#sensitivity training in the workplace

[sarag1123]

How can leaders demonstrate cultural sensitivity in the workplace?

In today's interconnected world, fostering a diverse and inclusive workplace is not just a moral imperative but a strategic necessity. As leaders, it is crucial to demonstrate cultural sensitivity to create an environment where every employee feels valued and respected. Sensitivity training in the workplace plays a pivotal role in achieving this goal.

Understanding the Landscape:

Cultural sensitivity starts with a deep understanding of the diverse backgrounds that make up your workforce. Leaders should invest time in learning about different cultures, traditions, and customs. This knowledge not only enhances communication but also helps in avoiding unintentional misunderstandings.

Promoting Open Communication:

Creating an open and inclusive atmosphere is essential. Leaders should encourage team members to share their unique perspectives without fear of judgment. This not only fosters creativity but also helps in building a sense of belonging among employees.

Implementing Sensitivity Training:

One effective way to cultivate cultural sensitivity is through sensitivity training in the workplace. By partnering with organizations like CT3 Training, leaders can provide their teams with the tools and knowledge needed to navigate cultural differences successfully. Sensitivity training goes beyond merely acknowledging diversity; it equips employees with the skills to appreciate and celebrate it.

Leading by Example:

Leaders must lead by example. Displaying cultural sensitivity in their own actions sets the tone for the entire organization. This includes respecting cultural holidays, being mindful of language choices, and promoting inclusive practices in day-to-day interactions.

Creating Inclusive Policies:

Inclusivity should not be limited to verbal affirmations. Leaders must actively work towards creating policies that foster a culture of equality. This could involve implementing flexible work hours to accommodate different religious practices or ensuring that promotional opportunities are accessible to everyone, regardless of their background.

Embracing Diversity in Decision-Making:

When making decisions, leaders should strive for diversity in thought and perspective. This not only leads to more well-rounded solutions but also ensures that the needs and concerns of all team members are considered.

Providing Resources for Continuous Learning:

Cultural sensitivity is not a one-time achievement but an ongoing process. Leaders should provide resources for continuous learning, such as workshops, seminars, and online courses. This commitment to ongoing education demonstrates a dedication to fostering a truly inclusive workplace.

In conclusion, creating a culturally sensitive workplace is a multifaceted effort that requires commitment, education, and a genuine desire to understand and embrace differences. Sensitivity training in the workplace, such as the programs offered by CT3 Training, can be a catalyst for positive change. As leaders, it is our responsibility to set the stage for an inclusive and respectful environment where diversity is not just acknowledged but celebrated. By doing so, we not only create a more harmonious workplace but also position our organizations for success in an increasingly globalized world.

[flock-of-cassowaries]

[neverendingford]

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[kiwriteswords]

could you write a hotch x reader story where reader is literally a knockout bombshell and the team meets her for the first time and both are humbled and shocked tht Hotch could pull that. Also maybe she works in different department of the FBI, but not BAU and derek and others have always talked about how hot reader is but happy id they cnt have reaader that hotch can!

The Beauty and The Boss

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: Thanks so much for the request! Sorry, it took me so long to get it written :)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Tags/Warnings: Mild language, fade-to-black smut scene, reader wears makeup, workplace flirting, commentary about reader's appearance by BAU, jealous!Hotch, mention of a Holiday party, mentions of a bar scene.

Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism hides a secret: he’s been in a relationship with you, the stunning agent who turns every head at Quantico. While his team spends months admiring and teasing about you—unaware of the truth—Hotch quietly enjoys keeping the relationship private. But when the BAU holiday party reveals the truth, the team is left shocked, realizing the woman they’ve been swooning over is already spoken for by the man they least expected.

The Quantico breakroom buzzed with life as Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, a grin stretching across his face. “I’m telling you, there’s not a person in this building who doesn’t turn their head when she walks by.”

Emily Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms as she perched on the edge of the counter. “Understatement of the year, Morgan. She’s practically stopped traffic in the hallways more than once.”

Penelope Garcia, seated with her tablet, chimed in. “More like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus, wielding a to-do list and a killer power suit. The woman is unreal.”

You had no idea you were the current topic of conversation as you breezed through Quantico’s corridors. Your heels clicked against the tiled floor with the kind of authority only a seasoned professional carried. Your fitted blazer hugged your form just right, the kind of attire that screamed competence but still left a trail of stunned admirers in your wake. You were a boss, and you knew it—not in an arrogant way, but in the way a woman who worked twice as hard to get half as far in a male-dominated field knew her worth.

Little did they know that, as much as they admired you from afar, you had a certain someone who saw all those layers they missed—someone who knew how you carried the weight of your team, your projects, and your life with equal parts grace and grit.

That someone was Aaron Hotchner.

Unbeknownst to the BAU, the stoic Unit Chief had been keeping a significant secret. You and Aaron had been together for over a year. Though you both worked under the same massive roof, your respective departments didn’t often overlap—an intentional boundary to keep things professional and out of sight from prying eyes.

Aaron entered the room just as Morgan’s laughter rang out. “No, but seriously, Hotch, you’ve seen her, right? You can’t tell me someone that fine doesn’t have half the men here wrapped around her finger.”

Aaron’s sharp gaze flicked to Morgan, his jaw tightening subtly. “Morgan, shouldn’t you be focusing on case files rather than office gossip?”

Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, man, beauty like that deserves to be appreciated.”

Emily grinned. “Don’t let Strauss hear you. She’d have you running sensitivity training for a month.”

Garcia waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Hotch is just annoyed because she’s his type. Dark hair, smart, confident—maybe there’s some unspoken pining we don’t know about.”

Aaron’s lips pressed into a firm line as he reached for a file, “Let’s keep the speculation to yourselves. We have enough on our plates without playing matchmaker.” His tone was calm but carried enough weight to signal the end of the conversation.

He didn’t let his composure falter, but inwardly, he found himself caught in a tug-of-war between amusement and annoyance. You were undeniably stunning, and he couldn’t blame his team for noticing, but their casual banter skirted dangerously close to the truth.

Later that afternoon, the sun streamed through the tall windows of the BAU bullpen, casting golden streaks across the room as you entered. Your heels echoed confidently against the polished floor, their rhythmic click commanding attention as you moved with purpose. A fitted pencil skirt emphasized the natural sway of your hips, and your blazer was tailored perfectly, hinting at the strength and grace beneath. Loose curls framed your face, falling just so, and your makeup—subtle but flawless—added to the aura of a woman who meant business.

Conversations quieted as you passed by the desks. Agents glanced up from their work, some stealing longer looks than they should have, while others leaned toward their neighbors to murmur something under their breath. You didn’t acknowledge the attention. You were used to it. Your focus remained locked ahead as you carried the neatly bound folder in your hands, its weight a mere fraction of the responsibility you carried daily.

You reached the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office just as it opened. He stepped out, his posture as straight and commanding as ever, but his sharp eyes softened for the briefest moment when they landed on you. The shift was imperceptible to anyone else, but you caught it—it was the kind of look he reserved only for you.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted evenly, his voice steady but low enough that it felt personal.

“Agent Hotchner,” you replied with a nod, the professionalism in your tone betrayed by the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of your lips.

Behind you, Morgan's voice rose in a stage whisper. “And there she is…”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your expression neutral as you extended the folder to Aaron. “I just need your signature on these budgetary adjustments. It’s time-sensitive.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly as he accepted the folder, his long fingers brushing against yours briefly. “Of course,” he said, already flipping it open to skim through the pages. “Give me a moment.”

As he turned and walked back into his office, you followed without hesitation, pushing the door closed behind you. The muted sound of the latch clicking shut seemed to signal a shift in the atmosphere. The second the door was closed, your composed expression melted into something softer, teasing.

“I heard Morgan,” you said in a low voice, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. You set a hand on your hip, leaning slightly as you watched him work.

Aaron’s lips curved into a subtle smirk as he scribbled his signature onto the documents. “They talk about you often,” he replied, not looking up right away. “Morgan more than most.”

You tilted your head, your brow arching playfully. “Jealous?”

Finally, he looked up, setting the pen down and stepping closer. “Observant,” he corrected, his tone dry but his gaze warm. He handed the folder back to you, and as his fingers brushed yours again, the slightest spark of electricity passed between you. “You look stunning today, by the way.”

“Today?” you teased, your voice dropping slightly as you tilted your chin. “What about yesterday?”

Aaron’s smirk deepened, the rare expression enough to make your stomach flip. “Every day,” he replied smoothly, his voice dipping into that low, velvety tone that sent a thrill through you. He stepped just close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—subtle and clean, just like him.

For a moment, the space between you felt charged, but you straightened, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. “Careful, Agent Hotchner,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Someone might notice.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rare but rich. “Let them speculate.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement, but you turned on your heel, your exit as purposeful as your arrival. Behind you, Aaron watched, his expression softening again as the door clicked shut. The office suddenly felt emptier without you in it, and the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips.

Moments after, when you stepped out of Aaron’s office, the door closing softly behind you, you nearly collided with David Rossi. The veteran profiler stepped back gracefully, offering you a warm smile as his eyes flicked to the folder in your hands.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “You’re lucky Hotch doesn’t have a ‘No Stunning Women’ policy in his office. Makes the rest of us forget what we’re working on.”

You gave a polite laugh, your smile measured but warm. “Always a pleasure, Agent Rossi. Don’t let me distract you too much.” With a nod, you stepped past him and continued down the hall, your heels clicking confidently on the polished floor.

Rossi watched you leave, shaking his head slightly before stepping into Hotch’s office, and shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t tell me your office doubled as a runway, Aaron,” Rossi quipped as he took a seat across from Hotch’s desk, still grinning.

Hotch didn’t look up from the report in front of him. “Rossi.”

“I’m just saying,” Rossi continued, leaning back in his chair. “Agent Y/L/N is quite the… presence. Can’t imagine you get much work done when she’s around.”

Hotch finally glanced up, his sharp eyes locking on Rossi with a calm but pointed look. “She’s one of the most competent agents in this building.”

Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. “No offense, Aaron. I’m just appreciating fine talent when I see it. Professionally, of course.”

Hotch’s expression didn’t shift as he returned to his paperwork. “Make sure it stays professional, Dave.”

Rossi chuckled, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. “Noted. I’ll leave you to your work, but for the record… you’ve got good taste.”

Hotch’s eyes flicked up for a brief moment, narrowing slightly as Rossi turned to leave. Once the door closed behind him, Aaron exhaled, his jaw relaxing as the corners of his mouth twitched faintly. You had that effect on people. Rossi wasn’t wrong about that, but Aaron wasn’t about to let anyone reduce you to just that. Not on his watch.

It wasn’t much later in the week when the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar as the BAU team finally unwound after wrapping a grueling case. At their usual table near the back, JJ, Penelope, and Emily leaned close together, conspiring with mischievous smiles. Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, his beer in hand, as he glanced across the room toward you.

You were with your own team, sitting at the far end of the bar. The laughter coming from your group was infectious, and more than a few heads in the bar had turned to admire the sharp, confident woman at the center of it all. You were a vision, dressed in a fitted, dark emerald blouse that complemented your glowing skin, your hair falling perfectly into place despite the long week.

Emily nudged Derek, her grin widening. “Now’s your chance, Morgan. She’s right there, and she’s smiling. That’s basically an invitation.”

Penelope nodded eagerly, swirling her cocktail. “Seriously, Derek. You’re Mr. Smooth—to make one of your famous sweet moves. She’s gorgeous, brilliant, and, let’s face it, probably way out of your league, but you’ve got charm. Use it!”

JJ smirked, sipping her drink. “They’re not wrong. She’s definitely the type to keep you on your toes.”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment. “You ladies make a good point. Pretty boy over here has been staring so hard, I think he forgot how to blink.”

Reid’s head snapped up, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I haven’t been staring—I was observing!”

Penelope laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. “Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that.”

Meanwhile, Aaron Hotchner sat quietly at the edge of the table, nursing his drink and doing his best to keep his expression neutral. He caught Rossi’s amused glance and ignored it, his attention drifting toward you. Across the room, your eyes flicked to his, and in that instant, the noise of the bar seemed to fade. Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, and Hotch’s lips twitched in response, his gaze steady but warm.

“Alright,” Derek announced, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Time to show you all how it’s done.”

As he sauntered toward you, the rest of the team watched with poorly concealed anticipation. Hotch leaned back slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he took another sip of his drink, clearly amused.

At the bar, Derek slid into the seat beside you, his trademark charm on full display. “Well, well, Agent Y/L/N,” he began, flashing you a dazzling smile. “A woman like you at a place like this—it’s like a shooting star landing in a parking lot. Rare. Unexpected. Stunning.”

You turned toward him, your smile warm but professional. “Agent Morgan,” you greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I’m just wondering if I can buy you a drink. You look like someone who deserves only the finest.”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head. “That’s kind of you, but I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You sure? A woman like you turning down a Morgan Original? That doesn’t happen often.”

You smiled, leaning in slightly, your voice light but firm. “I’m flattered, Derek, really. But no, thank you.”

Derek blinked, clearly surprised but respectful, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a good night, Agent Y/L/N.”

As he returned to the table, Rossi leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “I think I know why she turned you down.”

Derek arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten us, wise old man.”

Rossi swirled his drink lazily. “She’s already seeing someone.”

That caught the team’s attention. JJ frowned thoughtfully. “She doesn’t wear a ring.”

Emily shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. Rossi’s probably right—someone like her? Definitely taken.”

Penelope gasped. “She’s got to be dating some rich CEO type. Like a Christian Grey situation—minus the creepy stuff. You know, private jets, expensive suits, maybe even his own island.”

Reid tilted his head. “Statistically, high-powered women often prefer partners who are equally accomplished, so it’s not unreasonable to assume…”

Hotch, listening quietly, couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath. It was rare for him to indulge in such amusement, but their wild guesses about your personal life were too far from the truth to resist.

“Something funny, Hotch?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

Hotch met his gaze evenly, his lips twitching. “Just enjoying the show, Morgan.”

From across the room, you glanced at him again, your eyes meeting his with a spark of shared amusement. You knew, just as he did that the truth was far more satisfying than any of their guesses.

That night, the familiar warmth of your shared apartment enveloped you as you stepped out of the bathroom, your hair still damp from the shower. The soft glow of the bedside lamp lit the room in hues of gold, casting a gentle light over Aaron as he stood at the dresser, folding his tie with precision. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and his expression was calm, though you could tell from the faint tension in his jaw that something was on his mind.

There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—calm, methodical, and yet there was an intimacy in the gesture that always left your heart fluttering.

You crossed the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old FBI academy T-shirts that hung just above your thighs. It was soft and familiar, smelling faintly of him, and you loved how it made you feel wrapped in his presence.

As you climbed into bed, you leaned back against the headboard, watching him with a small smile. “You’re quiet tonight,” you teased, running a hand through your damp hair. “That’s usually my thing.”

Aaron glanced at you, his lips quirking slightly before he shook his head and continued folding. “I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighed, placing the tie in the drawer before turning to face you, his arms crossing over his chest. “My team.”

You raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? What did the BAU do this time?”

Aaron smirked faintly, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his watch. “It’s not what they’ve done. It’s what they keep saying.”

You tilted your head, your curiosity piqued. “Do tell.”

He exhaled, his voice even but carrying a hint of frustration. “They don’t stop talking about you. Derek, Emily, Penelope… even Reid, apparently. It’s constant.” He turned to look at you, his dark eyes warm but serious. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let it slide because they don’t know. But I think I’ve hit my limit.”

A slow smile spread across your face as you scooted closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’re jealous,” you teased, your voice light and laced with amusement. “Aaron Hotchner, stoic leader of the BAU, is jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he replied firmly, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I just don’t appreciate them… ogling you.”

You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin against his shoulder. “You know I think it’s kind of hot when you’re jealous, right?”

He turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression softening. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s sweet that you care so much. But you don’t have to worry, Aaron. I’m yours. Completely.”

He turned fully now, his hands coming up to rest on your knees as he looked at you with a rare softness in his eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate hearing that.”

You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Good. Because it’s true.”

He kissed you back gently, one hand sliding up to cradle your cheek. When you pulled away, you saw the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Aaron lingered close for a moment, his thumb brushing your cheek in a rare display of vulnerability before he exhaled softly and pulled back. Standing, he moved toward the dresser with the same calm, deliberate manner that always captivated you.

His hands went to the buttons of his shirt, working them loose one by one. The sound of each button sliding free seemed amplified in the quiet of your shared space. You couldn’t help but admire the way the soft light played over his features—his strong jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more striking.

Aaron shrugged off his shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and the scar along his side that you knew he sometimes still tried to hide. He folded the shirt with the same precision as his tie, setting it neatly aside before slipping out of his slacks and into the lounge pants he favored at night.

“Don’t stop on my account,” you teased, your voice warm and playful as your eyes lingered on him.

He glanced back at you with a small, knowing smile. “Enjoying the show?”

You grinned. “Always.”

Aaron shook his head slightly, his smirk growing as he crossed the room and slid into bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the familiar warmth of his body radiated toward you as he leaned back against the pillows, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you close.

“You really don’t have to worry about what your team says,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I only have eyes for you.”

His hand came up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face toward his. “You’re sure about that?” he asked softly, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the question’s seriousness.

“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one who gets this version of me. The rest of them don’t even come close.”

Aaron deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that still sent your heart racing. His hand slid down to your hip, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside your shared room ceased to exist.

The soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of your shared laughter filled the space as your words became unspoken reassurances, translated into the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way he kissed you as though you were his lifeline.

In the darkness, as the lamp flicked off and the night stretched on, you made it perfectly clear—he was yours, and you were his, completely. Always.

The annual Bureau holiday party arrived soon after and was in full swing, the large event hall buzzing with laughter and conversation as agents and staff mingled under the soft glow of festive string lights. Tables lined with food and drinks flanked the room, and a DJ played a mix of holiday classics and upbeat pop songs. The BAU team had claimed a table near the center, already deep into their drinks and holiday banter.

Derek leaned back in his chair, scanning the room with an easy grin. “Alright, I’m calling it now. This year’s party MVP? Gotta be me. I’ve got the charm, the moves, and the mistletoe strategy ready to go.”

Emily rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. “Your confidence is astounding. Let’s see how it plays out when someone turns you down again.”

Penelope chuckled, adjusting the festive reindeer antlers perched on her head. “Maybe don’t aim for anyone who’s already out of your league, like a certain Agent Y/L/N.”

“They’re never letting that one down,” Reid laughed. 

Derek smirked. “She’s not here yet, but hey, holiday parties are all about surprises. Maybe she’ll get a look and change her mind?”

JJ raised a brow. “Speaking of surprises… does anyone else feel like Hotch is acting weird lately? He’s been way too quiet during our usual teasing.” Will was at her side, with an arm wrapped over her shoulders. 

Rossi, swirling his glass of whiskey, gave a knowing smirk but said nothing.

The conversation halted abruptly as the door to the hall opened, and heads turned to see Aaron Hotchner entering with you at his side.

The two of you stepped into the room, hand in hand, your fingers loosely intertwined as Aaron scanned the crowd with his usual composed demeanor. You looked radiant in a fitted emerald dress, its sleek design effortlessly elegant, while Aaron’s sharp black suit was understated yet commanding.

The BAU table fell silent, their jaws collectively dropping.

“Is that…?” Penelope started, blinking rapidly.

“Hotch,” JJ finished, her voice barely above a whisper. Will let out a breathy laugh. 

“And Agent Y/L/N,” Emily added, looking between the two of you as if she’d seen a ghost.

Morgan leaned forward, his grin faltering. “No way.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he caught their stunned expressions. He led you toward the table with a calm confidence, his hand still firmly in yours.

“Evening, everyone,” he greeted, his tone as steady as ever.

You smiled warmly, giving a little wave with your free hand. “Hi, guys. Hope we’re not late.”

The team exchanged glances, still struggling to process what they were seeing.

Derek was the first to recover, though his grin was more sheepish than his usual swagger. “Well, damn. Hotch, you really know how to keep a secret.”

Hotch arched a brow, his hand resting protectively on your back as he pulled out a chair for you. “It’s never been a secret. Some things are worth keeping private.”

Emily leaned closer to Penelope, muttering, “Okay, I officially feel bad for every single comment I’ve ever made about her in front of him.”

Penelope nodded vigorously. “Same. Oh my gosh, same.”

JJ shook her head, laughing softly. “And Derek, all the flirting?”

Morgan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t know! But I’ll admit when I’m beat. Respect, Hotch. You’re a lucky man.”

Hotch’s expression softened slightly as he glanced at you. “I know.”

Rossi, still sipping his drink, chuckled. “For the record, I knew when to quit. The first time I made a comment about her, the look Hotch gave me said everything I needed to know.”

You raised a brow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what look was that?”

Rossi smirked. “The one that says, ‘Say one more word, and you’re not making it to retirement.’”

“Back into retirement,” Hotch corrected with an amused look. The table erupted into laughter.

Emily leaned forward, her curiosity winning out. “Alright, spill. How long has this been going on?”

You exchanged a glance with Aaron, his hand still resting lightly on your back.

“A little over a year,” you admitted, and Hotch nodded. 

“A year?” Penelope gasped. “And you managed to keep it quiet this long? I’m impressed.”

Hotch’s gaze swept over his team, his voice calm but with a subtle warmth. “We wanted to keep things professional. But we both agreed it was time.” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes as he added, “Especially before one of you asked her out on a date next.”

The team erupted into laughter, though Derek groaned, throwing his head back. “Aw, come on, Hotch! You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

Emily smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You really did shoot your shot, Morgan. Respect for the boldness, but hindsight? Not your best moment.”

Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, barely containing her giggles. “I’m never going to stop picturing Hotch sitting back in his office, watching that go down and just... waiting.”

JJ joined in, shaking her head with a grin. “Honestly, Derek, if looks could kill…”

Derek held up his hands in surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, alright! I didn’t know, okay? And for the record, I was nothing but a gentleman.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you smiled at him. “You were, Derek. I thought it was sweet.”

“Sweet?” Hotch interjected, his tone laced with playful sarcasm as he glanced at you. “I’d call it… bold.”

You nudged his arm with your elbow, your smile widening. “Aaron.”

His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he looked back at the table. “But in all seriousness, I can’t blame anyone for noticing how incredible she is. I just happen to be the lucky one.”

The table quieted for a moment, the sincerity in his tone catching everyone off guard. Emily was the first to break the silence, raising her glass with a grin. “Well, here’s to the two of you. A BAU power couple if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Cheers to that,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes sparkling.

As the team raised their glasses once more, you glanced at Aaron, your fingers brushing his under the table. His quiet smile and the gentle squeeze of your hand told you everything you needed to know. You were his, and he was yours, and no amount of teasing or surprise from his team could change that.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[miejcowydebil]

rlain's first chapter is so funny T__T

somebody give bridge four a workplace sensitivity training this second cause my man is experiencing 2137 microaggressions a day

[makingspiritualityreal]

Dhanishta Nakshatra and the Woman’s Social Right for Sexual Power

You were a human being demanding your right. And more than that, you were a woman demanding her right. Do you think if two men would've walked down a train looking for women, do you think anybody would have raised an eyebrow? Or if a man had led the life you had? When a man leaves his children because of desire, we accept it with a shrug, but you as a woman, you had to take on a... A guilt, a burden of guilt that could never be alleviated. And all in all, all the blame and guilt that piled up over the years became too much for you, you reacted aggressively... almost like a man I have to say... And you fought back. You fought back against the gender that had been oppressing and mutilating and killing you and billions of women.

Dhanishta Nakshatra has previously been explored by Vedic Astrology creators in the context of its propensity for fame, ability to attract crowds, navigate socially and control one’s image for the sake of attention, for either gender. But I have yet to see an exploration that focuses on Dhanishta’s more controversial aspect in women, and that is them suffering social judgment for openly expressing their libido and worshipping their bodies publicly without shame, and their constant internal fight for maintaining strength, integrity and belief in one’s rights and freedom despite the external attacks they endure.

Dhanishta women, due to the Nakshatra being placed in the collective part of the zodiac, have a fantastic social awareness, and a natural, rhythmic talent for social navigation. But with that awareness comes sensitivity and a clash between personal desires and public opinion. You don’t need to be famous to experience this as a Dhanishta woman, as it is a karmic theme of this Nakshatra, and Mars rulership calls for fighting back against injustice on a social level for personal causes.

Dhanishta women demand something that is still done very badly in our society, and that is, being given rights for professional success and open sexual exploration on equal grounds to men. Notice, that it doesn’t force a woman to do certain things, if a woman chooses to be a homemaker of her own desire she will be one, but simply opens a window for her to express herself and pursue things should she choose to do so. Because of their desire for freedom and conquest, Dhanishta women tend to not do well in long term relationships and prefer having a string of affairs instead, sometimes dealing with many partners simultaneously.

In fact, when I was researching Nymphomaniac by Lars von Trier, where we have two main actresses, Charlotte Gainsbourg and Stacy Martin, their only common chart quality were prominent Dhanishta placements, Dhanishta Lagna with Mars and Rahu in the 1st for Charlotte Gainsbourg, and Mars loosely conjunct Venus conjunct Rahu in Dhanishta for Stacy Martin (birth time unknown). The whole movie is a 6 hour story of a woman that has many partners throughout her whole life, even at the expense of her personal relationships, and takes men for her own pleasure, the way women are traditionally treated. For doing all the above, she experiences shame and hypocrisy in her family, motherhood and workplace.

The other gifs include a Dhanishta Moon actress from Sex and the City, her character being known for her non-commital nature and preference for constantly having new sexual partners and her statements about female power, and being a successful public relations firm owner. She is not afraid to be controversial even when coming in contact with very traditional cultures, like during her visit in a Middle Eastern country, which actually gets her in trouble with the law.

So why do Dhanishta women experience such shame for their sexual nature, compared to other Nakshatras?

1. Intense desires, and following them unapologetically. Dhanishta women tend to have a high, wide reaching sex drive (and so do strongly Mars women in general although that can differ from chart to chart), they go after many partners and don’t like to stay celibate or committed to one person.

2. Being widely known and noticed in their circle. Even with their sensual desires, if Dhanishta women were more private people, they might get less talked about. But they have a strong, flamboyant style, they prance around like predator looking for prey, and by being more visible, they get more comments about them, for better or for worse, and attract jealousy and pettiness.

3. Breaking societal cliches. Dhanishta Women’s behavior of aggression, pride, freedom and empowerment are traits historically and traditionally associated with men, at least in our recent social memory. Dhanishta women frown upon these kind of social rules and seek to actively change them, and thus they become the target for criticism of men who want women to stay down, and people who are afraid of new ideas, namely jealous women.

Sometimes, a very sad side effect with this Nakshatra is the internalized feeling of experiencing external shame manifesting in these women hating their own gender, their own bodies and directing anger towards themselves, feeling self hate and guilt for other people’s reactions, not realizing their sexual partners have an equal amount of accountability and they could have refused them if they wanted to. Realization of collective gaslighting and hypocrisy that Dhanishta women experience is one of the main challenges of this Nakshatra, which sets them free and allows them to fight back openly and place blame where it is due.

[lintwriting]

I was here when mouthwashing was just a demo. here are some things I noticed.

I caught on to the fact that Curly was likely innocent and that Jimmy was an unreliable narrator based on the "Take Responsibility" word scramble and Jimmy's asshole behavior. Because of this, I also did not think there would be supernatural horror, I thought it’d be man-made and psychological, which I was right about.

What I did not expect was the subtle depiction of how workplaces fail victims of rape and misogyny.

What I did not expect was how backgrounded the late stage capitalism critique ended up being.

late stage capitalism: a red herring

From the Demo, you focus a lot on the corporation as the main antagonist, probably because Wrong Organ devs were hiding the villain protagonists.

Ominous posters, a Polle monster chasing you, those ominous TV commercials glorifying working for a corporation, the fact that all this horror was over fucking tooth-rotting mouthwash. Really paints the picture of a corporate horror or conspiracy a la “Time to Orbit: Unknown,” where every chapter unveils a new corporate conspiracy for money and power.

but instead, in mouthwashing, the capitalist aspects are merely plot devices to explore the horror surrounding mismanagement and its consequences.

A power tripping coworker and an enabling manager who got him the job. An eager-to-please kid and an established supervisor willing to take advantage. Flaws in how the hierarchy is decided, leading to the one person who shouldn’t have had power getting the power. Lack of sensitivity training (or whatever that’s called) surrounding things like Title IX concerns, such as the uneven gender dynamics or what to do in the event of a crime or the fact that the person doing the psych evals isn’t getting any evals.

Notice that none of these things are unique to capitalism, they’re issues you’d have to plan for in any workplace/organization, whether that be socialist or capitalist or whatever. The capitalism exacerbates the issues or catalyzes the consequences of them like a plot device, but the issues don’t originate from there.

For example: the lack of any woman other than Anya.

Yes, this was most likely exacerbated by late stage capitalism understaffing to cut corners, leading to skeleton crews, but that the crew we DO have is mostly male is more related to misogyny or gender roles.

Perhaps women don't want to work on these freighters because of the danger of being trapped in a confined space with men. Maybe the jobs required for these freighters, like mechanic or pilot, are male-dominated. Or maybe the hiring manager had a bias where they viewed men as more competent, etc. The fact of the matter is that the cause is the same when you dig down deep into it: misogyny.

Or the layoff. The laying off of the crew is its own form of evil, but its consequences aren’t the ones being explored within this story. Most of the crew die of the horrors within the ship before they ever have to face it. In fact, the horrors within the ship don't really even have anything to do with the layoff at all. It’s a bit of a red herring.

Rather, the actual cause of this game’s horror is the mismanaged fallout of Jimmy’s assault. Most obviously in that scene where we see Curly for the first time, wherein Curly doesn’t take Anya’s safety concerns seriously, even when Jimmy is actively threatening to make everyone disappear so neither of them have to face the consequences of the assault.

I initially misread that scene as Curly evilly conspiring to let Jimmy crash the ship so neither of them would take the fall, hence us finally seeing Curly's “true face.” Because I read what Jimmy said as inherently threatening and serious, I thought Curly had agreed to that awful plan and only got cold feet at the last minute.

It’s only from reading other comments that I realized Curly had most likely assumed Jimmy was blowing hot air and needed to cool down in that scene. Or that he was making an inappropriate joke akin to his 'sexually attracted to cartoon horses' thing and wasn't being serious. Curly didn’t realize Jimmy was actually talking about a real plan until it was too late stop it (makes me wonder if Jimmy was actually attracted to the horse, too).

Thus, it goes from a story about corner-cutting late stage capitalist megacorps to a story about cartoonishly evil, power-tripping men to a story about how we enable these men with failures in our system.

Much like how the beginning of the game, when Jimmy crashes the ship, a failure in the safety systems is what allows the crash to happen (Seriously? One pilfered key is all you need to send your ship into a crash?), a series of social safety nets had to have failed to let him into the cockpit in the first place. The true face is not Curly conspiring to crash the ship out of cowardice and greed, but his inability to face what his friend has done.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Anakin flirting with m reader and ending making out? Pls

Anakin Skywalker x Male reader

Headcanons

You are a non-jedi general during the Clone wars, cuz yall lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship.

This turned out a lot sweeter than i had planned ngl.

You were a general during the clone wars. You weren’t anything special, you couldn’t use the force, you weren’t from some rich or special background, your name didn’t carry any weight. The only gift you seemed to have, was your inability to be affected by the force. All in all, you weren’t anything to write home about.

Of course, that’s also what made you so damn useful in your role. No one kept an eye on you, everyone underestimated you, you could get away with so much because to most people in charge, you didn’t exist. You not being able to be manipulated by the force, also made you extremely skilled in what you did, without anyone seeming to notice.

Your feat of climbing the military ranks in leaps and bounds only got you mild acknowledgments, and a handful of attempted manipulations from some people in power. But when they realized you didn’t bend, but you weren’t important enough to get rid of, they left you alone.

At 22 you had reached the rank of senior general in the republic army, placing you above even a good chunk of the jedi you fought against, which was also why you had been placed with the 501st, to apparently teach their general the basics.

Anakin and Obi-Wan had both been unsettled by the fact that they couldn’t sense you in the force the first time you met. Every being, even the nonliving, had a presence. But you didn’t. it was like you didn’t exist.

That took quite some time to get used too, especially to someone as force sensitive as Anakin. But over time you two started getting along, and though it took him some time and a lot of grumbling, Anakin did learn quite a lot from you.

The flirting had been subtle in the beginning, or as subtle as Anakin could be. From getting your help on reports and readings he just “couldn’t understand”, to getting you to help him stretch after he had spent hours going through his katas.

You weren’t oblivious, you couldn’t be with the life you lived, so of course you noticed his attempts at flirting. It was endearing in a way. To see someone who was supposed to have no connection to people like that, seem so drawn to you.

It also left you feeling uneasy in a way, as you had never really had much time to relationships or even flirting for that matter, having spent all these years making something of yourself.

Alongside the flirting you two became good friends, and you had even signed yourself up to stay with his platoon, even when your training was done. This was also where you learned he had had a thing with Padme, but they realized they were better as friends a while ago.

When you shared your own lack of experience, it seemed to boost some of Anakin’s confidence, seeing as you both were on new ground. And like with anything else, he took to it with gusto.

The fact that you never turned him down or rejected him, sometimes even laughing and playing along, only made Anakin try even harder. It was cute, to see him trying his best to woo you in a subtle and less noticeable way, seeing as he was still a jedi and it wasn’t actually allowed.

The 501st knew though. Of course they knew, and when Ahsoka came around she figured it out very fast, and she most likely took up the role as hype man and background support.

Your flirting became part of your dynamic, it was just something that you two did, which to outsiders was just seen as banter to keep the spirits up.

It also didn’t go past flirting for a long time, seeing as you guys were always surrounded by people. And being besides Anakin didn’t let you slip into the shadows like you were used too, since he would glow so brightly.

The need for privacy was what had you two slinking off to the side during one of the nights in camp, the platoon having settled down on a planet and waiting for their next orders. Anakin and you had decided to wander off, settling somewhere nearby, but far enough away to get some time alone together.

There might also have been a bottle of alcohol in your coat. It was nowhere near enough to get either of you drunk, especially with the force helping clear it out of Anakin’s system quicker than average folk. But it was enough to loosen up and get comfortable.

Your normal banter of flirting was constant, but as the buzz settled it became something softer and somehow hotter, the feelings growing thick in the air and noticeable enough that even you, who was as force sensitive as a rock if not lesser, could sense it.

Anakin must have made some corny pass at you, that cocky grin on his lips and his hair brushed back and out of his face, letting you truly see his handsome features. Something came over you, later you would blame the force, but it just felt right.

Leaning in and closing the gap between you seemed to have shocked Anakin, his eyes wide before he seemingly melted against you, arms wrapping around your neck and torso and pulling you even closer.

The kiss was far from the most skilled or pleasant, but your shared lack of experience was fully made up for by enthusiasm.

Anakin would pant and grunt as the kiss turned steamier, lips parting and tongues rubbing together, spit gathering at the edges of your mouths and a line of drool running down his chin. His eyes were shut tightly in concentration, his brows furrowed and hands grasping as your coat.

You had no idea how long you two were laying there, kissing like two lovesick fools from some romance novel. Hands were grasping and exploring, but never going further than that. Now wasn’t the time to go any wilder than what you were doing, but the possibility of it was enough to make the kiss even better.

When you pulled away, Anakin leaned after you with a soft noise, bottom lip pouting out and red from the insistent kissing, his eyes cracking open to look at you with the softest look you had ever seen from him.

“Not all of us can hold our breath for hours” you snarked with a soft chuckle, since you knew he could, thanks to the force. Your jedi grumbled, but tucked his head under your chin, still clutching you close and brushing his lips against your neck.

Neither of you spoke for a while, just holding onto each other. You found yourself brushing your fingers through his hair, Anakin almost arching into the touch like an affection starved tooka, a sight that only made you smile more.

“I like you a lot” he mumbled, glancing up at you through his lashes with that insistent determined, but somehow still soft and warm look in his eyes. Just seeing him like that made you wanna kiss him again, to devour him whole.

“I think I like you too” you replied, an upwards tick to your lips as you pulled him close again. Even without the ability to feel the force, you could still feel it flare, like the sun rising in the morning. It would be no surprise if Ahsoka knew exactly what had happened, and the padawan would be confronting you guys about it later.

But right now all that mattered was laying there with Anakin, and maybe stealing a couple more of those deep insistent and longing kisses, since he sounded so pretty when you did. You guys could deal with everything else later.

[mikaylathenerd5]

The Code We Carry + Chapter 3

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Pairing: Isla Sage Navarro x AU Roman Reigns

Content Warning: This series contains references to pregnancy, alcohol consumption, sexual content, and workplace pressure/stress. There are also brief mentions of nausea/vomiting and social media scrutiny. Please take care if these topics are sensitive for you.

Word Count: 7.1k

The sun slipped into the room like it had something to apologize for.

It crawled across the floor in soft gold stripes, catching on dust she hadn’t wiped up in weeks, warming a coffee mug she never got around to washing. The world outside was quiet. No honking, no trains, no early-rising students. Just that suspended hush—the kind that comes before decisions you can’t undo.

Inside, Isla lay still.

Roman’s arm was wrapped around her waist, one hand splayed across her stomach like a claim. He was behind her, body curved to hers, his breath warm where it touched the back of her neck.

She should’ve moved.

Should’ve slipped away before the light got in, before it softened everything, before the spell of night gave way to the clarity of morning.

But her body betrayed her. It remembered his hands, his voice, the way he’d said her name like a prayer he didn’t deserve to say. It remembered what it felt like to be wanted slowly. Reverently.

And it remembered what it felt like to be left.

Roman’s hand twitched against her belly. Not possessive. Not controlling. Just… there.

Like it belonged.

Her throat ached.

Across the room, Toby was curled in a patch of sunlight, his sleek body limp with feline trust. He hadn’t hissed. Hadn’t darted. Just blinked at Roman like he knew him, like he approved. And then laid down like they’d all been doing this for years.

Isla blinked hard.

On the coffee table, her smartwatch lay powered off, facedown beside her phone. The sight of it gutted her more than she expected. It had tracked her for years—her sleep, her anxiety, her steps through grief. It was the armor she wore to prove she had things under control.

She hadn’t touched it since last night.

Maybe that was the worst part.

Her heart beat too loudly. Her breath caught on every inhale. The weight of him—his arm, his presence, his stillness—made her want to crawl out of her own skin and press closer at the same time.

He was so warm. So solid. So… calm.

Isla wasn’t used to that.

She flinched as a floorboard creaked in the apartment above. It was a normal sound. But this morning, it snapped like a gunshot.

Her brain spiraled.

What if someone saw him leave? What if Camila said something by accident? What if this ends up on Twitter? What if they think I slept my way into the job? What if I’m just another woman with a brilliant mind and bad decisions?

What if wanting this—him—meant giving up everything else?

Roman shifted behind her, sleep-soft and unhurried. His breath skimmed her shoulder. Then came the words:

“You okay?”

Two syllables. Nothing voice-raised. Just care, quiet and devastating.

Isla didn’t answer right away. She stared at the ceiling, her pulse crashing against her ribs.

She could lie. She’d done it before. To her mom. To herself. To faculty committees and old lovers and strangers on airplanes.

“I’m fine,” she said, too fast. The kind of lie that sounds like truth if you don’t look too close.

Roman didn’t challenge it.

He just let his hand stay where it was. A silent promise. Not pressing. Not retreating.

The quiet between them thickened.

His arm was heavy—not just with muscle, but with meaning. She remembered reading about the knee injury, back when she first got hired. Saw the articles. The analysts debating his decline. The video of the play where he collapsed and didn’t get up.

He’d gone from the NFL to this. And he’d survived it.

He knew what it was to lose something he thought he had more time with.

And yet… he was here.

Stillness stretched. It might’ve broken her.

Then, her voice cracked into the quiet.

“The next appointment’s Friday. 9:30.”

A pause.

“You want me to come?”

The gentleness of it broke something.

Her fingers curled into the blanket beneath her, holding on.

“Yes,” she said. “If you want.”

Roman exhaled like he hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath.

“I’ll be there.”

No fanfare. No hesitation.

She closed her eyes. Let the sunlight brush her cheek.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t think about whether he’d still be there tomorrow. Or what she’d have to do to keep him.

She just let it be.

Because maybe this wasn’t a yes. Maybe it wasn’t a no.

But it was the first morning in forever she didn’t want to leave.

The parking lot behind the training facility was empty, save for a maintenance van idling near the dumpster and a mess of wind-swept leaves chasing each other across cracked pavement. Roman sat motionless in his truck, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, fingers flexed around the wheel.

His right knee throbbed.

That old, dull ache had a rhythm now. Familiar. Almost like a second heartbeat. It showed up during storms, on stairs, in the quiet moments when he wasn’t moving but his body still remembered. Not pain exactly—just a phantom pulse.

The body doesn’t forget where it was broken.

He exhaled slowly and shifted in the seat, trying to stretch it out. The pressure only made it worse. He didn’t wince. Roman had trained himself not to. But still, the memory pressed forward like a wave.

Week 8. Primetime. October heat still clinging to the turf like a second skin.

Roman crouched at the line, cleats biting into the dirt, hand braced, eyes locked forward. He could still feel the tape tightening around his wrist. Still hear the quarterback’s cadence echoing across the field. Still smell his own sweat baking inside his helmet.

The snap came.

He launched forward—but his leg didn’t follow.

There was no dramatic pop. No scream. Just a wrongness, a sharp and quiet shift in the joint, like a zipper being undone inside his knee.

It gave out. His whole body folded with it.

Helmet hit turf. Chest hit turf. The air left his lungs.

But Roman made no sound.

Everything around him blurred—the whistle, the roar, the footsteps rushing toward him. He heard someone shout for the cart. Felt gloved hands on his shoulders. Trainers muttering. Voices underwater.

“Reigns. Stay down. Don’t move.”

He didn’t.

Not because of pain. But because he already knew.

Something inside him had come undone—and it wasn’t just his knee.

The room was too cold. That sterile kind of cold that made your teeth ache.

The image on the screen showed everything. Torn ACL. Ruptured MCL. The kind of injury that didn’t just end a season.

It ended careers.

The orthopedist was young, kind, professional—he didn’t meet Roman’s eyes.

“With surgery,” he said gently, “you’ll walk again. You’ll live a normal life. But football? At your level? Realistically…”

Roman didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“No team’s going to take that risk. I’m sorry.”

The words didn’t hurt.

It was the silence after that did.

Roman stood. Nodded once. Left without a sound. Every step in that hallway echoing like a closing door behind him.

He never looked back.

Roman pressed his hand into his knee, grounding himself.

The ultrasound photo sat in the glove compartment. He pulled it out with steady fingers, unfolding it like it might break if he moved too fast.

Black and white. Small. Abstract.

But real.

His child. His.

He remembered the way Isla had handed it to him—trembling, like it was a confession, not a gift. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

He could still feel her from this morning. Her back against his chest. Her hair damp. Her breath shallow. Her hand, soft and uncertain, resting over his where it lay across her belly.

Not holding him there. Not pushing him away.

Just… resting.

Like maybe, in sleep, she forgot to be afraid of him.

Roman swallowed hard, jaw locking tight.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Opened the Notes app. Typed:

“I don’t know what I’m doing. But I want this. You. The kid. Even if I fuck it up.”

He stared at the words. Let them breathe.

Then deleted them.

He hadn’t earned the right to say that out loud. Not yet.

Not when Isla still looked at him like she wasn’t sure if he was a promise or a storm.

His phone buzzed. A calendar alert. Something about a faculty meet-and-greet. He let it pass without a glance.

He leaned back against the seat, eyes closing, head resting on the window. The sun burned red against his eyelids. His knee ached. His chest felt too full.

Roman had lost everything once. Lost it on national television. With cameras flashing and reporters already writing the obituary of his career.

He rebuilt himself after that.

But this?

This was different.

This was a woman with walls as high as his. A heartbeat fluttering on a screen. A future he hadn’t prepared for.

He didn’t know how to be good at this. Didn’t know how to say the right things, or feel at the right time, or prove himself in ways that didn’t involve sweat and broken bones.

But he knew how to show up.

And for now… That would have to be his way of saying:

Don’t give up on me yet.

Earlier that afternoon, Isla almost backed out. She’d stood in front of her closet for ten minutes, holding her phone, ready to text Camila that she was too tired. Too sore. Too overwhelmed. But she didn’t. She knew what that was—it was fear wrapped in the illusion of self-care. And Camila? She would’ve blown up her phone, then driven across town, banged on her door with a pint of sorbet in one hand and her chancleta in the other. Camila would’ve seen right through it—and dragged her out anyway.

So she came. Because sometimes, being held up by the women who loved you was the only kind of strength that mattered.

Camila’s apartment smelled like garlic butter, lip gloss, bad decisions, the faint smoke of a curling iron left on too long, and the artificial vanilla of a half-burned birthday cake candle melting into a tray of old takeout boxes.

Music bounced off the walls—old Bad Bunny mixed with Karol G, each song louder than the last. Fairy lights blinked erratically above the windows. A lavender candle burned too strong in the corner. There were too many pillows. A karaoke mic lay abandoned on the floor like a threat.

Isla sat on the couch, fuzzy socks, and half-sunk into the cushions. Her body was tired, but her brain wouldn’t stop firing. The gauzy warmth of the last 24 hours clung to her skin like residue—but beneath it pulsed a quieter dread.

She shifted slightly and winced as a tight tug curled low in her belly. Not pain—just pressure, a whisper from her body that something was changing, reshaping. A quiet betrayal of the control she clung to, reminding her that even silence had its own heartbeat now.

“You’re too quiet,” Camila called from the kitchen, slicing something aggressively. “That means either you’re thinking about him, or you’re thinking about how to run from him.”

“Can’t it be both?” Isla muttered, taking a sip of the lime agua fresca Camila had shoved into her hand minutes ago.

Camila peeked around the fridge with a dramatic gasp. “Bitch, are you spiraling already? You just got dicked down by Mount Olympus. Give your hormones a minute.”

Jaida, sprawled across a bean bag with her long braids tucked behind her ears and socks that didn’t match, snorted. “She’s not spiraling. She’s calculating.” She wiggled her fingers. “Big brain bitch behavior.”

Isla smiled—barely. It felt thin in her chest. Fragile.

Camila waltzed over with a tray of pastelillos and a glint in her eye. “Alright, mami. Ginger-lime with extra lime. No excuses.” She handed off the drink like a ritual offering. “Hydrate. Then confess.”

Isla took it without argument. She could feel Camila's eyes still watching her, even as she turned away to pretend like she wasn’t trying to break her open. The cold glass helped. The ginger bit at her throat—sharp, grounding.

“I’m not spiraling,” she said.

“Lies,” Jaida sang.

“I’m not,” Isla insisted. “I’m just… processing.”

Camila flopped beside her, grabbing Isla’s ankle and tossing it over her lap. “So process out loud. You told him?”

“About the appointment? Yeah.”

“He say he’s coming?”

“He said he would.”

Jaida raised an eyebrow. “And you believe him?”

Isla hesitated. Her silence stretched thin.

Camila’s face softened. “You don’t have to trust him yet. But maybe you need to admit you want to.”

Isla looked down at her drink. Watched the lime wedge float in lazy circles.

“I do,” she said quietly. “And that scares the shit out of me.”

Her voice cracked just a little on the last word. She gripped her glass tighter, the condensation slipping between her fingers. The admission felt like stepping off a ledge, heart-first, into something she couldn’t predict. It wasn’t just fear of him walking away. It was fear of hoping he wouldn’t.

A beat passed.

Then Jaida leaned forward, voice unusually gentle. “Because you think wanting him means needing him. And you hate needing anything.”

The words landed like a bruise pressed too hard.

Isla didn’t answer. Just breathed.

Camila’s palm rubbed slow circles into her calf. “We’re not judging you, baby. But we see you holding your breath again. Like love is something you’re not allowed to have unless you earn it.”

“I don’t want to be a cautionary tale,” Isla whispered. “Brilliant and broken. Pregnant and alone. The whisper in the faculty lounge.”

Jaida’s voice sharpened. “You won’t be. Because we won’t let you.”

Camila nodded. “We’re gonna be those loud-ass tías who bring snacks to the delivery room and cry over the baby’s eyelashes.”

Jaida grinned. “I already bought a ‘Don’t Touch the Baby’ sign. It’s in my Amazon cart next to a onesie that says Future Genius, Present Menace.”

Isla snorted, breath hitching. “You’re both insane.”

Camila raised her brows. “Okay, but let’s be real—this baby’s gonna be dumb fine.”

Jaida threw a pillow at her. “Not dumb fine. Like, editorial campaign at six months old fine. Your genes? Roman’s face? That child’s gonna make people uncomfortable in daycare.”

Camila nodded sagely. “Jawline by inheritance. Curl pattern by divine intervention.”

Isla covered her face. “Stop. Stop. Oh my god.”

Jaida grinned wider. “Imagine the baby getting your brain and his voice? Teachers won’t stand a chance.”

Camila pointed a pastelillo like it was a mic. “I’m just hoping they get your eyes, Isa. That soul-in-a-storm thing you got going on? Iconic.”

Isla blinked quickly, her chest rising with something sharp and soft all at once.

She didn’t deserve them. She really didn’t. Not when she’d kept so much bottled inside. Not when her first instinct was always retreat. And still—they showed up. Every time. Loud and stubborn and soft in all the right places.

She thought about the last time she cried in front of someone. Not Camila. Not Jaida. Not even her mother. Years ago, maybe. Somewhere in a dorm room, where her ex had rolled his eyes and said, “God, you’re so dramatic.” That was the night she learned to carry her silence like armor.

But she had them now.

And that mattered more than she could say.

“I don’t say it enough,” she whispered, barely audible over the music. “But I don’t know who I’d be without you two.”

Jaida rolled her eyes. “Rich.”

Camila smirked. “And lonely. So you’re stuck with us forever.”

Jaida raised her glass. “To soft men who stay and babies with perfect eyebrows.”

“To loud tías with snacks,” Camila added.

“To maybe not being afraid anymore,” Isla said, so softly it almost disappeared.

The words settled over the room like mist—gentle, heavy, undeniable. For a beat, neither cousin spoke. Then Camila exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. Jaida clinked her glass against Isla’s without a word, her eyes softer than Isla had ever seen them. Nothing needed to be said. They heard her.

She reached for her phone. Thumb hovered over Roman’s contact. She typed: “Thanks for being patient.”

Paused. Deleted it.

Not yet. Maybe later. Maybe when her voice didn’t shake. Maybe when she knew what she wanted wasn’t a delusion stitched from longing and leftover adrenaline.

Instead, she tucked the phone under a pillow and leaned back into the chaos of laughter and crumbs and clashing voices. Jaida was now humming to herself as she scrolled through a playlist, while Camila argued with the air fryer over pastelillo timing. The kind of mundane, ridiculous background noise that grounded her more than silence ever could. For once, she let herself be held.

Maybe she wasn’t ready for forever.

But tonight? She was allowed to hope.

Camila eventually nodded off in the recliner with her pastelillo tray half-empty on her chest, and Jaida's playlist had looped into soft reggaetón remixes no one was listening to. Isla stayed on the couch a while longer, eyes half-closed, just breathing in the comfort of shared space. A part of her didn’t want to move—didn’t want to break the spell of knowing she was safe, seen, held.

The pastelillo tray shifted as Camila exhaled. Jaida rolled over in her sleep. And Isla, heart full and unsettled, finally let herself move. She got up quietly, careful not to wake either of them, and padded barefoot to the guest room. The floor was cool against her skin, the room dim except for the low amber glow of a salt lamp on the dresser. She changed slowly, slipped under the blanket, and lay there staring at the ceiling, the sound of Jaida’s snoring and Camila’s shifting weight in the next room oddly soothing.

The apartment had gone quiet. The kind of quiet that only followed hours of chaotic laughter and full stomachs. Camila was sprawled across the recliner under a fuzzy throw with one sock half-off. Jaida lay belly-down on the air mattress, soft snores muffled by a pillow, her long braids fanned like vines across the edge.

Isla sat in bed with the lights dimmed and her phone casting soft blue shadows against her sheets. She wasn’t tired. Her body was sore in that subtle, stretchy way—like her muscles were echoing the emotional stretch she'd gone through just to show up. Her limbs carried the memory of laughter and of tension uncoiling. The ache lived in her bones from trying so hard to seem fine when she wasn’t—overstimulated, slightly achy, and somehow still craving more. Not in a physical sense, but something else—something deeper. A craving for comfort. For connection that didn’t require performance. For someone to crawl inside the silence with her and stay.

She scrolled absently. Emails. A reminder from the university clinic. An unread message from Aisha about TA scheduling.

Then she hovered over Roman’s name again.

His contact photo wasn’t even a photo—just a blank placeholder where a face should be. She’d never changed it. Never let herself even consider what would go there. Maybe a candid one—him laughing beside her after a board meeting, or that day he handed her a tea without asking. But she hadn’t saved anything. She couldn’t. Too scared that putting a name to it would make it real, and real things demanded presence, accountability, risk. That felt metaphorical in a way she hated—like she’d built a boundary out of blank space, a silent protection forged from all the times love had disappointed her. Her father’s broken promises. Her ex’s indifference. Real meant exposure. Real meant maybe getting hurt again.

She stared at the screen. The message thread was short. Sparse. Too professional. Too careful. Like they were pretending the past few days hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t touched her like he meant it.

"Thanks for being patient."

That’s what she almost sent earlier.

It felt small now. Cowardly.

If she weren’t scared—really scared—she’d say what she wanted to say.

You made tea for me.You touched me like I wasn’t breakable.

I want you to be there Friday. Not because I need you… but because I already feel like something’s missing when you’re not.And that terrifies me more than anything.

But instead, she turned her phone facedown and stared at the ceiling.

She could hear Jaida shifting, the whisper of her braids against the pillow. Could feel Camila’s presence like gravity in the other room. Their love was constant. Loud. Undeniable.

And yet… it was Roman she kept thinking about.

Not the sex. Not even the ultrasound.

Just the way he held silence like it meant something. The way his hand didn’t move when she froze. The steadiness in him when everything else felt like noise. He’d said he wasn’t walking away. And she hadn’t let herself believe it.

But tonight, curled beneath borrowed blankets, she wondered if maybe she could.

She pressed her palms to her stomach. Felt nothing—no flutter, no movement. But a strange warmth bloomed beneath her skin, like her body was trying to whisper, I'm here. Not loud. Not urgent. Just a quiet insistence: you're not alone.

A heartbeat. A maybe. A chance.

She didn’t know how to be brave yet. The courage sat inside her like a candle flickering behind glass—visible, fragile, not quite ready to burn steady. But it was there. Waiting.

But maybe—if she kept letting the right people stay—she wouldn’t have to do it alone.

Her phone buzzed once. A new notification. Not him. Just an app reminding her to drink water.

She exhaled. Then smiled—tired, sad, amused. Somehow, even that felt like a promise. Outside the door, the fairy lights still blinked faintly, like someone refusing to give up.

The hallway just outside the athletic department’s weight room smelled like metal, sweat, and cheap cologne—probably from one of the donors making rounds again. Roman walked through slowly, his shoulder still stiff from an old lift, his knee quietly aching from the early morning drills he helped run. He wasn’t in the mood to talk. He never really was lately.

He slowed near the edge of the hallway as two staff members—donors’ assistants or admin—stood murmuring by the vending machine.

“Tenure,” one of them whispered. “She’s got it in her sights. No question.”

The other snorted. “Yeah, well. Helps when you’ve got a name like his wrapped around your finger. Reigns is good for headlines. She’s playing it smart.”

A beat passed.

“Always the brilliant ones who know how to reel in a body like that. All she has to do is bat those lashes and talk stats, and bam—full access to the boardroom.”

Roman’s jaw tensed.

His knee throbbed—sharp, searing. He caught his reflection in the vending machine glass as he passed. His face was tight, eyes dark. And for one disorienting second, he looked like his father. The same clenched jaw. The same storm brewing behind the eyes. He hated it.

The pain twisted deeper—sharp, searing. The kind of pain that didn’t just sting—it echoed. Old damage surfacing in new ways, like his body could still read betrayal even when no one touched him. The ACL tear that cost him the league, that stripped the field from his identity, now pulsed as if to say: you’re still just the body to them.

He shifted his weight. It didn’t help.

The ache wasn’t physical anymore. It was memory, humiliation, fury curling deep into the scar tissue he thought he’d buried.

Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just kept walking past without looking their way. Every step felt like resistance pressed into concrete—silent, deliberate, final.

But the words stuck. Barbed wire behind his ribs—taunting, cruel. Not just because of what they said. But because of what they peeled back. That old wound he’d wrapped in discipline, in weight plates, in quiet loyalty. The one that never quite scabbed over.

He canceled the team dinner an hour later.

Rain check. Not feeling it.

Group chat went silent.

Roman sat alone in the locker room—rows of steel lockers echoing the hum of bad lighting and silence. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered every few seconds, buzzing just enough to get under the skin. He didn’t bother turning on the Bluetooth speaker. The weight room beyond buzzed faintly, but in here, it was just breath, blood pressure, and the distant thump of a medicine ball hitting concrete.

His elbows braced against his knees, head bowed. He hadn’t even changed out of his polo. The towel across his shoulders felt like a mantle—authority he didn’t ask for, pressure he couldn’t shake.

His phone sat in his palm like it was made of lead. Too heavy. Too familiar.

His fingers curled around it like they had that pen—heavy, clumsy, reluctant.

The trainer had closed the door gently after saying, “This isn’t a setback. It’s a redirection.”

Bullshit.

Roman remembered the sterile light of the office. The clipboard. The signature line.

The line that meant you’re done.

He didn’t cry. Didn’t argue. Just signed.

But his knee burned that day—not from the tear, not from surgery. From grief. The kind that settled in your bones and whispered, this is all you ever were. A body that broke.

When he walked out of that office, no one looked up. Not even the front desk girl who used to flirt every Friday.

He’d never felt so invisible and exposed all at once.

Now, in the locker room’s dim buzz, it echoed—soft but merciless.

Different job. Different weight.

Same pain. Same silence from people who once cheered.

But this time, he wasn’t walking out. Not yet.

He thought of her voice, low and serious when she talked about data models—how her eyes lit when she got excited, how she sometimes bit the inside of her cheek when she was overthinking. He didn’t know why that hit harder than the insults.

Maybe because it meant the fear was real. He cared. And that made him vulnerable again.

He opened the group chat.

📱 Uso Trouble 💀🔥💥

Roman: Ya ever wanna deck a grown man for running his mouth but you’re wearing your boss shirt

Jimmy: Every day. Before breakfast.

Jey: What he say?

Roman: That I’m stupid. That she’s smarter than me. That I’m just a name to use.

And the worst part? He didn’t even know if they were wrong.

Isla hadn’t said it out loud—what this was. Not in words. She let the silence do the talking. Left just enough distance that he had to fill in the blanks himself.

He wanted to believe it mattered. That he mattered. But sometimes silence sounded like confirmation. Sometimes it sounded like strategy.

Might be right.

Jey: You texting us instead of punching somebody? That’s growth 😭

Jimmy: You ain’t stupid. You’re just finally feeling something real. That shit’s scary.

Roman: …Trying not to mess it up.

Jimmy: Then stay the course, Uce. You got her?

Roman: I want to.

Jey: Then handle it. We got the rest.

Roman exhaled slow, like he could wring the tension out of his lungs.

The ache in his knee didn’t vanish. But it dulled, tempered by something steadier than rage.

The kind of quiet that only came when you knew—really knew—that you weren’t carrying it alone anymore.

He closed the chat.

Didn’t respond again.

But for the first time that day, he didn’t feel alone in the spiral. He wasn’t fixed. He wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t falling without a net anymore.

He let the towel slip from his shoulders, the fabric pooling at his feet. Then he stood—slowly, deliberately—like he was remembering how.

He didn’t check his reflection. Didn’t flex. Didn’t flinch.

He just stood there in the quiet and chose to stay.

And then—because the ache wasn’t gone, just quieter—he turned and started down the hall. Toward her office.

He didn’t know what he’d say. Only that he needed to say it. 

The screen blurred for a second.

Isla blinked hard, fingers hovering above the keyboard. The code on her monitor swam for a beat before settling, but the nausea didn’t.

Her hand went to her stomach. Low and aching—not pain, just pressure. A queasy flutter that hadn’t let up all morning. She hadn’t eaten. Couldn’t. Just coffee and that half protein bar she threw out after the second bite.

Her office felt like a box—quiet, sterile, too still. The blinds were drawn halfway, spilling striped light over the papers on her desk. The hum of her monitor buzzed like static in her ears.

She was exhausted. Bone-deep. But it wasn’t just the pregnancy. It was everything.

The silence after the photo went around. The texts from Aisha that she still hadn’t replied to. The half-dozen faculty meetings where no one said anything directly, but she felt it—eyes trailing too long, lips twisting like they already knew the end of the story.

And Roman.

She hadn’t seen him since.

Not really.

Not since the last time he looked at her like she mattered. Like she wasn’t just a mistake wrapped in a sharp mind and a tired body.

The doorknob turned.

Isla startled upright, blinking the fuzz from her eyes.

Roman stood in the doorway.

His eyes swept over her face, down to her hunched posture, the pale set of her skin. He didn’t speak at first. Just took her in like a problem he didn’t know how to solve yet.

"You don’t look great," he said, voice low.

Isla tried to snort. It came out weak.

"Thanks," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "Nice to see you, too."

He didn’t step inside right away.

"You okay?"

"I’m fine."

She wasn’t.

He took a step closer.

"You’re pale as hell. And you’re sweating."

"It’s warm in here," she offered, weakly.

Roman didn’t argue. He didn’t tease. Just stared.

Then her vision tipped.

The walls shifted—just slightly, like her chair had swayed.

She blinked hard. Tried to sit straighter.

Roman moved instantly, stepping in, catching her arm as she swayed again.

"You’re not okay," he said. "Come on. I’m taking you to the clinic."

"I have work—"

"It can wait."

She could’ve fought. Could’ve told him she didn’t need help. That she was fine. But her body had already betrayed her.

She didn’t let go of his arm.

And when he guided her out of the office, hand steady at her lower back, she didn’t protest.

Not once.

Not anymore.

The campus clinic sat at the edge of the wellness center—low ceilings, muted walls, and that sterile lemon-clean smell that clung to everything. Isla sat stiff in the waiting area, fingers laced in her lap, every nerve vibrating with discomfort. Roman was a solid presence next to her, elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the tiled floor like he was memorizing the pattern.

She hadn’t said much during the drive.

Neither had he.

And now, in the quiet hum of the waiting room, her silence pressed harder than her nausea. The air-conditioning was too cold. Her skin prickled. Her stomach wouldn’t settle.

“Navarro?”

A nurse with soft eyes stood by the hallway door, clipboard in hand.

Isla stood slowly, nodding. Roman rose beside her—too fast.

“I got it,” she said, her voice almost steady.

The nurse glanced between them. "You’re welcome to come back with her if she wants."

Roman didn’t move. He waited.

Isla hesitated. Then gave a small nod.

Roman stood without another word and followed.

The nurse led them into a quiet exam room—soft lighting, muted prints on the walls. Isla perched on the edge of the table, fingers fidgeting in her lap. Roman took the chair in the corner, knees wide, hands clasped loosely between them.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t fidget. Just waited.

She didn’t know whether that steadiness comforted her or made her want to cry.

The door opened again, and a doctor stepped in—tall, soft-spoken, clipboard in hand. She had kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and wore sneakers with her scrubs.

“Dr. Navarro,” she said with a warm nod. “And…?”

“Roman,” he said, standing briefly before sitting again.

The doctor smiled but didn’t pry. “We’ll keep this quick. I saw your chart notes—mild cramping, fatigue, and some nausea, yes?”

Isla nodded. “It’s been on and off. Mostly worse today.”

“Vitals looked stable on intake. But let’s check on things.”

She pulled on gloves and moved through her examination efficiently, checking Isla’s pulse and blood pressure. The crinkle of the paper beneath Isla shifted with every breath, loud in the sterile quiet. It reminded her how fragile her body felt—how loud vulnerability could sound in a room this quiet. Roman sat still as stone, eyes tracking every motion.

“Any dizziness?” the doctor asked.

“Earlier,” Isla said quietly. “Felt like the room tipped.”

“Could be dehydration. Possibly stress,” the doctor said gently, glancing between them. “Your labs look okay, and the pregnancy is measuring where it should be, but your body’s asking you to slow down.”

She turned toward Roman. “You her partner?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

Isla’s heart kicked. She hated how much she wanted it to mean something. That one word. Yes. Like a promise she hadn’t earned.

The doctor only smiled. “Good. Keep her hydrated. Fed. And rested.”

She left them with instructions, promising to send over a summary to Isla’s OB.

The door shut softly behind her.

Isla stared down at her lap. “You didn’t have to say yes.”

Roman leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs.

“I meant it.”

Isla didn’t respond right away.

Her fingers twisted the hem of her sleeve, eyes fixed on a scuff in the floor tile.

“You know it doesn’t have to mean something just because we—” she paused. “That night. The baby. You don’t owe me anything.”

Roman’s brow furrowed. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t move.

“You think that’s what I’m doing? Saying yes because I feel like I have to?”

Isla’s throat tightened. “I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m showing up,” he said. “Because I want to. Not because of the baby. Not because of guilt. Because it’s you.”

That word—you—landed in her chest like a soft punch.

She glanced up, finally meeting his eyes.

“I don’t know how to let anyone in,” she admitted, voice thin. “Not really.”

“Then start with this,” Roman said quietly. “Start with right now.”

He reached across the space between them—not grabbing, just resting his hand on the table near hers. Not touching. Just waiting.

After a long beat, she placed her hand on top of his.

No words.

Just warmth.

The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel heavy anymore.

It felt held.

Roman didn’t squeeze her hand. Didn’t speak like he was waiting for praise or permission. He just let her lean into it—into him—at her own pace.

Isla’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like days.

“I hate this,” she whispered.

Roman’s brow creased. “What part?”

“Not knowing what’s coming. Feeling like I have to explain myself to everyone. Like I don’t get to be scared.”

“You do,” he said. “You just don’t have to be scared alone.”

She didn’t answer, but her grip on his hand tightened.

A knock came at the door.

“Follow-up appointment’s scheduled,” the nurse said gently, stepping just inside. “You’re good to go.”

Roman stood first, but didn’t let go until she pulled away. Isla slid off the table slowly, pausing to gather herself. When she looked up, Roman had already picked up her bag, slung it gently over his shoulder like it belonged there.

Like he’d carry it without needing to be asked.

On the way back, Roman pulled into a small market a few blocks from Isla’s apartment.

"Wait here," he said, before she could protest.

She watched from the passenger seat as he moved through the aisles, methodical. A ginger tea, a pack of crackers, a small carton of electrolyte water, and—somehow—her favorite frozen fruit popsicles. The ones she thought were impossible to find outside Whole Foods.

When he came back, he handed her the bag without a word. Just a soft glance like he hoped she wouldn’t push it away.

She didn’t.

Back in the car, Isla cradled the bag in her lap, her fingers brushing the edge of the popsicle box like it might vanish if she didn’t hold it. Roman glanced over as he pulled onto the main road.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked gently.

She didn’t answer at first—just shifted the bag in her lap, avoiding his eyes.

"Better," she said finally. "Tired. A little shaky."

Roman nodded, fingers flexing once on the wheel. "You didn’t tell me you weren’t feeling well," he said again, quieter this time. "Not even a text."

Isla swallowed, eyes still on the window. "I thought it would pass."

He hesitated. "And if it didn’t? If something had happened?"

She stayed silent.

Roman let out a breath, the kind that was more disappointment than frustration. "I’m not trying to hover. I just… I care. And it scares the hell out of me to think you’re going through this alone when you don’t have to."

Her voice came smaller. "I didn’t want to bother you."

That pulled his eyes to her.

"You’re not a bother, Isla. You matter to me. Not just because of what we share—but because you’re you."

She hugged the bag tighter to her chest.

"I didn’t know what I was allowed to ask for," she admitted. "So I didn’t ask."

Roman was quiet for a long beat. Then, soft as a promise, he said, "Well… next time, ask. Even if it’s just for ginger tea."

Isla swallowed, staring out the window. "I thought it would pass."

"And if it hadn’t?"

She didn’t answer.

Roman sighed, one hand gripping the wheel tighter. "I’m not asking to babysit you, Isla. I just don’t want to find out you fainted because you were too busy trying to power through it alone."

Her voice was small. "I didn’t want to bother you."

That got his attention.

He looked at her, brow furrowed. "You really think you’re a bother to me? After everything?"

She didn’t answer right away. Just hugged the bag closer to her chest.

"I didn’t know what I was allowed to ask for," she admitted. "So I didn’t ask."

Roman didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he nodded, turning back to the road.

"Well," he said quietly, "next time, ask. Even if it’s just for ginger tea."

At her apartment, Isla unlocked the door slowly, the click of the deadbolt echoing louder than it should’ve. Roman followed her in, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. Toby padded into the room, ears twitching, tail flicking once before hopping up on the couch to observe.

Roman didn’t hover. He moved like someone who remembered what mattered—grabbing a clean glass, pouring her water, setting the crackers on the table beside her worn copy of Algorithms Unlocked. Every action said: I’ve been here. I see you. I want to help.

Isla sank into the couch with a quiet sigh.

Roman didn’t ask if she needed anything else. He just made sure everything was within reach.

She looked up at him, her chest tightening with a mix of gratitude and guilt. Part of her wanted to tell him to go, to make this easier. Safer. But the other part—the softer, shakier part—just wanted him to stay.

"You don’t have to stay."

He shrugged. "I know."

But he didn’t move toward the door.

Just stayed in the quiet, next to Toby.

Next to her.

"They were talking about you," Roman said finally. His voice was low, careful—like he wasn’t sure if saying it aloud would make it worse or better. "At the center. Staff. Donors. Some of the board."

Isla stiffened, the calm she'd fought to maintain slipping. "What did they say?"

Roman leaned back slightly, dragging a hand over his jaw. “That you’re calculating. That this is a power move. That you reeled me in on purpose.”

He paused. Something dark flickered across his face.

“That I’m just a headline. A body with a name. Something shiny enough to buy you tenure and attention.”

He’d heard it before—in locker rooms, on camera, in sponsorship meetings. "Just pretty. Just muscle." He never thought it’d echo here, between them.

His voice cracked on the last word—barely, but it was there.

“They didn’t say my name like it belonged to me,” he murmured. “Just like something you’d borrowed.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Just stared at the coffee table like he wanted to break it—because if he looked at her, he might break instead.

Isla’s chest ached. Not from guilt. From recognition. She knew what it was like to be seen as useful before being seen as human.

Isla closed her eyes. "God."

"I didn’t say anything," Roman added. "Didn’t need to."

She looked at him. "Because you think they’re right?"

Roman’s jaw tightened. "Because I knew if I opened my mouth, I’d prove them right."

Isla didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to. The weight of their names in other people’s mouths had never felt heavier.

Roman leaned forward, elbows on his knees again. "Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em twist it. But they don’t get to define you. Or us."

A beat of silence. Then Isla whispered, "What if we’re already defined by it?"

"Then we rewrite it," he said. His voice steadier now. "One page at a time. No noise. Just us.”

She reached for his hand again—not to hold it. Just to know it was still there.

Eventually, he stood. Gave her a quiet nod before heading to the door.

"Text me if anything feels off," he said.

Isla nodded. "I will."

He hesitated for a second longer—like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to without ruining the fragile stillness they’d found. Then he left, and the apartment felt too big again.

Isla sat alone for a while. Tea cooling in her hands.

Later, she showered. Dried her hair. Packed her laptop. Told herself she was fine. That today would be normal. That she could find her balance again.

Isla’s hair was still damp when she stepped into the building. The early morning chill clung to the back of her neck, but she welcomed it—it grounded her. Her tea warmed one hand. Her other clenched the strap of her bag like she needed to hold herself together.

She paused by the door to her office.

She could’ve sworn she closed it tighter yesterday.

She stepped inside slowly. The air was still. Unsettling.

A file on her desk was out of place. Just slightly. But she noticed.

She frowned. Shrugged it off.

Then she saw it: an envelope.

Plain. No name.

Just hers. Typed.

She stared for a second too long.

Then, carefully, she opened it.

Inside:

“Watch your back. Austin isn’t done.”

Her stomach lurched. One hand instinctively covered her belly.

The warmth from last night was gone. The silence was loud again.

She had just begun to believe she could exhale. Now she wasn’t sure she should’ve ever let her guard down.

This chapter is soft, heavy, and full of quiet unraveling. Isla’s learning what it means to want something real. Roman’s learning how to stay. There’s tenderness, doubt, ginger tea, pastelillos—and the first real crack in the armor they’ve both been wearing.

Thank you for reading. If this one hit you in the chest, let me know. 💛

🏷️@star017 @sheaabuttaababyy @tribalqueen20 @trippinsorrows @mamis-girly

@pittieprincess22 @zoeroxiie @beccalynns-world @keyera-jackson @li-da-savage

@sharmelasworld @jaded-human @lov3rla03 @justazzi @fearlesschimera

@skyesthebomb @chrissyxcxox @reginawhorge01 @purplementalitybluebird @jeyusosqueen

@brianochka @diamondlifeee @perksofbeingbeautifulyetsobroken @cyberdejos2 @transparentphantomface

@sayyestoheav3nn @kianaleani @sxvual @vebner37 @sexyblacksimper

@dopematicdiamondz @behavior619 @annfg8 @ayeeeitsmiracle @romanreignsluver1

@romanreignsbae @morgshope

[b1asho]

A progressive male Rossetian wearing a pouch to carry his kids! While Rossetians legally have gender equality in the workplace and politics etc, they still have similar cultural stereotypes for their version of man and woman as humans do, and those values say that it should be a "woman" in this role. Same old same old, though their woman version isn't necessarily a homemaker. They're both expected to be out there as the providers, and whenever they're at home teach their respective/gendered values (thus, married couples get synced work weeks by law for proper child rearing until a certain age) (public education is only something they send their kids to for job training, everything else is homeschooling in this way either by the parents or qualified siblings in the house.) Anyway

a "man" carrying children of this age in such a way is seen as feminine, much more so than it would be in humans because it's coded heavily with their biology (to their conservative circles, this is low key drag?? since they’re wearing a replica of a female physical trait and using it in a woman-like way. Actual cross dressing/ drag for a rossetian man would involve a lot more horn covering, exaggerated pouch stuff, and dresses idk).

Rossetian tongues are highly sensitive and are used not only to smell but also to pick up on other chemical signals, like whether or not a root vegetable is good to buy. Very important for survival.

[tiredbitchposts]

Scum villain au where the story is told through multiple HR sensitivity training sessions and written workplace complaints

[yall-batman-fanfic]

Return of Hush | Bruce Wayne/Batman x OC!Magician

Synopsis: One of Batman and Bruce Wayne’s notorious villains return. Thomas Elliot is not done with Bruce Wayne, not after Wayne ruined his plans.

Bring your kid to work day has always been part of Wayne Enterprises’ culture. At least once every quarter, employees can bring their kids to the workplace where HR and the others have planned a nice day filled with things to entertain the kids and show them what their parents do on a daily basis. The little event was started by Thomas Wayne then, when he brought Bruce to Wayne Enterprises and the boy had a realization as to why his father was always so busy—aside from his duty as surgeon in Sacred Heart, Thomas Wayne was also running a company.

Seeing it brought light to Bruce’s curiosity of why parents have to work instead of staying at home to play, Thomas introduced Bring Your Kid to Work Day at Wayne Tower. Which his son has kept up to this day.

At first, Bruce liked the little event for the parents and their children because he just likes kids. Bruce Wayne, while the media paints it otherwise, has a kindheart for kids. He would make an effort to see the children who would come to Gotham and show how much he appreciates their parents’ work in the company.

Now that he was a father to, not only six or seven other teens and adults, but to a young girl, Bruce can now join in on the fun of it. 

He did bring Dick and the others to Wayne Enterprises during Bring Your Kid to Work Day, but neither of them had the enthusiasm as Valerie had right now as she sat in her car seat with Damian at the back. Her eyes widened in awe as they entered the underground parking of Wayne Tower.

“Are you excited, Val?” Bruce asked her.

“I wanna see where you work!” Valerie said.

“But you’ve been there many times now,” he said but he still smiled.

“But not today! Momma said there’s going to be games and food and–”

“Annoying children running around the work area,” Damian grumbled.

Valerie turned to her older brother and stuck out her tongue at him. In return, Damian pinched her cheek. 

Valerie whined, “Damian!”

“Do that again and I’ll pinch you harder,” Damian threatened but he didn’t mean it. Of all the people Damian has met it was only Valerie who could make Batman’s bloodthirsty son soft and understanding. 

You won’t see Damian wear a funny hat or a onesie unless Valerie begs him to. 

Out of the car, Bruce handed Valerie her backpack—a Robin backpack—and carried her in his arms so he doesn’t have to bend down to holder her hand while they walked. Entering the building the Wayne family was greeted by the staff and were gushing over Valerie and Damian.

“Oh, she’s grown up so much now!”

“Damian, you’ve grown taller!”

“Did you come for the games later?” 

Many greeted the Wayne children with so much enthusiasm that Valerie hid her face on her father’s shoulder. 

One of the things Valerie inherited from their mother. She was very much sensitive to people around them, especially with their emotions. Hers was heightened though, and right now, since she’s still not trained to use her magic, it was like an explosion of energy around her that either tires her out or overwhelms her. Especially when that energy is towards her.

Seeing his sister’s mood dropping, Damian asked his father to hand her over to him so he could do what she loves. He tucked her in his jacket and carried her like a joey in a kangaroo’s pocket. It only made the others gush more but Valerie felt safe with her brother.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne!” Lucius Fox appeared with his son, Luke Fox—Batwing. 

“Lucius, Luke,” Bruce greeted the father and son.

“And what do we have here?” Luke chuckled at the sight of Damian and Valerie. “A kangaroo and its joey. How cute! Can I? I gotta send this to Dick.” Only when Damian nodded did Luke take out his phone and took a picture of Damian and Valerie. Soon the whole group chat was bursting.

“You said you were only sending it to Grayson,” Damian stated.

Luke only shrugged, smirking. 

Great, now he has everyone teasing him about this.

“I do hope Damian and Valerie will enjoy today’s event,” said Lucius. “HR has prepared a fun day today for the kids.”

“Games?” Valerie asked Lucius.

“Yes, Ms. Valerie, there will be games,” Lucius messed with her hair. 

“Momma?” she turned to her father.

“Your Mom’s at campus today, Val. But she promises to be here to meet us,” said Bruce. 

After saying goodbye to Lucius and Luke, Bruce brought his children to his office. Damian has set down Valerie on the corner where her playpen was. Bruce had it built there so whenever Valerie will be brought over to stay with him whenever Vivian was busy and Alfred was feeling under the weather, she had her place. But after she put down her things—making sure Batplush was sitting upright—Valerie ran to her father’s side and climbed up on his lap so she could see his work.

There were so many numbers and graphs and works on his screen, and so much paper.

“That’s a lot,” Valerie commented.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, these aren’t due until next week. Today, I’ll just work for a bit then we can have fun with the others. Is that okay?” Bruce said to her.

“Uh-huh! Momma said Damian and I can walk around.”

Bruce turned to his son to see if he was alright with that and, as expected, Damian was already calling for Valerie to join his side. 

“We’ll be back before lunch,” Damian said to him. “Say goodbye to Father, Val.”

“Bye, Dad!” Valerie waved and left.

Bruce’s smile didn’t leave him even when Valerie and Damian have gone through the door and he was alone in the office. Though she was already six, it was still surreal that he was bringing her Bring Your Kid to Work Day at Wayne Tower.

His smile only grew when he saw Vivian calling on his phone.

“Hello?” Bruce greeted her.

“I guess you’re settled in now,” Vivian said to him. “Good. Where are Damian and Val?”

“Walking around Wayne Tower, we’ll meet up again by lunch.”

“Good, I asked him to. I know that even if today is about the parents and the kids, you still have work to do.”

“I do, but nothing too heavy.”

“Still, you gotta work to keep the roof over our heads,” she joked.

“And so do you.”

“Ha! I bet my salary can only pay for the groceries and the kids’ schooling. By the way, has Damian mentioned about his application to Universities?”

“He hasn’t but we can talk about it when we get home.”

“Okay, I just… I just want to make sure that he’s okay with everything. I gotta go—have fun today, okay?”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended just as Bruce’s secretary knocked on his door and entered the office, bringing with her more papers and today’s newspaper too. It was then he realized he didn’t get to read today’s paper during breakfast with Valerie and Damian preparing for today, then Vivian running around because she was running late. It was a hectic morning but they pulled through.

Then he saw it.

The headline of today's news.

After reading it, Bruce immediately called the first person that came to mind.

She answered just a few rings later.

“What's wrong?” Vivian asked. “Forgot something?”

“Have you seen today's paper?”

“I haven't even gotten my morning coffee.”

“Thomas Elliot’s escaped Arkham.”

He could imagine Vivian stopping on her tracks and cursing. Then he heard her shuffling and the sound of the door opening and closing. She's entered an empty room so they can talk privately. 

“How?” She asked.

“I don't know, but what matters now is he's out. Who knows what he'll do now. Vivian---”

“The last time we saw him, he wanted to kill you, Bruce. Because he thinks you stopped him from getting this inheritance first. But now he has a reason to hate Batman, and won't stop until he gets you.”

The first and last time they encountered Hush, Thomas Elliot made an elaborate scheme that involved many of Batman's enemies to keep the Bat off his trail and get to Bruce Wayne. It was one of the most hurtful betrayals that Bruce faced. First Harvey succumbing to Two-Face, then his childhood friend, Thomas, lying to him all this time and making this plan to take him down all because his mother lived after the accident. 

It always starts with violence, Bruce knew that after years of being Batman.

In Thomas Elliot's case it was in his own home. Though the Elliots were one of the richest families in Gotham, inside their home was entire different from how socialite families would present themselves.

Thomas’ father was a violent drunk, and his mother did nothing to protect him from his father. Having had enough, Tommy crafted a scheme to obtain his own fortune. He cut the brake lines on his parents' car, sending the vehicle careening off the side of the road. Tommy’s father was instantly killed, but his mother managed to survive, thanks to emergency surgery by Bruce's father.

His hatred towards his parents led to his hatred towards Bruce who later “had the life he wished” when Thomas and Martha Wayne were murdered, leaving Bruce with the Wayne fortune---dubbing him as the youngest billionaire. That mentality then brought the alterego of Hush which haunted Gotham, Bruce, Batman, and the Wayne Household for a time.

“He'll most likely get to me first,” Vivian guessed. “An easier target, vulnerable in campus, unlike in Wayne Tower.”

“Can you---”

“I can't, Bruce…”

Bruce sighed. “Remember the phrase we made for these situations?”

“I do,” Vivian let out a breath. “I'll head to Wayne Tower as soon as I can. I promise. Don't let Damian or Valerie out of your sight. Tell Damian about this too, he needs to know.”

To protect Valerie.

“I will. Stay safe out there, Viv.”

“I will.”

The call ended.

Great, just as he promised Valerie that he will be there for her and not worry about anything else, he now has to worry about Thomas Elliot. 

~ * ~

Her father was distracted. 

Valerie noticed it the moment Bruce came to meet her and Damian so they could head out for lunch. The entire time her dad had that look on his face where his brows would meet, his eyes looking at something---like he was angry, but he wasn't, he’s just thinking. She knew when her father is angry and she's seen it once or twice too. But not towards her nor her brothers and sisters, nor Alfred, and especially not Mom. 

Dad would only get angry at people who tried to hurt her and anyone else, because Dad cares for people. 

After participating in the games with the kids, Valerie ran back to her father with the toy she won---a Superman figurine---to show it to him. Maybe if she gives that to him he’ll cheer up and stop all that thinking.

“Dad!” Valerie showed him the toy.

It took a minute for Bruce to notice, and only did when Damian nudged him, but by the time he looked at Valerie she was already pouting.

“Sorry, Val,” Bruce picked up his daughter and entertained her and the toy she was holding. “Superman, huh? Do you like Superman?”

“I like Superman. He always makes people smile---and Wonder Woman!”

“What about Batman?” Luke joined the conversation, earning a pointed look from Damian. 

“He's scary,” Val began, making Bruce frown, “But's he's really, really nice! Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure thing, kid,” Luke sat down so he could get closer to Val as she whispered: “Batman saved me many times now.”

“Did he?” Luke asked, whispering too. 

“Uh-huh! He's super nice, he even lets me hug him.”

Luke chuckled, looking at Bruce, “Who would have thought Batman is such a sweetie-pie to kids.”

Bruce only hummed in annoyance. 

As Bring Your Kid to Work Day went on with Valerie and Damian participating with the event, and Bruce giving a little speech for everyone, Vivian arrived with some doughnuts and was being helped by one of the staff to get it there for everyone to enjoy.

“I even got vegan doughnuts right here,” Vivian handed the box to one of the staff who she knew was vegan. “Enjoy!”

Right after playing Mrs. Clause with the gift of food, Vivian went to greet her family who was sitting at one of the couches. Damian was the first to greet her and offered to take her bag, but Vivian only hugged him and kissed the top of his head. 

“I'm good, sweetheart,” she told him. “Did you have fun today?”

“Everything was for children, I could have just stayed home and study for my entrance exams.”

“Not that you need to, right?” Vivian teased him.

He didn't reply. For the first time, Damian was actually giving a lot of effort in something that wasn't fighting. He was studying for his entrance exam for university! She knew Damian could ace that exam and get to any college he wanted, yet here he was---giving his all so he could study medicine. 

“One day wouldn't hurt, right?” Vivian told him.

“It wouldn't. And I only came for Val.”

Right on cue, Valerie got down from her father's hold and ran up to her mother. Vivian carried Valerie from the ground and peppered her cheek with kisses. “I missed you, my little munchkin!” 

“Momma!” Valerie laughed. 

Approaching Bruce, Vivian got on her toes to kiss his cheek then asked how he was. Bruce  answered with a “fine” but Vivian could see that he wasn't at all fine. She made an excuse for Valerie and Damian to join the others in the games while she and him talk in private at his office. Once the doors were closed, Bruce did not wait to tell her what was on his mind.

“I've had Barbara do a sweep on the footage on Arkham to see how Elliot got out--if he used a getaway car or did it on foot.”

Vivian frowned. “If he got out on  foot, he wouldn't have gotten far.”

“My thoughts exactly. We'll need to leave early, it's safe to have you and Val at home where Elliot can't get to you.”

“I know,” Vivian  sighed. “I hope with Elliot out, you still enjoyed the day with our kids. Val, especially. As much as you play it cool, my love, you were looking forward to this just too.”

Bruce sat on his leather seat. “Val caught me  thinking. I think I ruined it a bit for her.”

“But she had fun,” Vivian approached him and leaned on his desk beside him. “And you?”

“It would have been better if Elliot wasn't…”

“Running around seeking revenge on Batman and Bruce Wayne? I know… what if he…”

“What?”

“The last we saw him, he took your face, Bruce. That psychopath actually gave himself plastic surgery to look like you… what if he did something while wearing your face.”

“Well, I can count on you as my alibi, and so is Lucius.”

Vivian  frowned. “And if he tries to steal Wayne money again?”

“I've heightened up security for all Wayne Enterprise accounts around the world. He won't get to them unless he has the combination key.”

His and her retinal scan. 

One of the many ways Bruce placed a safeguard on their assets. Since coming to this age, he's taken even more care for all WE assets as realization of him retiring and passing it on to the children, and Valerie---especially, Valerie—was coming close. He wanted them all to be settled. Dick didn't want to run Wayne Enterprises, and Jason has on interested either. Tim was the most eligible candidate and was being trained to run the company when the time comes. With Damian wanting to go to medical school, his priorities will be different and maybe not too corporate. Maybe he could run the hospitals. Then Valerie…

Valerie's too young and it was too early for them to decide if she wants WE at all. But they have settled a trust fund for her.

Vivian went to her husband and brought him to an embrace. “Don't you get tired of this, Bruce?” She whispered.

“I do, but Batman can't.”

“Batman is also a man.”

“No, Bruce Wayne is a man. Batman is a symbol. Batman cannot falter, cannot make mistakes.”

She frowned and all she could do was kiss her husband. “The Bat is a symbol, but the one wearing it is a man. Symbols live forever, Bruce. But you won't. Your body won't.”

He sighed. “I know…”

“Look at that, another strand of white hair,” Vivian teased him.

“Don't remind me.”

~ * ~

No reports came about Elliot nor Hush. Everything was quiet in Gotham---it didn't ease Bruce's worries. He has both day and night patrols on the lookout of Thomas Elliot. But it was hard to do with the fact Elliot currently has Bruce’s face, and could possibly fix that face to be someone else.

“So far there aren't any sightings or suspicious behaviors around,” said Tim.

“And no reports of Bruce Wayne being in places he shouldn't be at,” said Oracle. 

“I see. Keep an eye out for now. Batman, out.”

Ending the call, Bruce pulled down the cowl and climbed the stairs back to the manor. He only realized it was morning now when the sunlight hit his eyes and he heard Valerie's voice coming towards the hall—

Shit!

Bruce went back inside the clock and closed its door. He waited for her to pass the clock, she was talking to her Alfred about this dream she had and how she played in a beautiful garden with a tall man wearing black and a little girl with red hair. It was fun, she said. Then when she disappeared to the end of the hall, Bruce cautiously got out of the cave and peeked his head out to see if the coast was clear.

“She’s not here, you can come out now,” Vivian came to the clock, wearing her work-clothes and holding a cup of coffee.

“I didn’t know it was that late now,” Bruce sighed and accepted the cup.

“When was the last time you worked up until this time? You haven’t slept for forty-eight hours, Bruce. And the sleep you got before that was just an hour, so technically you've been awake for sevey-one hours. Go upstairs and rest. Batman can't function like this. As much as we say this,” she pointed on the bat symbol on his chest, “is a symbol. The one behind it. The one wearing it is a man. And a man has limits.”

“Elliot is still out there.”

“We’ll be safe, GCPD is on high alert too.”

“I can’t rest until I know he’s behind bars and you both are not in harm's way.”

Vivian cupped his face and said to him, “Sleep. And don't make me put a spell on you to do so.”

“You wouldn't.”

“I wouldn't because I know you hate that---not having control of your own body, I mean, who doesn't? But for your sake, I just might. So don't make me do something you know you’ll hate me for.”

He smiled. “I might be angry for a while, pissed, but never hate. I can never hate you,” he leaned down to kiss her. “And what if something happens?”

“Nothing is going to happen, okay? I'll pick up Val. I'll tell Lucius you’re feeling under the weather. Please, my love, for me?”

Reluctantly, Bruce nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” Vivian kissed him again. “I'll see you when I get home.”

~ * ~

“Where's Dad?” Valerie asked.

Vivian looked at her through the rearview mirror and said, “Dad had a long night, he's still catching some Zs.”

They arrived at Valerie's school. Vivian parked her car so she could walk her inside. Her first stop earlier was Damian, who had entrance exams, and now she was dropping off Valerie before heading to work. 

“He did the same thing the other night too,” Valerie noted.

“Because your Dad is working really, really hard to keep Wayne Enterprise doing what it does best.”

“Which is?”

Vivian got out of the car and opened the back so she could unfasten Valerie. “Helping people.”

Valerie jumped off the car seat and took her bag. “Stephanie says differently.”

“Oh, yeah? What did she say?”

“He's working to keep money coming to our bank account because we need it.”

Oh, Stephanie, Vivian thought.

They walked to her school and Vivian held her hand the entire time. As they walked in, Vivian looked at every person she passed, every man she came across that had a resemblance to Elliot the slightest---the physique, mostly.

“Well, aside from that, Wayne Enterprises’ purpose is also to help, and how do we get to do that without the business, right? We have the Wayne Foundation too.”

“Really?”

When they arrived at Valerie's classroom, Vivian knelt down and held her daughter. “Have you been going through my things?” She asked with a quizzical look. “Did you read my copy of Marxism?”

Valerie raised a brow. “Who?”

“Good,” Vivian pressed a big kiss on Valerie's cheek, making her laugh. “Don't worry about Dad, okay? He's just a workaholic. He likes to work a lot. But when he finishes this work, he'll get to have breakfast with us again.”

“But he's always working,” Valerie rolled her eyes.

“I know, love,” Vivian sighed. “Hey, remember, it's Mommy who's going to pick you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, and Dad loves you so, so much,” she kissed her again. “Okay?”

“I love you too,” Valerie whispered.

“Go learn and have fun today,” Vivian urged Valerie to go inside. Her homeroom teacher greeted Valerie with a smile and then Vivian with a “good morning”.

“By the way, I'll be the one to pick-up Valerie,” Vivian told her.

“Of course, see you later, Mrs. Wayne.”

~ * ~

Vivian was running late. After ending her class, she quickly bolted to the faculty office to get her things and was on the phone with Valerie's school to tell them about having Valerie inside the room until she gets there. 

“Mrs. Wayne, good afternoon!” Valerie's teacher picked-up.

“Hey, hi! Listen I'm running a little late, but I'm already at my car. Can you keep Val in the room until I get there? I know, and I'm sorry, but I promise I'll be there in fifteen.”

“Mrs. Wayne, Valerie already went home.”

Vivian stopped on her tracks, capturing the attention of her colleagues. “What?”

“Mr. Wayne came here to pick her up. He was insistent---he said that he called you about it. That he felt bad on not getting to do it for a while now and he wanted to surprise her.”

“No, no, no…”

“Via?” Justin approached her.

“NO!” Vivian exclaimed. “I-I-I said that I'll be picking her up, Bruce never called me. He's at home, he's---he's sick and. I said I'll be picking her up!”

“Mrs. Wayne, I… but it was Mr. Wayne who came here.”

“Did he have a pass---an ID?”

“Via, what's going on?” Justine and some other students approached her.

Covering the mic of her phone, Vivian told him to call her husband--he knows his number---and to tell him to get to Valerie's school now. As Vivian talked to Valerie's teacher about the mess up and the security that joined in, Justin was talking to Bruce about the situation and the moment Justin told her that Bruce was heading to Val's school, Vivian ended the call and was bolting to her car.

“Via! Wait--Via!” Justin called her. “You are in no condition to drive.”

“I can't wait for Bruce to get here!”

“I'll drive you, okay? I'll get us there fast.”

Her hands were shaking, and her mind was clouded with all the possibilities that could happen, so she agreed and let Justin drive.

~ * ~

The moment Bruce saw Justin Kirk's name on his phone, Bruce knew that something was wrong. He jumped out of bed, after a couple of hours of sleep, and was already putting on the first thing he got in his closet as Justin told him the emergency. At the drive, Bruce informed Dick and the others about the emergency and the Robins were already taking off to go on the search, but told them to not tell Damian, since he was still at his entrance exam. 

Arriving at Valerie's school, he found Vivian talking to the police, tears streaming down her eyes as she tried to keep calm while Valerie's homeroom teacher explained how it happened.

“But I told you, I was going to pick-up Val,” Vivian said, her voice raising.

“Ma'am, there is no need to shout,” said the police.

“Excuse me? My daughter was kidnapped and it happened right here! In a school we thought would keep her safe! I told her and everyone else that I was picking up Valerie---have any of you seen the news lately?”

“Good, you're here,” Justin came to Bruce. “They won't let me through.”

“Viv!” Bruce came to Vivian's side whose voice was already trembling.

“There is an escaped convict from Arkham, and that man has plotted to killing my husband! He even gave himself plastic surgery to look like him! So I will not be calm. I would have called if I knew Bruce was going to pick her up. Bruce would have called me and let Val talk to me so I'd know. But I never got it!”

“Vivian, we'll get her back,” Bruce brought her to an embrace, then he whispered to her ear: “Dick is already leading the others to look for her.”

“What if something happened to her, Bruce? I've never been this afraid…” Vivian cried. “The other times, it was by chance. They just wanted money--I know Val would… I was scared but not like this. Elliot wants to get to you and he would do everything to get to you, and you know it.”

He knows. This time, if Elliot lays a hand on Valerie, he wasn't sure what he would do.

Sitting in the Principal's office, Vivian and Bruce waited there with one of the GCPD officers and the Principal himself. She was offered coffee but Vivian declined. While she sat there, Bruce was already on the phone, talking to Dick to know the situation while trying to keep everything vague as possible.

“We can't leave until we speak with Gordon,” said Bruce.

“I know, Babs told me,” Dick sighed. “We're looking everywhere, Bruce. Jason's even got Roy into it, even the Huntress, Cat, and Harley. We'll give you an update once we find something.”

“Okay, thanks, Dick. Once we talk to Gordon we'll head out to help.”

“I don't think that will be easy. The press is on you now,” Oracle spoke. “Word got out.”

Shit.

“This will make him desperate, it can fish him out,” said Jason.

“Desperate means he'll be dangerous,” Bruce told them. “Keep watch. I'll try to get out of here and help with the search once we talk to Gordon.”

The last thing Gordon wanted was case involving the Waynes. GCPD was already swamped with pending cases and with Thomas Elliot escaping Arkham Asylum, now this? When he received the call about it, he was talking with Arkham's warden about Elliot, he asked the unit to go to the school where Vivian Pryor-Wayne was already and talking to the security, angry and upset---just like any mother would if they find out their child was taken due to unimplemented security checks for the parents and fetches.

Just as he arrived at the school, the Wayne couple were in the Principle's office waiting for him. Bruce Wayne was on the phone and Vivian Pryor-Wayne was sitting on the chair, calming down. 

“Commissioner, finally!” The Principal said.

“Apologies for the tardiness, I came all the way from Arkham and traffic was… Gotham traffic,” said Jim. “But that's no excuse, and let me extend my deepest sympathies, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. I promise Gotham's finest will find your daughter.”

“We know,” Bruce told him. “Is there anything more we need to discuss here?” Silence. “If not, my wife and I need to head out and do our part in looking for Valerie.”

“Mr. Wayne, I promise you, GCPD is on the move---given the situation that a child's been taken by a criminal, it's our priority.”

“We know,” Vivian spoke. “And we appreciate it, Commissioner. But what do you expect us to do while we wait? Sit in our homes and wait?”

“Mrs. Wayne, it's safer if you do. We all know Elliot is after Bruce Wayne, and him if him kidnapping Valerie is his way then you'll be walking right into his trap. So, I advice you stay at home. Lock the doors. Don't let anyone in.”

Bruce was about to speak when Vivian held his hand and she said to the Commissioner. “You’re right. Thank you, Commissioner Gordon. Best way to fish out Elliot is to show that we're still holding our heads up high.”

That was easy.

“I'll have a police escort accompany you home.”

“Thank you, Commissioner,” Vivian bowed her head and walked out of the office, her strides still stiff and holding anger after what has happened. 

Or maybe too easy.

~ * ~

As soon as they arrived at Wayne Manor, Bruce went to work. He called back all the Robins to replan. When they arrived back, Vivian was already doing her work in trying to track down Valerie with her magic, then Bruce was studying the footage of Elliot escaping and the one from the school where Valerie was “picked up by Bruce Wayne”.

“She knew something was wrong,” Damian spoke as he emerged from the shadows wearing his Robin gear. “But Elliot already got her and knocked her out with a drug.”

They saw the footage on repeat as Elliot hugged a confused Valerie and did something to her that rendered the child unconscious in his arms. He laughed, joking about Valerie being tired, and said goodbye to Valerie's teacher.

“What are you doing here? Don't you have entrance exams?” Dick asked Damian.

“I've finished them. And you all should have told me about this.”

“We didn't want to distract you from your–”

“She's my sister Grayson. Elliot would be lucky to only have cuffs by the end of this.”

“He won't,” Vivian dropped her search and joined him. “I'll make sure that he never does anything like this again.”

“Viv…” Bruce started. “This is just your anger.”

“He took Valerie, Bruce. She has nothing to do with any of this!” She gestured to the cave, to all of them in uniform. “We agreed to keep her out of this because it's safer for her. We agreed that the only time we tell her is when she can understand this… but how many times has been taken from us because of Gotham?”

“She was taken not because of Batman. But because of who she is. Who her family is,” Bruce stated. 

“Elliot needs to be stopped, Bruce.”

“And we will stop him but not like this. Not like what you're thinking now.”

“How can you stay so calm?”

“I am angry, Viv!” Bruce marched up to her, glaring down at her just as she was looking at him with the same look of anger. “I am angry that my daughter was taken from us because I have not finished this endless war with crime! I am angry because some psychopath who we trusted before took her for some revenge that has nothing to do with me! But if we cross that line, we will be the same as them.

“If you want to lash out because of this, do it to me! Punch me, burn me, use your magic---just get it out of your system! Because I am also responsible for Valerie's kidnapping! One of the men you want to hurt is also here, standing right in front of you now, Vivian!”

Silence came to the cave.

When was the last time they saw Bruce and Vivian fight like this? Or fight at all! It was rare, usually Vivian would calm Bruce from his outbursts but this time…

They were angry and both feel like they were at fault, and both wanted revenge for what happened. It's just that Batman's code keeps him from doing it. And Vivian? Her code was flexible as Alfred would say. But she follows Batman's code out love and respect for her husband.

But now that patience is being tested with Valerie's life on the line.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Bruce told Vivian. “The man you want to punish is right here, Viv. Do it.”

He was taunting her. 

Typical of Bruce.

But Vivian only looked at him for a moment then walked away, climbing up the stairs, passing by Alfred, and went back to the Manor.

“Bruce, that wasn't necessary,” Dick told him. “We understand that you're both hurting but…”

Batman ignored him by going with their plan. He wanted every Robin scouting a specific radius to find Elliot, that way they can cover Gotham. They were already getting help from other vigilantes, so their range can be reduced to let them search the area thoroughly.

~ * ~

It's been two since Valerie's abduction. Bruce and Vivian haven't spoken to each other since and it's been awkward for the Robins to be in the Manor where the couple would go on with their day in silence. Bruce would bury himself in the search, while Vivian was at work and doing her own search too. She has called for Midnite's help in finding her daughter.

In one of the nights where Vivian was called to stay later in Gotham University, Bruce was out on Patrol. It was then it happened.

Vivian was about to head home when she saw Bruce standing by her car wearing a white shirt and trousers, holding flowers.

“Viv,” he began.

Vivian kept her distance, her hand holding her phone and hair-stick tightly.

“Viv, I know things haven't been easy for us,” he continued. “With Val still missing, but we shouldn't be fighting, not when our girl is…”

“What are you doing here, Bruce? This isn't the time or place for an apology if you ask me, and how the hell did you even get here?”

“Alfred took me, I asked him to head home because I wanted to talk to you.”

“And the boys?”

“They’re worried about you.”

“Cass?”

“Her too.”

Vivian walked up to him then she looked him in the eye and said, “You’re not my husband,” she pointed her hair-stick at the bottom of his chin. “Where is my daughter, Elliot?”

Elliot, with Bruce's face, smirked and from the flowers he produced a syringe which he stabbed to her neck to knock her out. 

.

Vivian woke up at what looked like a large living room. She's seen this place before, the interior design, though run down with the lack of care of it, was still familiar to her. Elliot Manor. She's visited this place numerous time before with Bruce, when Thomas Elliot was still a man who they call their friend. 

She was lying on a narrow hospital bed, her wrists bound to the bed, she was still a little weak from the drug Elliot used… or maybe he was still using as an IV was connected to her. Looking around, she tried to get more of her surroundings until she saw her.

Valerie.

Her Valerie lying on a bigger hospital bed, connected to an IV.

“Val!” Vivian tried to call for her. 

She knew that was Valerie. It had to be!

“Val!” Vivian’s voice was weak, if felt like she was giving so much energy just to speak or move a muscle. “Val, please, wake up! Baby, please, Momma’s here. I'm here, Val.”

“She won't wake. She's still tired from surgery,” Elliot appeared donning his old disguise of Hush. “Doesn't she look beautiful?”

Vivian glared at him. “I'll fucking kill you!”

“Really? I doubt it. What would Bruce say, right?”

“You crossed a line, Elliot. SHE'S INNOCENT!”

“There are no innocent Waynes!” Elliot went to Valerie's side and caressed her bandaged face. 

“Don't touch her!” 

“Don't worry, it won't be long until the Bat comes here. He's been on my tail for the past few days, he'll realize what happened and we'll all be here. Just in time for the grand finale of all this. The day I get my revenge on Batman and Bruce Wayne,” Elliot came to her side. “I know your little secret. Rather, I know Brucie's little secret. I'm hurt, Viv, I thought we were good friends…”

Vivian glared at him. “Bruce did nothing to you!”

“He took my fortune from me!”

“He did nothing! All he did was try to console his friend whose parents were on the brink of death. He never knew about everything you planned for that day!”

“Because of him, because of his father I had to endure more of that!”

“Your mother's gone now, Elliot, what more can you possibly want?”

“I WANT WAYNE TO FEEL WHAT I FELT THEN! HELPLESS!”

Vivian looked him in the eye. “Hasn't he felt that already? That night in Crime Alley… wasn't that enough?”

“A tragedy? Wayne became the richest kid at that age! That was supposed to be me! Me! I did it all to get to this, but him? All that needs to happen is for someone to shoot his parents. He never had to do a thing!”

“You're sick, Elliot,” Vivian whispered. “You're fucking sick, you know that?”

“Bruce had everything I ever wanted, this time he won't. Now he'll know how it felt when everything was robbed from me.”

He went to Vivian's side and increased the release of the drops to her IV. Vivian fell asleep.

~ * ~

Hush had him chasing him, but unlike before where he had layers and layers of plans, Hush made himself known and had Batman follow him to Elliot Manor. Entering the place, Bruce could feel his whole body shaking in rage as the first thing he saw was the sight of Vivian strapped to a hospital bed and connected to so many tubes that were at her chest.

“I've always wondered what would beat Batman. Not physically, how many times has the Batman fallen in battle yet got back up,” said Hush. “So what about his will?”

“I'm going to break your hands,” Batman sneered at him.

“Are you sure about that? It's these hands that can save Vivian, and you know it.”

“What did you do?” 

Hush smirked and opened the television to his right showing Vivian's heart placed in a secure and cold environment to keep it alive until time runs out, and surrounding it were bombs.

He took her heart.

“Oh, and here too!” Hush opened another monitor and this time it shows Valerie locked in a cage, her face bandaged. She was huddled against a corder, hugging herself, crying. The same with Vivian's heart, Valerie's cage was rigged with timed explosives. “You gotta choose, Bruce… you can't save everyone. So pick… is it Viv or Val? Beautiful Vivian here,” Hush caressed Vivian's cheek. “Or sweet Valerie who is so scared and wants to go home? Who is it Bruce?”

From the comms, Bruce could hear Nightwing and the others whose heard and seen the situation through their comms and the gauntlets that captured the cameras from Batman's cowl.

“We'll get Vivian's heart, Bruce. Oracle found the signal of where that's broadcasting from,” said Nightwing. “Red Hood is already on his way to get it. He'll get it to Sacred Heart fast. We'll also have the ambulance ready to extract her. Valerie's there, in Elliot's Manor at the basement.”

“Understood,” Bruce replied, then he turned to Elliot. “I'm not going to break your hands. I going to crush them.”

Hush fired his gun at Batman's way and Bruce got down to dodge. Bullets flew around and Bruce was trying to get Elliot out of the room to avoid contaminating it further. Vivian was at a vulnerable state now. He led him to the dining area, away from the living room where Vivian's body is, and when Hush was inside, Batman closed the door, locking it shut, then kicked Hush backwards. 

They battled hand to hand. Elliot knew how to fight, knows many martial arts, but it wasn't par with Batman's. He wasn't even close.

Hush's strength were his strategies and military tactics. He had Batman going around in circles on their first encounter, but here… in this battlefield, Batman was in the advantage.

“You should have stuck with what you knew, Elliot!” Bruce punched the man across the face. “HIDING WHILE YOU LET OTHERS DO THE REAL WORK!”

Batman kicked Elliot at the knee, breaking it. Elliot fell to the ground, howling in pain, but he wasn't over. He grabbed Elliot's arm and broke that too.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Batman bellowed at Hush, he grabbed the man's remaining hand that held the gun. “WHERE IS MY DAUGHTER?!”

“FINALLY!” Hush laughed through the pain. “THE TRUTH IS OUT! FINALLY ADMITTING TO IT, EY, BRUCIE?!” Hush fired his gun again, but Batman grabbed the man's wrist and pinned it to the ground. 

“You crossed a line this time, Elliot,” Batman got up and took one of the splintered wood of the chair's leg. “You went after my girls… you took my daughter, and you hold my wife's life on a thread… I'm going to take the last thing that gives the power to take from us again.” He slammed the chair's leg down at Elliot's hands, crushing his bones. 

The man cried in pain and horror, knowing the consequences of what Batman has done.

“It will heal, but you will never hold a scalpel again… now, where is my daughter?” 

Elliot laughed and laughed, finally showing the madness within him. “You'll never find her. You will never get to her—”

“I will,” Batman hit him across the face again, knocking him unconscious.

~ * ~

Walking down the stairs of the basement, Batman found Valerie in the cage and the bomb's timer having only a few seconds before it sets off. Batman easily disarmed the bomb then opened the cage. 

“Val,” he began.

Valerie flinched and tried to get away.

“He has my Mommy,” she cried.

Bruce knelt before her and tried to hold her but Valerie pulled away.

“No! My Mommy! He has my Mommy… Please save my Mommy…”

Batman took off his cowl and sat beside Valerie and asked if he could remove the bandages from her face. Valerie nodded. One by one, he unfastened the bandage from her. Good, Elliot never touched Valerie, he didn't harm her nor her face. That bandage was just to get to him, and it worked.

“Val, it's Dad,” Bruce said.

“NO!” Valerie ran to the other side of the cage. “YOU'RE NOT MY DAD! MY DAD WOULD NEVER HURT ME AND MOMMY!” 

Tears built up in Bruce's eyes as he watched his daughter hide from him in horror. 

Hush did this to her.

He did this to her.

“Val, please, it really is me,” Bruce spoke, his voice cracking. “It's Dada, remember?”

“How do I know that it's really you?”

“Open your eyes and you'll see.”

Valerie looked up. And it was, it was her father, she knew those eyes anywhere, and now they looked sad. 

But…

“Dada… you're…”

Bruce looked down at the symbol on his chest. 

He was still wearing the Bat-suit.

“Yes, Valerie.”

“You're Batman,” Valerie said in a whisper.

“I am,” seeing her hesitation, Bruce pulled the cowl back on to hide his face. It hurts him to know that his daughter was afraid of his face because of Hush, but if it meant helping her now, then he'll hide it by wearing the cowl. If he can't be there for her as Bruce Wayne then he'll be there for her as Batman. “Come with me, help is on the way for you and your Mom.”

Valerie got up from the ground and walked up to Batman. She held her father's face and then pulled down the cowl. “Dada,” she whispered as she traced his face to memorize how it looked and felt. She wiped away his tears and pressed her forehead on his. “My Dada is Batman.”

“I am,” Bruce hugged her tight. “Are you scared?”

“Batman saved me many times now… he won't hurt me.”

Bruce kissed his daughter's forehead over and over and just held her there, relieved to finally have her again and to finally stop hiding.

~ * ~

An emergency heart surgery was done to save Vivian's life. Just as the ambulance with a GCPD escort made to Sacred Heart, Red Hood had Vivian's heart handed to the doctor who was to perform the surgery. Valerie was handed to GCPD so they can conduct the necessary tests and procedure, and they will contact Bruce Wayne. It hut Batman to hand over Valerie to Jim when they met them at the courtyard of Elliot Manor. Valerie refused to let go of Batman but after whispering to her that everything was alright, that he was a good man, Valerie joined Jim and waved goodbye to Batman.

Bruce met with Alfred halfway to Sacred Heart, there Nightwing took the Batmobile and Batman joined Alfred in one of Bruce Wayne's cars and changed in there. 

When they arrived at Sacred Heart, Vivian was already in surgery and Valerie was taken to the emergency room where a child psychologist was with her.

It took a while but Bruce was finally given clearance to join her in the little room she was in.

“Dada?” Valerie asked him.

“Val,” Bruce said. “It's me, it's Dada.”

Valerie jumped down the bed and ran to his arms. 

“Where's Momma?” Valerie asked.

“She's with the doctor now.”

“Are they putting back her heart?”

“Yes, they are…” behind him, Alfred couldn't help but worry about his granddaughter. How much has she seen? How will this affect her now? “Momma's going to be alright, my love.”

“And the bad man?”

“He won't harm us anymore, I promise you.”

~ * ~

Vivian woke twenty-four hours later, at that time she was under observation and was allowed only one visitor. At that time it was Bruce who went to see her, and she was glad to see him and know that Valerie was alright.

Five days later, she was given the chance to see more of her family but was told to not do anything that would cause stress. In fact, she was told to take a long leave from any form of work until breastbone and chest muscle have recovered. Until then, she can't go on with her normal routine.

But it won't be a problem, Vivian has magic to heal faster.

On her last night at the hospital, Vivian asked Bruce to have Valerie sleep beside her. He was hesitant as Vivian was still a little fragile from the surgery but Vivian wanted to be with her daughter. So he placed Valerie at her side and he sat there to make sure Val won't move around while sleeping. 

“I broke his hands,” Bruce told Vivian. “I know it's not the justice you want, but I promise you, he won't ever hurt us again.”

Vivian reached out and held his hand. “You were right,” her voice was a whisper. “I was just angry and scared… if I had killed him, I don't think it would help me at all. But knowing that he's facing justice now, that Batman gave us the justice we need and brought back our daughter… that's more than enough. I'm sorry for hurting you, for making you feel like you failed us.”

“But I did… this war on crime has gone for so long, nothing's changed.”

“Don't let this and don't let me change this,” she poked his heart. “Only you, Bruce Wayne, can hate the world enough and love it enough to think it's worth changing.”

Bruce took her hand and kissed it repeatedly. “I thought I lost you.”

“You didn't.”

“He took your heart. He held you and Val hostage.”

“Only you have my heart, Wayne–too soon?”

Bruce chuckled and carefully leaned down to kiss her. “I love you, Viv.”

“I love you too, Bruce.”

“We'll be alright. Val will be alright, especially now she knows her Dad's Batman. She won't be afraid of you… we'll be fine. All of us.”

[wafflesrisa]

Remember: genuine respectful curiosity is always better than fearful ignorance

I attended a workplace culture and inclusivity training today in which the presenter said with his whole chest that to avoid conflict it may be better to avoid talking about any “sensitive” topics at work like politics, religion etc.

This is absolute bullshit. The only way to understand different people is to share and get curious and find connection. You cannot promote inclusivity by living in a culture of fear where you’re afraid asking a question about something you don’t understand will get you in trouble.

All that creates is an echo chamber where you can only talk about “safe” topics, which are invariably ideas shared by the dominant population in that circle.

This applies in every circle - liberals, conservatives, at work, with friends, in society.

So get curious!! And respond to curiosity with kindness and respect rather than judge them for ignorance!!

[chasolov]

Headcanons

Ratchet:

- Soft, smooth hair

- Sleeps in snippets from 20 minutes to 3 hours. Sleep is very sensitive.

- Perpetually cold hands and is often cold himself

- Perfectionist. The workplace is in perfect order, but as long as he doesn't get too carried away with his work.

- Trains and knows how to fight with blades, as he learned to do so with Optimus.

- On Cybertron he started wearing crocs as work shoes only because Bumblebee gave him a bee to decorate them, thinking the doctor had them.

- Height - 1.82m

Wheeljack

- His nose used to be straight, but it's been broken, and more than once. He snores for the same reason.

- His hair is often burned, making it stiff and unruly.

- Because of his love of explosions, he is partially deaf in his left ear.

- He doesn't sleep soundly, but if he's tired, not even a tank can wake him up.

- Despite his sturdy build, his flexibility is enviable.

- He's 1.71 m

[may--hawk]

storms like these [Disco Elysium]

Summary:

It goes on like that for awhile. It’s wholly unprofessional; it’s the wildest and horniest summer you can ever remember having. You’ve gone well past the realm of plausible deniability into the realm of filth. Of inappropriate workplace behaviors. Of things you should absolutely not be doing with your partner. Harry’s defense is that he can’t remember his workplace sensitivity training. Your defense is that, apparently, you’ve lost your mind. Still, he calls you. Sometimes, you call him, like the night after the day he had pranced around all of Central Jamrock in that tacky mesh shirt and the tightest disco pants you had ever seen him wear, and you tell him exactly what you thought of that while he whines and begs. It’s like you’re living two lives. One life starts after 23:00, when the phone rings. You don’t talk about it in your real life. In your non-telephone life.

Pairing: Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,941

Sequel to a loaded little call

It happens again.

You swear it won’t. It’s an inexcusable lapse of judgement, a loss of control. A fever dream brought on by the heat, by the lack of sleep, even by the awful kebabs Precinct 41 insists on eating weekly as some sort of masochistic badge of honor.

It happens once. Your voice floating out of you, disembodied in the dark. Barely even a part of you. The phone receiver slippery, clenched tight in your hand, your other hand gripped tight around the base of your cock. Harry’s panting breaths, the small whines he had made, the very clear sound of skin on skin making your chest flush and prickle. In fact, you do think it’s a dream, until the next morning, when you meet Harry down on the docks for a case.

It’s a foggy morning, the heat already beginning to rise, a thick mist where the cold sea meets the hot air of the city. Condensation gleams on Harry’s hair, his skin. He’s breathing hard, as if he has run here. Maybe he has. “I got you a croissant. I didn’t know if you’d want chocolate, or pistachio, so I got both. Plus raspberry-”

He holds the bag out. You take it, your fingers brushing his, and he sucks in a little breath. He meets your eyes then for the first time since you’ve arrived, something dark in them looking out at you, and then he swallows, and glances away.

So. Not a dream after all.

Keep reading on AO3.

[canadianlucifer]

Oh my god I just realized.

After ghoul legalization, humans would have to go through workplace sensitivity training, wouldn't they?

"Do not ask your coworker what they eat or how they get it. That is their business, not yours." "It is considered rude to ask your coworker what type of kagune they have." "Do not assume your coworker kills or has killed in the past. Many ghouls have survived without needing to harm others and it is rude to assume otherwise."