, fiddling with the straw shyly. The bar he’d took you to was nice, quiet and dark, a pocket of privacy in a city that was always wide awake and watching. You didn’t say anything for a while, couldn’t even think of how to start a conversation with the man sitting opposite you, a man who’d previously wound you so tight you thought you might snap. You could feel his eyes on you, patiently waiting for you to say something. The silence should have been awkward, but it felt almost serene, like you’d dropped out of your real life into a new dimension that comprised of one table, two drinks and four walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Barba’s voice was like stone on a perfectly still pond. You met his eyes, realising how close he was sat, thinking vaguely that it was too close.

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” You replied truthfully. His face searched yours.

“I understand that feeling… But something like this? If you push it all down… What I’m trying to say is, you shouldn’t try to carry it on your own. Is there anyone at home you can talk to?” You laughed, mirthlessly.

“I have my sister, but what am I supposed to say? Hey sis, long time no see, by the way, I’m hunting down a serial rapist! Anyway, nice weather we’ve been having.” He smiled earnestly at that. He knew all too well that this job was hardly appropriate dinner conversation.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” He began, swirling the scotch in his glass and taking a sip. “What made you pick up this story?”

You countered, “What made you pick your job?”

“Point taken.”

“Why does anyone do anything? I picked this career because I wanted to do something good, something that meant something y’know? I guess I haven’t really had a chance to do that yet.” You tailed off, sighing, thinking about your mediocre back catalogue.

“I’m sure the moms of America are grateful to you for saving them from Adderall addiction.” Barba quipped at you then, your head shot up and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“You read my article?” You asked, accusation piercing your tone. To his credit, he had the good grace to blush, his expression turning sheepish immediately.

“I might have stumbled across it.” His voice was small. You huffed indignantly.

“So what? You keeping tabs on me councillor?”

“No! I didn’t mean anything by it, I – “

“I don’t understand you at all, you’ve had a problem with me since the very first day I walked into that precinct! I’m trying to help find the bad guy Mr Barba, so why do you keep acting like the bad guy is me?” Your chest heaved as you spat the words out, acutely aware that you were in a public place. His eyes blazed brilliant green as they stared you down.

“Are you done?” He asked, a flash of annoyance crossing his features. You moved to stand, reaching for your purse to grab some money for your drink. You didn’t want to owe this asshole anything, but he reached out, swatting your hand away. “Sit down.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” The words were like venom, tumbling from your lips, he gave you an odd look that you couldn’t quite place, a wicked glint in his eye.

“Sit down… Please?” He gestured his head slightly and when you looked over you noticed the bartender, eyeing you warily. Your temper fizzled down slightly, feeling embarrassment bubbling in the back of your throat. You said nothing, feeling lightheaded from the surge of burning anger in your stomach and you slouched back down in your chair. “You’re right.” He conceded. “I’ve been acting beneath myself.” You puckered your lips into a scowl, refusing to break eye contact.

“Go on.”

“I just assumed that you were in it for self-gain, I’m realising now that that was a mistake.”

“But why would you even assume that? You don’t know me!” He sighed, shame creeping onto his face.

“It comes with the territory, if I took everyone at face value, half of the people I put away would be walking the streets without a problem.” You took a second to consider what he was saying. It made sense, you supposed, how a job like that could affect your estimation of the people around you. “Look, we both want the same thing, right? So why don’t we start fresh? I don’t know about you but I’m tired of arguing.” He reached a hand out for you to shake in truce.

“It’s pretty tough luck that you chose to be a lawyer then, isn’t it?” You replied, but you reached for his hand anyway, savouring the warmth of his skin against yours.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

I just read all three parts of Burden of Proof... I can't wait for more.

Thankyou so much! It means the world that people are actually reading it, working on Chapter 4 as we speak :) xo

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: Can you tell I was super inspired by Martha from the Johnny D storyline? This is the last kind of set up chapter for this series, going forward there will be a lot more reader x barba interaction, I promise!! Also I've reread this a million time to check for mistakes but I'm a couple of glasses of wine deep so apologies if there's any typos etc! Happy reading :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, Alcohol, drugs, s*x

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Chapter 3

A week had passed since your meeting with the SVU. Long enough that your determination had devolved into resolute guilt but not quite long enough for your anger at the arrogant ADA to subside. After you had stormed out, your rage had carried you home where you broke down, screaming into your pillow so your neighbours wouldn’t get the wrong idea and then panic set in. Your mind raced, the girls had no idea that the police were about to reach out to them, make them relive their trauma and that was on you. The cops might have shut you out, but the least you could do was warn them.

You agonised over your laptop, typing, then deleting, then retyping an email that you would send to all of them. Apologizing, explaining, begging for forgiveness or at the very least acknowledgment for why you had betrayed their confidence. You hit send, sending out a silent prayer to the universe, for yourself and for them. You were amped up, your skin felt electrified, the adrenaline of the day surging through your veins. So, you did the only thing left to do, you walked to the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine and drank until the trembling in your hands stopped and then until you passed out into a dreamless, restless sleep.

…

When you woke the next morning, head pounding and mouth dry, you checked your email. Your inbox was full. To your surprise only a few of the women had damned you to hell. The majority took the stance of disappointed, but grudgingly understanding. Bailey and Lianne, the two women that this all started with and another one of the victims, Anna Dawson, were the ones that surprised you most though. They had added you to a group chat and asked to meet up for coffee, to talk. They weren’t angry at you, not at all; they agreed that the most recent development – Gemma Belmont’s death, was a step too far, their determination for justice renewed.

You sat on the messages for a while, unsure of yourself. Part of you wanted to hide away, like a coward, licking your wounds. You shook yourself, who were you to sit there feeling sorry for yourself? You weren’t the victim here. You pulled out your cell and typed a quick message.

‘Time and place? I’ll be there.’

It wasn’t long before you had a reply, you all agreed to meet at The Roasting Pot the following Thursday, six days from then. Six days, you just had to occupy yourself for six days.

…

It turned out to be less difficult than you anticipated. For months you had been obsessive over the case and left little room for anything else. Investigative journalism didn’t pay as well as you would have liked, at least not at your level. The few pieces you’d worked on in the past (an expose on a group of moms using an MLM as cover for what was actually a pill smuggling scheme, for example) had their moments, but you were no Jimmy Mac. So in between your own projects, you picked up any freelance work you could take. Commissions, copy writing gigs and the occasional editing work is what actually paid your bills and considering you’d blown through a significant amount of savings, you had plenty to catch up on.

You were long overdue in other aspects of your life as well. Mainly, you had been avoiding seeing your sister, so in between long writing stints, you met her for a drink and let her berate you for over working yourself and your woeful lack of a social life. And the fact that you were still single.

Despite having a perfectly busy schedule, your evenings were long and because you loved to punish yourself, you spent hours constantly refreshing the web browser on your cell for any updates on the case. One night, when you felt particularly nihilistic, you found yourself stalking articles and profiles of the detectives you’d met, their cases. Valerie was right about them at least, they did seem to be good, with a slew of successful convictions under their belts. As you dove further you ended up on an article about the ADA. Rafael Barba, once a kid from ‘El Barrio’, educated on a full scholarship at Harvard and now the prosecutor for the Special Victims Unit. You recognised one of his cases from the news, the People vs Adam Cain. So, the case was in good hands, but it didn’t alleviate the nagging irritation you felt at being pushed out. You stared down at the photo that accompanied the article. He clearly had good taste in suits, you thought, remembering his three-piece from that day. His face stared back up at you, earnest green eyes and a slight smirk, it struck you that he was incredibly handsome. You dismissed the idea as quickly as it had crossed your mind. A nice face and good track record didn’t change the fact that he was jackass.

…

(Y/f/n) had dropped a veritable bomb on the Special Victims Unit. What had originally been a rape turned murder, was now a potential serial rapist. The bullpen was a mess of paper, half empty takeout boxes and strung-out detectives. Detective Amanda Rollins, a perky blonde from Georgia slammed her phone down into the receiver and sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair.

“Vic number seven, Lucy Madden, doesn’t want to talk.” She announced to the room, which was met with several groans. Carisi ran a hand through his hair.

“This is a nightmare, none of em want to.” He exclaimed.

“Can you blame them? I wouldn’t want to speak to us either.” Fin Tutuola, an SVU veteran replied to this, through a mouthful of pizza. Olivia shook her head and surveyed the room.

“C’mon guys, we knew this wasn’t going to be easy, (y/n) told us as much, but we keep going, one of the vics will talk eventually.”

“What’s the deal with this (y/n) chick anyway? She’s like a journo Mother Theresa.” Fin replied, earning a few tired laughs.

“She seems pretty hardcore,” Amanda offered, “These notes are meticulous, she really put the work in.”

“Yeah, well no wonder she was so mad when Barba cut her out.” Carisi added, “I woulda give my right arm to see her facin off with him.” At that moment, Amaro, who had been talking at length on the phone, interjected.

“Liv, I just got off the phone with victim number ten, Anna Dawson, she’s willing to talk to us.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah, well there’s a slight problem…”

…

“No, absolutely not.” Rafael remarked. Olivia rolled her eyes and threw her arms up in exasperation.

“C’mon Barba, hardly any of these girls will talk, that’s if we can even get them to pick up our calls! We have a victim ready to come forward- “

“And I’m telling you no!” She sighed and threw herself down on the couch. Anna Dawson, the tenth victim on the list (y/f/n) had given to them was ready to talk about her assault, on one condition; she wanted (y/n) to be there with her as an advocate, something the ADA was belligerently unenthusiastic about. Olivia switched tactics.

“Why not?” She entreated, trying to meet his gaze from where he leaned against his desk. He loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves, this conversation was exhausting him.

“It’s a conflict of interest Liv, she has ulterior motives. She told you herself that this started as a hit piece on the NYPD! How do we know she isn’t coaching the victims?”

“Do you really believe that?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been doing this job a long time Rafael, long enough to know that this stopped being about work the minute she spoke to those first victims.”

“When did you add clairvoyance to your CV Detective?” She laughed and shot him a scathing look.

“When did you add comedian to yours?” She shot back, before trying one last time, “She’s the real deal Barba. She came to us, behind their backs with this information because she wanted to do the right thing. If these girls trust her, then why shouldn’t we? If you’re worried about her influence, then feel free to sit in.” Rafael pinched the bridge of his nose, he’d worked with Olivia long enough to know when he’d lost the fight.

“Fine, have it your way, but when this blows up in our faces I will say I told you so.”

“Always a pleasure Barba!” She called over her shoulder as she left his office. He slumped down in his chair and groaned inwardly. In truth, his objection was only half because of actual legalistic reasons. The other half? (y/f/n) vexed him. He couldn’t understand why one random journalist had gotten so under his skin. He could hold his hands up and admit he’d been less then courteous with her. He’d even go so far as to settle for arrogant, but she gave as good as he did and while he could respect a good sparring partner, she quite frankly pissed him off.

…

That evening, after his disagreement with (y/f/n) and the flurry of activity surrounding the new truck load of information, Rafael had retired to the quiet sanctuary of his apartment. Tension pulled at his shoulders; he poured himself a glass of scotch to unwind. His brain ached at the thought of his murder/rape case becoming a serial in one morning, but that was the thing with SVU, it was very rarely as simple as he would have liked. The flicker of guilt he’d felt towards the journalist that morning had morphed into an ugly bitterness that left a bad taste in his mouth.

Despite the late hour and the dogged exhaustion creeping into his bones, he pulled out his laptop and searched her name online. He read through some of her articles, one about a pill pushing mommy group, another about a church pastor siphoning tithing funds to host elaborate swinging parties, it was good writing, he could admit that. In addition to the few articles, he found her Instagram which was sparsely populated with artsy shots in bookstores and a couple of candid photos with and without friends. One picture in particular caught his eye. She was sat alone on a fire escape, plants and flowers placed precariously around her, she was smiling radiantly at the camera, her skin glowing in the late afternoon sunshine. Rafael stared at it until he felt a slight stirring in his stomach before throwing the phone down, a pretty face and a talent for writing didn’t change the fact that she was a complete pain in his ass.

…

The air was the clearest that it had been all week. The heavy, damp tension washed away by a midsummer storm that left you feeling lighter than usual. You turned your face to the sun as you strolled along the sidewalk, headed to your coffee morning with Bailey, Lianne and Anna. The guilt you felt was still palpable, but it was met with a similarly tangible sense of hope. As you walked, it struck you that you’d walked a pretty much identical route a week ago, when you had spent a disastrous morning at the 16th precinct.

You had arrived at your destination. Peeking in the window you saw the three woman and had a fleeting thought that you could turn now, walk away, wash your hands of this whole situation. You cringed at the thought and at that moment, Bailey looked up, locking eyes with you. She offered you a coy smile and waved, prompting the other girls to seek you out. Taking a final, grounding breath, you pushed open the door and headed to their table.

“Sorry ladies, I didn’t realize I was running late?” You said, settling down in the one available chair.

“You’re fine, what are you drinking?” Lianne asked, reaching for her purse. You told her your order and sat awkwardly as she got your drink and returned to the table. Distracting yourself with sugar packets you searched for the words to say.

“So… You guys wanted to talk?” You finally settled on, making brief eye contact with each of them. A few quiet murmurs, a couple of nods.

“Yeah… We’ve um, we’ve agreed to talk to the detectives that you spoke to.” Bailey piped up, fiddling with the handle of her mug.

“That’s… great, I’m glad to hear it.” You said, smiling encouragingly.

“I know for myself at least, hiding away from… what happened…” She continued, struggling to verbalise her thoughts. You reached over, placing a hand on hers, “Pretending like it didn’t happen, doesn’t make it go away. Whoever this monster is, he needs to be stopped.” You nodded, squeezing her hand.

“You believed us when no one else did.” Bailey added, her eyes glazing with tears. You felt your heart twinge, cursing yourself for ever wanting to run away from these women.

“Always.” Was all you could say. Anna looked particularly nervous then.

“I – I’m actually scheduled for a meeting with them in an hour.” She admitted. Before you could reply, she continued. “I want you to be there with me, that’s one of the things we wanted to ask you.”

“I’d love to, really… but I already told you, the case is out of my hands now.” You paused, feeling the familiar flicker of anger in your stomach.

“When I spoke to the detectives, I told them I’d only do it with you there. Took them awhile but they called me back a couple of days ago and agreed. Will you come with me? Please?” She stared at you imploringly. How could you say no?

…

You were back in the interview room, from a week ago, Anna at your side. When you had entered the precinct, linking her arm in support, you’d bumped into the Detective with the hair gel addiction.

“(y/n), it’s good to see ya again!” He grinned at you.

“It’s Sonny, right?” He positively beamed at you.

“Hey, you remembered.” At that moment, Olivia Benson appeared.

“(Y/n), good morning and this must be Anna, right?” Anna nodded timidly, exchanging pleasantries and looking completely out of her depth. She led you to the quiet room and ordered you to hang on for just a moment. You wondered if she was going to grab Detective Amaro, or perhaps Sonny. When the door finally opened, your expression dropped into a frown. Stood behind Detective Benson with a stormy look on his face was ADA Barba. Fucking fantastic. His eyes found you, staring holes into you, but you didn’t flinch, He might have won the battle last time, but you weren’t going to let him win the war.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden Of Proof Masterlist

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

Last updated: 25/06/25

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden Of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: Here's chapter 2, be warned it's a long one! As usual, any feedback would be greatly appreciated, happy reading :)

TW: Mentions of r*pe, spiking, smoking, strong language

Previous part | Next part

Chapter 2

Rafael Barba had already run out of patience for the day. His cell had been buzzing non-stop with calls and emails, the DA already breathing down his neck about this new case, barely thirty-six hours old. He understood, of course that the reason for this was because of the victim, or rather, the victim’s mother’s connection to the mayor’s office, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating. In fact, he found the pressure being put on him and his detectives to be wholly aggravating. He pushed back bitter thoughts about double standards and irony in sex crime prosecutions and tried to focus on the day ahead.

The heels of his polished dress shoes clicked against the sidewalk as he made his way to the 16th precinct. Sweat gathered on his forehead, despite the summer month the sky was overcast, a swell of bruised clouds threatened to spill over with rain. The air was thick and clammy – fitting weather for his mood. As he turned the corner, he recognised two familiar faces. Detective Sonny Carisi, a recent transfer (and a walking stereotype) and Detective Nick Amaro, a hot-headed HR disaster of a person. ‘As if this day could get any worse’ he mused to himself.

“Hey Counsellor!” Carisi called out, his jolly demeaner only serving to make Rafael more despondent. Amaro nodded but said nothing.

“Glad to see you working hard on this case Detectives” he said, his words dripping in sarcasm. Carisi’s smile fell, Amaro scoffed.

“Really Barba? Some of us didn’t get to go home to our fancy appartement for our beauty sleep, okay? So, save it, we’re doing what we can with what we have. Nice of you to finally show up though.” He snapped back. Rafael felt a hot flush creeping up his neck. Now was not the time to start a fight, no matter how sour his mood.

“And what do you have exactly? The DA wants answers ASAP.”

“Well actually, we got something that might be interesting.” Carisi chimed in, Rafael quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Yeah, Sarge was gonna call you any second. She wants you to sit in.”

“A journalist.” Nick added. ‘Amazing’ Rafael thought to himself. Journalists, one of his least favourite groups of people. Always there, twisting facts into sensationalist stories. Anything to make money. He loathed the swarm of them that would linger on the courthouse steps, waiting like vultures for their next fix.

“A journalist?”

“Yeah, she called last night, said she had information.” Nick replied.

“Right. And what information did she have exactly?”

“Well, that’s just it, we don’t know, whatever it is she wouldn’t say over the phone. She seemed… Reluctant. She’s supposed to be here soon, so I guess we’ll find out then.” He shrugged, looking up and down the street, his gaze stopping suddenly. Rafael and Carisi both turned their heads in the direction he was staring.

“You think that’s her?” Carisi asked.

Over the road, a little up the way, a young woman was stood alone. She looked to be in her late twenties, her hair was loose around her shoulders and her expression looked drawn, nervous almost. On her shoulder was a tote bag which looked full to the brim with files and papers. She took a drag of a cigarette as she stared at the entrance to the 16th precinct. Her face was a warzone of emotions. Whoever she was, she was certainly conflicted about something.

…

You had barely slept. Normally, you could at least salvage three or four hours a night. But sleep had evaded you completely that evening. You felt sick to your stomach, experiencing the full range of human emotion. Guilt, for betraying the victims. Anger, that it was necessary. Sadness, at the suffering of these women. Determination, in finding justice. The list went on. You couldn’t shake the picture of Gemma out of your mind. Your skin prickled in the heat, sweat beading on your skin. You sat up in bed, breathing heavily, wanting to scream or hit something or throw up. Instead, you pulled on a pair of shorts, rifled through your draw until you found what you wanted and headed to the fire escape.

 You knew smoking was a terrible habit, something you only indulged in when drunk and partying in college. And then when the partying died down and drinking was something you did at home, alone, something you only indulged in when the stress of life became too much. But you needed to relax. There was no backing down now. You’d given the police officer on the phone your name, they had your number, and you were scheduled to speak to a detective at 10am the next morning.

The metal steps were warm underneath you; smoke swirled around you. ‘This is the right thing to do’ you told yourself over and over, as if hearing it enough times would soothe the tension in your heart. You sat for hours, until the sky brightened from black to an angry purple and then forced yourself to stand, head back inside and prepare yourself.

…

At 9:45am, you had made it to the address Valerie had given to you. You could feel your legs trembling as you stared at the entrance just across the street from you. The air was charged, anxiety was swelling up again, bursting at the seams, your stomach ached violently. You had lit up again, trying desperately to calm yourself and thinking bitterly that the girls would never forgive you for this, that you were victimising them all over again; but justice was never black and white, and the burden of responsibility was a heavy weight to carry. You took a long drag and then, steeling yourself, placed one foot in front of the other until you were at the steps.

“(y/f/n)?” A voice called out to you abruptly. You turned, finding the voices owner, a tall man, well built with deep brown eyes. A police badge was resting on his hip. There was absolutely no turning back now.

“That’s me.” You said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He tilted his head slightly as you stared each other down. Two other men stood either side of him. A lanky man with a puppyish expression and severely gelled hair and a shorter man, dressed in a well-tailored three-piece suit. “Do the SVU always have a welcoming party like this, or am I just special?” You blurted out, fighting the shrinking feeling you had as they moved closer to you. Gelled hair snorted at that and reached out a hand, which you took, trying to keep a firm grip.

“I’m detective Carisi, but you can call me Sonny, everyone does-“

“No one calls him Sonny.” The original detective cut in. “I’m Detective Nick Amaro and this is our ADA Rafael Barba.” Three-piece suit gave you a curt nod. “Here, let us show you in.” He gestured up the stairs.

…

You were led into a wide room with multiple desks, all a mess of files and half empty coffee cups. Gemma Belmont’s face stared down on you from a white board, and you felt the anxiety, strangely, melt away. Replaced by the righteous determination that had brought you here in the first place. Detective Amaro followed your gaze and laid a hand gently on your arm.

“Did you know her?” He probed, softly, his face a plain of sympathy. You shook your head slowly. He tilted his head again and you could tell he was trying to size you up. He changed tactics. “I’ll take you to the interview room, so you can get comfortable. Do you drink coffee?”

“I’ll just take a water if that’s okay?” The last thing you needed was the jittery rush of caffeine in your system. He nodded and took you to a smaller room, just off to the side, gesturing to a chair and left to grab your drink. Before he closed the door he turned and said, “I’ll let the Sargent know you’re here, she won’t be long.” You only smiled in response.

…

No more than ten minutes passed, before the door was opening again, you turned from your research, which you had laid out in front of you to see the Detective from the news appeal, Olivia Benson and the ADA you had briefly been introduced to.

“Good morning, thankyou for coming in Miss (y/l/n).” She placed a bottle of water down in front of you and then took a seat across from you, ADA Barba took the seat in between and nodded at you again. “I’m Sargent Olivia Benson and this is ADA Rafael Barba.” She began.

“We’ve already met.” You cut in, she nodded, sizing you up in the way Amara had. ‘Maybe it’s a detective thing’ you mused.

“Let’s cut to the chase.” Barba started, already looking bored. You felt a flicker of displeasure, you were here trying to help, the least he could do was pretend to be interested, right? Detective Benson shot him a look, as if telling him to play nice.

“You told one of our officers that you had information about Gemma Belmont?” She said, eyeing the papers on the table. You sighed, searching for the words.

“Not about Gemma exactly…” ADA Barba rolled his eyes, the frustration radiating off him was palpable, stoking the flicker into a flame. “Look, this was a mistake, clearly you aren’t interested in what I have to say, I’m sorry I wasted your time.” You snapped, glaring at him. You pushed your chair back and made to rise before Detective Benson threw her hands up in surrender.

“Please, we do want to speak with you. I apologise for my colleague; it’s been a very stressful couple of days. Barba, outside please?” They both stood, heading for the door, “We’ll just be a moment, please just hang on.” She pleaded; you folded your arms and looked down at the research in front of you. Why did you think trusting the NYPD was a good idea? Just as you were starting to gather up the files in front of you, Detectives Benson and Amaro re-entered, you paused, looking up at them.

Benson sighed, “I’m really sorry about that.” She smiled apologetically and sat facing you again, “Why don’t we start over?”   

…

You sat with them for three hours, explaining in detail what you knew. Eleven victims in total, all assaulted with the same MO. You laid out victim statements, six of them had rape kits done, including the first two which showed no evidence of drugs in their systems, but they swore that they must have been drugged – your working theory was that it was probably something like DMT or perhaps a new drug circulating on the streets. You had made up a timeline of events, mapped out every location in which the assaults happened, nine of which happened in the meat packing district. One bar in particular seemed to be a hotspot you explained, with three of the assaults taking place in a bar called the Lucky Cat.

“Help me understand.” Amaro asked at one point, “Why is a journalist all of a sudden moonlighting as a private investigator?” You met his eyes and sighed.

“First of all, I’m an investigative journalist, freelance. Second, I originally looked into this as a story on NYPD incompetence or ignorance, or both I guess.” Olivia’s eyebrows shot up. “The first two victims, Bailey Teller and Lianne Saft, my source told me how they were turned away. It’s no secret that reporting a rape is an uphill battle, it’s pretty much the only crime were the victim has the burden of proving that it actually happened.” She smiled then and shot her partner a look.

“Well, you’re not wrong about that, but why didn’t you come forward sooner?” You couldn’t meet her eyes, the familiar nausea rearing its ugly head. You felt the warmth reaching your cheeks. “They don’t know that you’re here, do they?” Benson shuffled about with the papers as she stared you down.

“I tried…” You started, “But these girls… What’s worse do you think? The assault or being blamed for it after? They don’t trust the police and I don’t blame them, hell, I’m not even a victim and I don’t trust you. But when I heard about Gemma…” She reached a hand out and placed it on top of your own.

“You’re doing the right thing, thankyou for bringing this to our attention, if you’ll just excuse us for a moment.” Benson and Amaro stood and left the room, you let out a shaky breath.

…

When she came back to the room, the ADA was with her again, his expression was less bored now though. Replaced by something else, which you couldn’t put your finger on. Respect maybe?

“Miss (y/l/n), thankyou for bringing this information to our attention. You have done a valuable service to the city; it’s in the DA’s interest to open an official investigation.” He offered you a stern smile. “We’ll need everything you’ve compiled and the contact information of all the alleged victims.” You nodded, taking the pen and paper, he offered you and began writing. Benson started gathering up all your research. You handed the paper to her and stood.

“So what happens now?” You asked.

“We’ll be in touch if we need anything else.” She replied, offering you another smile but your expression had dropped.

“What? So that’s it?” Your temper was rising. Benson was at a loss for words, Barba on the other hand had turned on you and was frowning.

“Yes? Is there a problem?” You stood up straighter.

“Yes, there’s a problem!” You snapped, “You need to keep me in the loop.” He scoffed at you.

“This is official police business now, we thank you for your work but what did you expect? That you could tag along as part of this investigation? You’re just a journalist.” You folded your arms across your chest protectively. Fucking NYPD.

“These women trust me! You would never have known about this without me, I’ve spent months-“

“Miss (y/l/n), this doesn’t concern you anymore, let us do our job.” You laughed bitterly.

“None of this would’ve happened in the first place if you just ‘did your job’ right in the first place!” You snatched up your tote bag from were it sat on the floor and pushed past him, papers fluttering in your wake. People’s heads shot up as you stormed out of the building, muttering expletives under your breath. ADA Rafael Barba, this was New Yorks finest?

…

“Well, she’s a ray of sunshine.” Rafael tsked, watching you march out of the precinct. Olivia sighed.

“Would it hurt you to not be an asshole for once?” He turned and grinned at her.

“Me? An asshole? You’re too kind.” She rolled her eyes in response.

Rafael glanced over the papers she was organising. He had to admit he was surprised at what you’d brought to them. He watched intermittently as you explained everything. He felt a slight twinge of guilt at passing you off so quickly, for underestimating you. He’d assumed you were just another shark, circling for blood but you had strong empathy for the victims, and you were clearly intelligent. He felt a grudging respect for you and then frustration. You were a bleeding heart, and he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he’d face off with you.

[artemis-writes-fanfiction]

The Burden Of Proof

'When the NYPD fails to act in multiple SA cases, journalist!reader is there to investigate, but when the assaults become murder, (y/n) is faced with a dilemma and her path crosses with the SVU squad and ADA Barba who is less than happy with her involvement'

AN: I haven't wrote fan fiction or anything really in a long time but this idea has been itching away at me so I thought I'd give it a go. This is part 1 to a multiple part series and it's going to be angsty, slow burn etc. Rafael will get introduced in the next part. If you read I'd love to know what you think!

TW: Mentions of R*pe, Spiking, De*th, Strong language, Alcohol

Chapter 1

In a cramped apartment tucked away in East Harlem, you slept fitfully. The faint glow of the muted tv bathed the room, the AC rattling in a losing battle with the oppressive July heat. Outside, New York was gearing up for another day and it was the loud screech of a store shutter that finally jolted you awake. You exhaled slowly and glancing around. Your work from the night before was scattered across the floor in front of you, along with a half empty bottle of wine and the sour remnants of a Chinese takeout. Pale morning sunlight peaked under the curtains, so you had slept till morning at least.

With exhaustion still clawing at your brain, you rose, and tip toed over the mess to get to the bathroom. You were vaguely aware that you needed to shower, have a coffee, some attempt at normalcy before allowing yourself to surrender once again to the onslaught of your latest project – a journalistic investigation into a series of rapes committed in various nightclubs across the borough, that the NYPD refused to take seriously. A project that was slowly driving you insane.

…

Freshly showered with a steaming mug in your hands, your head shot up as your cell began to ring. You had barely answered when a familiar voice started talking.

“I’ve got something for you. Thought you’d like to know before it hits the news, I’m outside”

“Good morning to you too”

“Sorry, I know it’s early, but this is major. Look, I can’t hang around long, do you want to hear it or not?”

You were already stumbling into a pair of yoga pants and sneakers, “Give me two minutes”

…

Leaning against the wall of your building, a women stood waiting, two to go coffee cups in her hands. Valerie, a petite brunette in her mid-thirties who worked administration for one of the local NYPD precincts. But she had also become a reliable source, in fact, she was the person who had opened this case up to you in the first place. She handed one of the cups to you.

“Walk and talk?” Valerie asked, glancing around.

“Yeah, lead the way”

“How are you doing? You look… tired.” Her eyebrows knitted together in concern as she glanced over at you.

“Never better”

“(y/n) if this case is getting too much… You don’t need to do this” you sighed, tucked your still damp hair behind your ear.

“Someone needs to, being tired is nothing, I’m giving these girls something at least, it’s more than what your lot are doing anyway.” You retorted, feeling the familiar twist in your gut at the thought of the nearly a dozen girls who you’d spoken to, who had experienced possibly the worst night of their lives, only to be revictimized by the ignorance of the police sworn to protect them in the first place. Valerie held up her hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry, I’m just… I never thought this would get so out of hand.”

“ I know you didn’t come all the way to my place for a welfare check” You cut in, “What’s this major development you needed to tell me of at half 7 in the morning?” The pair of you had walked into central park and it was here Valerie stopped, sitting on a bench tucked into a corner. You sat beside her, letting the sunlight kiss your face. She was quiet for a moment, as a dog walker passed by.

“It was bound to happen.” She started weakly; you didn’t interrupt. “If your theory is right, that this isn’t some coincidence… They found a girl this morning, just turned 21.” She paused again and you could feel the bile rising in your throat. “She was spiked and assaulted, but something went wrong, bad reaction to whatever she was drugged with, I think. I don’t know too much, they’ve closed ranks, no information in or out. Apart from this. I heard her mom works in the mayor’s office and that the case is being taken over by SVU, top priority.”

“I don’t understand,” you looked over at her, “why are you telling me this? It’s being investigated, you came to tell me the police are doing their jobs for once?”

“No, I came to ask you to speak to them.” You let out a sharp exhale.

“Excuse me?” You could feel the heat rising in your face.

“These guys are different! They specialise in these cases (y/n), look you and me both know that there is something bigger going on here, whoever this guy is, he’s going to keep doing this until he’s stopped, with all the stuff you’ve found, he could go away for a long time, for the rest of his life!”

You tried to calm your breathing. You knew she was right. When Valerie had first reached out to you there had only been two women, spiked (with an untraceable drug) and then raped. Both had been turned away from the police, who’d assumed that it was morning after regret. Exacerbated by the lack of physical evidence and the girls (understandably) spotty memory. But their statements had been similar, so similar in fact that it was suspicious, to Valerie at least and then to you. So, you reached out, held their hands as they recounted what had happened to them, wiped their tears when it became too much. Two girls became three, then six, then eleven. All failed by their local precincts. At first, you’d thought it might be a coincidence, something to be said about rape culture in general, but over time your theory had changed, with an ever-growing concern that there was potentially a serial rapist working the club scene in Manhattan. Of course, at that point you had wanted to go to the police, they would ignore individual cases but how could they ignore this? But the women were reluctant, they were trying to move on, left to navigate the trauma of being assaulted and then swept to the side. So, you had kept your cards close to your chest, unwilling to break their trust in you.

“You know I can’t do that; it would be a betrayal.” You finally replied, quietly.

“A woman has died (y/n). I can’t imagine the pain they must be going through, but this has gone too far. At least think about it, please? Here” She took out a diary and scribbled down an address and a phone number. “They work out of the 16th precinct, I know the NYPD has a lot to answer for, why do you think I came to you in the first place? If it didn’t mean I’d lose my job, I’d do it myself... Look, I gotta go, see your around (y/n)” You watched her back as she walked away from you, the needling pressure of a headache pressing at your temples.

…

Back at your apartment, later that evening, you settled down on your couch. The room smelled fresh, and a light breeze came in through the window. Valerie has been right about one thing; you were so tired. So, when you returned from your rendezvous you had resolved to put the case out of your mind or at least try to for the day. You had been free falling in the darkness of it all, sleeping poorly, surviving off instant ramen, caffeine and pure willpower.

You had taken the time to organise your research, cleaned away the trash and dirty laundry, filled your sad little fridge with actual fruit and vegetables. Your spirits were slightly raised, even if your earlier conversation with Valerie kept repeating in the back of your mind. You mindlessly channel surfed looking for something to properly distract you when you landed on the news at six. You were about to click away when the screen shifted, and a picture of a young woman appeared on the screen.

 “ In other news, a twenty-one-year-old woman was found deceased during the early hours of the morning. The victim who has been named as Gemma Belmont was found near popular nightclub ‘The velvet room’ in the meat packing district, where she was reported to be celebrating her 21st birthday. Her mother, Louise Belmont, an assistant at the mayor’s office is campaigning with Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit for any information the public may have about Gemma and the events leading up to her death. We go now to our special correspondent Jeff Neeley.”

Your stomach dropped, her picture staring back at you. Gemma Belmont. Twenty-One. Killed for the crime of simply being a woman, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. She was smiling brilliantly in the photo, eyes twinkling, all that life snuffed out. Gone. For what? Your heart thundered and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears, the sting of unshed tears in your eyes.

“Good evening. I’m Jeff Neeley and I’m coming to you live from One police plaza, in just a moment we’ll be hearing from the victim’s mother Louise Belmont and Sargeant Olivia Benson of the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, in fact I think it’s starting now.” The camera panned to the stage, an older woman, with grey streaked hair and wretched expression shuffled up to the lectern closely followed by another women, younger with brown shoulder length hair and a badge clipped to her belt. She held a reassuring hand on the shoulder of her senior and began speaking.

“Good evening, everybody, I’m Sargeant Olivia Benson and I’m the lead investigator on this case. As you all know, Gemma Belmont, a bright young woman was unfortunately found deceased in the early hours of the morning. We are treating this death as suspicious and we are appealing to the public, please, if you were in and around the area of ‘the velvet room’ nightclub last night and have any information, to come forward.” At that moment, Mrs Belmont began sobbing hysterically, clinging to the Sargeant for support. You couldn’t watch any longer, frantically reaching for the remote. Your tear-streaked face stared back at you from the now dark screen.

“FUCK” You shouted, throwing the controller across the room. Your eyes travelled to the stack of folders sat on the table in the corner of the room. Perched neatly on top was the scrap of paper that Valerie had passed you earlier that day. You stared at it for a long time before shouting another expletive, picking up your cell and dialling. The line rang once, twice, three times. You nearly hung up when the line clicked and a mans voice started speaking.

“Hello, this is Manhattan Special Victim’s Unit, how can I help you this evening.”