#MBA - Family Business

[trash-iest]

Another year closer to 25 🤡

[nicmaruniversity]

MBA in Family Business Management at NICMAR Pune

NICMAR Pune's MBA in Family Business Management program is designed for individuals who are interested in managing and leading family-owned businesses. The program covers a wide range of topics, including family business management, succession planning, conflict resolution, and more. Students will learn how to navigate the unique challenges and opportunities that come with working in a family business and will develop the skills and knowledge necessary to succeed in this dynamic and challenging field.

[dy-patil-university-navi-mumbai]

An Expedition in Leadership: Beginning The MBA Journey

In today’s business landscape, where technological innovations and global integration come together, an educational degree with an MBA has become more than acquiring broad business acumen. It involves specialization, enabling individuals to tailor their paths by aligning their passions with purposeful careers. The Vijay Patil School of Management (VPSM), under the aegis of D Y Patil (Deemed to be University), stands out as a breeding ground for future leaders. 

An Ethos of Excellence

Since its establishment in 1983, D Y Patil Deemed To Be University has served as an exemplar of distinction, providing guidance and inspiration to more than 55,000 graduates worldwide. The university's illustrious history serves as evidence of its steadfast dedication to fostering versatile individuals who are prepared to impact society. Equipped with cutting-edge laboratories and ICT-enabled classrooms, the university cultivates individuals who are prepared to reshape the limits of academia and medicine.

 A Global Perspective 

Adopting a global perspective is not only advantageous in our increasingly interconnected world but also necessary. VPSM acknowledges this veracity by establishing strong alliances with universities across the globe. These partnerships serve as more than mere academic interchanges; they provide students with access to a wider perspective and equip them with the knowledge and skills necessary to navigate the intricate global marketplace.

Sustainability: The Foundation of Leadership in the Future

The Centre of Excellence, a veritable marvel, serves as a tangible manifestation of VPSM's deep-seated dedication to sustainability. With its Platinum LEED certification and design by the renowned Fosters & Partners, this architectural marvel serves as a forceful declaration of our ecological accountability. Students acquire knowledge in an atmosphere that not only demonstrates ecological stewardship but also fosters novel concepts- these are crucial traits in leaders today. 

Tailored Specializations

Living in an interconnected and technologically driven economy, specialized MBA programs such as Financial Technology, Supply Chain Management, and Maritime Management are very crucial today. Masters in Financial Technology helps to address the growing demand for tech-savvy finance professionals. Meanwhile, an MBA in Supply Chain Management responds to the complexities of global logistics, essential to optimize operations and sustainability. The MBA in Maritime Management acknowledges the significance of maritime trade in global commerce, preparing leaders in the shipping industry. Together, these programs reflect the diverse expertise required to thrive in the modern business environment. 

Each of the MBA specializations offered by VPSM provides students with a distinct perspective on industries that are significantly impacting the globe.

Masters in FinTech

The two year program is studied across 2 years , and includes 6 subjects each year. Analysts today need to be prepared with information about machine learning, AI, Fintech Regulation and more. The masters in financial technology provides individuals with an interest in the intersection of finance and technology with the opportunity to pioneer the revolution in fintech.

MBA Supply Chain Management

The MBA in supply chain management  program develops students' ability to innovate logistics and streamline operations with strategic insight by providing an in-depth examination of the complexities of global supply chains. With a focus on analytics, this specialization equips leaders to optimize supply chain processes and enhance overall business efficiency. Graduates can pursue roles as Supply Chain Analysts or Logistics Consultants and others ensuring streamlined and agile supply chain operations.

MBA Maritime

The MBA maritime program is designed specifically for the ever-evolving maritime industry. This provides prospective executives with the necessary abilities to adeptly navigate the complexities of contemporary transportation while exhibiting ingenuity and assurance. The transportation industry is way ahead of its curve today, and analytics play a pivotal role. These specializations ensure leaders are well-versed in leveraging analytics for optimal performance in maritime and aviation sectors. Graduates can explore roles as Transportation Analysts, Operations Managers, or Logistics Planners, navigating the complexities of modern transportation with data-driven strategies.

Crafting Tomorrow's Visionaries

The specialized MBA programs at VPSM surpass traditional educational methods by equipping students with the skills to not only confront but also influence the future. Establishing its groundwork on ethical leadership, strategic thinking, and a steadfast dedication to sustainability, VPSM fosters an environment conducive to innovation among its students, instructing them to not only emerge as frontrunners in their respective disciplines but also as stewards of an improved future.

Amidst this period of swift change, the specialized MBA programs at VPSM serve as guiding lights for individuals motivated to pave their own way, providing not only academic instruction but also a guide towards self-exploration and worldwide influence. 

With a visionary mindset, empathy, and knowledge, VPSM graduates are prepared to make a significant impact on the world, whether they are innovating supply chain management, shaping the future of fintech, or spearheading the next surge in maritime logistics.

[igeekymayank]

How can I prepare for an MBA in Family Business?

Preparing for an MBA in Family Business can be a daunting task, but it is essential for those seeking to take over their family business or start a new venture. Geeta University offers a comprehensive program that covers all aspects of family business management, from finance and marketing to leadership and strategic planning. Here are some tips on how to prepare for an MBA in Family Business at Geeta University:

Understand the family business dynamics

Before pursuing an MBA in Family Business, it is important to understand the unique challenges and opportunities that come with running a family business. These include complex family dynamics, the need to balance personal and business goals, and the importance of succession planning. Read books and articles on family business management and talk to other family business owners to gain insights into the realities of running a family business.

Gain relevant work experience

To be successful in an MBA in Family Business program, it is important to have relevant work experience in a family business or a related field. This will give you a deeper understanding of the industry and the challenges faced by family businesses. If you do not have any work experience in this field, consider taking an internship or volunteering with a family business to gain some exposure.

Brush up on your business fundamentals

While an MBA in Family Business program will cover specific topics related to family businesses, it is important to have a solid foundation in business fundamentals. Brush up on topics such as accounting, finance, marketing, and operations to ensure that you have a strong understanding of business concepts.

Improve your communication and leadership skills

Communication and leadership skills are essential for managing a family business. Take courses or workshops that focus on these skills to improve your ability to communicate effectively, motivate employees, and make tough decisions. Geeta University offers a variety of extracurricular activities and leadership opportunities that can help you build these skills.

Network with other family business owners

Networking with other family business owners can provide valuable insights into the challenges and opportunities of running a family business. Attend industry conferences, join professional organizations, and participate in online forums to connect with others in the industry. Geeta University has a strong alumni network that can also provide valuable connections and mentorship opportunities.

Develop a clear vision for your family business

Before pursuing an MBA in Family Business, it is important to have a clear vision for your family business. This includes identifying your goals and values, developing a mission statement, and outlining a strategic plan for the future. Geeta University offers courses and workshops on strategic planning and visioning that can help you develop a clear plan for your family business.

Be prepared to navigate family dynamics

Family dynamics can be one of the biggest challenges in running a family business. Be prepared to navigate complex relationships and personalities, and develop strategies for dealing with conflicts and disagreements. Geeta University offers courses and workshops on family business governance and succession planning that can help you navigate these challenges.

In conclusion, preparing for an MBA in Family Business requires a combination of business fundamentals, leadership and communication skills, industry experience, and a clear vision for your family business. Geeta University offers a comprehensive program that can help you develop these skills and prepare for a successful career in family business management. By following these tips, you can be well-prepared for the challenges and opportunities of running a family business.

[anurag-5911]

WHY STUDY MBA - FAMILY BUSINESS MANAGEMENT - GEETA UNIVERSITY

MBA in Family Business Management is an important program that is designed specifically for family business owners and those who are involved in the management of these businesses. It is a comprehensive program that covers various aspects of business management such as leadership, finance, marketing, operations, and strategy. The program is designed to help family business owners and managers improve their skills, knowledge, and understanding of the business world, as well as develop the necessary skills to take their business to the next level.

The field of family business management is rapidly growing and has gained significant recognition in recent years. With the increasing complexity of the business world, family business owners and managers need to be well equipped with the latest business knowledge and skills to be able to make informed decisions and succeed in their business ventures. This is where the MBA in Family Business Management comes in. The program provides a unique opportunity for family business owners and managers to learn about the latest trends, strategies, and best practices in the industry.

One of the key benefits of studying TOP COLLEGE FOR MBA IN FAMILY BUSINESS MANAGEMENT IN PANIPAT is the opportunity to develop a solid foundation of business knowledge and skills. This includes an in-depth understanding of various business functions such as marketing, finance, and operations. In addition, students learn about the latest trends and best practices in the industry, and they develop the necessary skills to analyze business problems and make informed decisions. With a strong foundation of business knowledge and skills, students are better equipped to manage the complexities of their family businesses and take them to the next level.

Another benefit of studying TOP COLLEGE FOR MBA IN FAMILY BUSINESS MANAGEMENT IN PANIPAT is the opportunity to network with other family business owners and managers. This is particularly important for those who are just starting out in their careers, as they can learn from the experiences of others and develop valuable relationships with other professionals in the field. Additionally, students also have the opportunity to work with experienced business professionals who can provide guidance and mentorship as they navigate the challenges of family business management.

The program at Geeta University is designed to help students develop a well-rounded understanding of the family business environment. Through its hands-on approach, students are able to gain practical experience in the various aspects of business management, such as strategic planning, leadership, and marketing. In addition, students also have the opportunity to attend guest lectures and workshops, where they can learn from experts in the field and develop their skills in a variety of areas.

Another key aspect of the TOP COLLEGE FOR MBA IN FAMILY BUSINESS MANAGEMENT IN PANIPAT program at Geeta University is the emphasis on ethics and social responsibility. Family businesses have a unique role in the community, and it is important for students to understand their responsibilities and how they can make a positive impact. Through its coursework and real-world experiences, students learn about the importance of ethics, sustainability, and social responsibility in business, and they develop the skills necessary to make informed decisions that benefit their businesses and the wider community.

In conclusion, the TOP COLLEGE FOR MBA IN FAMILY BUSINESS MANAGEMENT IN PANIPAT program at Geeta University is a valuable investment for family business owners and managers who want to enhance their skills, knowledge, and understanding of the business world. The program provides a comprehensive education that covers the latest trends and best practices in the industry, and it is designed to help students develop the necessary skills to take their family businesses to the next level. With its focus on practical experience, ethics, and social responsibility, the MBA in Family Business Management is a great choice for those who want to succeed in their careers and make a positive impact in their communities.

[sinofwriting]

So Many Reasons - Ollie Bearman

Words: 3,343 Summary: She honestly just wants to go to these two races to see her brother so he won’t complain about never seeing her anymore that is it. She has exams, an internship, and a job, she doesn’t have time for any of this. Note(s): Thank you V once again for commissioning the fic! I had a lot of fun writing it and may or may not have spent an hour researching different business degrees and universities and such. Reader is Andrea Kimi Antonelli’s older sister. Age gap of 3 years between her and Ollie. Not good family dynamics between her and Kimi and their father.

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“Andrea, no.” Her voice is firm, perhaps harsh but she doesn’t care. She was tired, hungry, and had to stay up for at least another six hours. Her last red bull in her bag sounded better every second. “C’mon, sorella. It is my first F2 race. You can miss a few classes.” Her jaw clenches and she forces herself to take a deep breath. Thank god this was just a phone call. “No, Andrea. I can’t. I have exams.” “Ask for an extension.” “Andrea,” she snaps. “Does padre know you are asking me this?” His voice is quiet, “no.” She sighs, pushing away her work. “How is your school work going?” “It’s fine.” “And the sim?” “Good.”

It’s quiet between the two siblings.

“It’s been months since we last saw each other. Do you not miss me?” “We saw each other at Christmas.” She reminds him but softens. “Of course I do. But I’m busy. I can’t take a few days away to go to a race, at least not one that’s not in Europe.” She looks at her planner, at the days blocked out with different colors. Purple for exams, blue for classes, yellow for work, green for work and classes, the dreaded orange for when she had both exams and work. It was filled for days, weeks, and months. “I could maybe make it for Imola.” She’d have to talk to her professors, put in her time now for work, but she didn’t have any exams the day after his feature race. “Maybe even Monaco if you can get me a spare pass.” She shouldn’t go to Monaco, not with her final exams to obtain her MBA starting just the day after the race, but she didn’t have any work those days and she could always bring her books with her. “Really?” She smiles at the excitement in his voice. “Really. Are you sure you want your big sister around?” “Yes. It will be nice to have family in the paddock. Someone other than dad.” She hums, eyes widening as they catch the time. “Let me know about the passes for the different races, okay? As soon as you get them I’ll talk to my professors.” “I will.” “Bye Andrea.” “Bye.”

—

“Mr. Garcia?” She knocks on the door frame. “You asked to see me?” He smiles, beckoning her in. “Yes. Please sit.” He gestures at the chairs in front of his desk before quickly typing something. She sits down, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “I wanted to talk to you about your plans after you get your MBA.” “I’d like to get a travel position or be able to work remotely half of the time. Then I think after ten years of doing that, I’d like to take a bigger account or two.” He hums, looking at her consideringly. “Why the travel position?” “I like traveling, going to different places, and when I went once before with Maria, I liked what she had to do.” “You're also good with languages.” “Yes.” “And the hybrid?” She fidgets a little. “The same reasons really as the travel position and I like the extended hours.” His lips twitch into a smile, “Maria hated remote.” She nods.

“She said you’d be suited for it.” Her leg that had started to bounce stops. He leans forward, “I’d like to keep you on. I know that your internship with Maria ends the first week of May. And that you’re only supposed to continue to work with us until August. But I’d like to offer you the remote position, starting June 20th.” She looks at him with a slight open mouth. “What,” she clears her throat. “What exactly would that look like?” He pushes forward a folder. “All of the details are in there, but there are two important things. There will only be a few days every month that require you in the office. Those days are always made known at least two weeks in advance, some as much as six months.” She nods. “The second is you will have strict deadlines. Miss two within a three month period and you will be on probation, meaning that for a time you will be spending at least eighty hours in office for the month, until your probation is up. Look over all the details and get back to me next week.” “Of course.” Taking the folder, she stares at it before standing. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia.” “Of course, Ms. Antonelli.”

—

“Andrea!” She calls, seeing him looking around. His head turns to look at her, a large grin taking over his face. “Sorella!” He calls, jogging over to her. “You made it.” She rolls her eyes, pushing him away when he tries to give her a hug. “I told you two weeks ago I’d make it to Imola. It’s not my fault, you don’t listen.” She touches her ears before giving him a quick hug. “How are you feeling?” “Good.” She hums, following him as he leads her to what she assumes is Prema’s space for this race.

The good was false that was more than clear to see, if she wasn’t his sister, she’d know just by looking at the F2 races so far. Round four with no podiums? Or pole position. Her brother was surely smarting. She wondered if it had hit him yet that he wasn’t the most talented driver in this series yet.

Entering the Prema garage she smiles when Rene immediately greets her.

“How are you?” “I’m good. Very good. How are you? How is Angelina?” “I am good, I’m sure you saw the Indycar news.” She nods, watching as Andrea starts talking to either a mechanic or an engineer. “I did. It sounds amazing.” “Very amazing. And Angelina, well,” He pauses, turning his head and calling her over.

“Oh, Y/N.” “Angelina.” She greets back, melting into the hug the older woman gives. “How are you doing?” “I’m doing good. And you are well?” “Of course, it is the season.” She smiles at her, knowing all too well how much everyone loved the motorsport season.

“Kimi!” Angelina calls and she has to stop herself from flinching at the use of his nickname. “You did not tell me that your sister was coming.” He shrugs, “She’s coming next race as well.” “You are coming to Monaco?” She shrugs, adjusting her purse. “It’s my last free time before my exams and Andrea asked when I was going to come.” Rene and Angelina share a look but before either can say anything, someone interrupts.

“Angelina, Dino and Antonio are wondering about the next shoot.” The older woman sighs, “And neither of them could get me themselves.” He shoots her a grin, and it’s the sight of his grin that makes her realize that this is Andrea’s teammate. “I volunteered.” Angelina shakes her head, muttering under her breath but leaves the small group.

“Ah, Ollie, this Y/N. Y/N, this is Ollie.” Rene introduces. She shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you.” “You as well. Are you new to the team?” “No.” She laughs, pulling her hand from his. “Just a guest for this race and next.” “Oh.” He looks at Rene questioningly, but the older man is already in conversation with other people. “I could give you a tour, if you’d like.” “You don’t need to do that.” He smiles, giving a small shrug with his shoulders. “I don’t mind.” “Don’t you have race prep?” She can see just behind him, Andrea talking to another two people, their heads all gathered around a tablet. “I finished mine already.” Her lips purse. “At least let me get you a coffee from Ferrari’s hospitality.” Her nose nearly wrinkles at the word coffee, but Ferrari… She wasn’t into motorsports by choice, but she was Italian. She knew the allure of Ferrari and more so now Charles Leclerc than the team itself better than anyone. “So, coffee?” He grins. She sighs but nods. “Just one though.” She doesn’t think she could stomach another one.

“You don’t like coffee do you?” He asks nearly twenty minutes later as she sips at the coffee he got her and she chooses not to think too hard about the money she tried to hand him that he refused. “No.” She laughs. “But you like Ferrari.” “I’m Italian, Ollie. I think I get kicked out of the country, especially this part if I don’t bleed rosso corsa.” “Yet your brother is a Mercedes junior.” She pauses, “My brother?” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m sorry, it’s just Kimi, he has a picture of you. I asked about it once, because I already knew what his girlfriend looked like.” “I didn’t know that.” She wondered when the picture was from. Not from this Christmas, that was for sure. Ollie stares at her for a few seconds, something dancing in his eyes before turning the conversation back around. “It is a bit funny isn’t it? An Italian choosing Mercedes, while an Englishman chooses Ferrari.” “A second Charles Leclerc in the making.” She muses, remembering an article that said it. He flushes red. “I wouldn’t say that.” She shrugs, “Then other people will for you.”

Her phone buzzing makes her look away and she rolls her eyes at the text from Andrea. “I have to go back, Andrea is looking for me. Thank you for the coffee.” He nods, standing with her. “No problem.” He then opens his mouth again, quickly closing it. She raises an eyebrow and he flushes a bit more. “Could I get your number?” “Ah.” She glances down at her phone, another text on the screen. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Why not?” She can think of a million reasons. “It’s just not a good idea.” She settles on. “What if I want it as a friend?” She sends him a look and he grins. “I could do friends.” She shakes her head, “I need to go. Thank you again.” “Anytime.”

—

“You're at a race.” “Padre.” She greets, watching the screens as the sprint race goes into its fifth lap. “Andrea asked me to come.” “You don’t like races.” Her lips thin. “No, I don’t. But he wanted to see me, I made time.” “Have you made time for the interview I want scheduled?” “No.” He starts to say her name and she shakes her head. “No, padre. I’m here for Andrea, to see him. Just like I will be for Monaco, that is it. I have no interest in working for you.” “For the family.” “Or that.” He sighs.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she winces at the way Andrea gets overtaken, can already imagine the way he’ll beat himself up over it if he doesn’t regain the position, especially with the way Ollie is in P2, no battle in sight, as he more than comfortably keeps the place.

An arm wraps around her shoulders and she easily goes into her fathers side. “I miss my little girl.” She bites back on the words that want to crawl from her throat. “Love you too.”

—

“So,” she startles at the sound of a voice and the owner of it grins. “You don’t like coffee.” “Hello, Ollie.” “Hi.” He greets back. “You don’t like coffee.” He repeats. “I don’t like coffee.” She can’t help but smile at the way he grins at her responding to him. “What about,” he pauses looking around, before leaning closer and lowering his voice. “Red bull?” “I’m listening.”

She has to stop herself from giggling as Ollie leads her through Ferrari’s garage. She really shouldn’t be here. And not just because she shouldn’t even be at the race.

Stopping in front of a door, she watches as Ollie knocks, sending her a grin as he does.

“Hello?” The voice is a little confused. “Ollie! Come in, come in.” And Ollie grabs her hand, intertwining their fingers as he pulls her into the room with him. “Hi Charles.” Her eyes widen at the name and she quickly schools her expression though neither are looking at her. “What are you doing here?” Ollie grins at the older man. “I wanted to introduce you to someone and raid your fridge.” Charles rolls his eyes. “At least you don’t ask permission anymore.”

The tease makes her stiffen, this was a lot more than she felt she should be seeing or hearing.

“No, I learned.” Ollie laughs and then he’s tugging her closer. “Charles, this is Y/N.” A bit of tension leaves her when he doesn’t say her last name. “Y/N, this is Charles.” “Bonjour.” She greets, keeping her free hand firmly by her side as she wiggles her fingers in Ollie’s hand, but he just brushes his thumb over her knuckles. Charles’ eyes brighten at the greeting. “Bonjour. Est-ce un accent italien que j'entends?” (“Hello. Is that an Italian accent I hear?”) “Oui. Je suis italienne et je vis actuellement en France.” (“Yes. I am Italian currently living in France.) His grin widens. “Oh, très bien. Votre français est bon.” (“Oh, very nice. Your French is good.”) She ducks her head. “Merci.” (“Thank you.”)

“I didn’t know you spoke French.” Ollie says. She gives him a look. It should make his smile falter a little, but it only grows. “An Italian living in France. A bit uncommon, no?” Charles asks, handing her then Ollie a Red Bull. Before grabbing one for himself. “I study there.” “What are you studying?” Ollie asks, “Ki,” he stops himself. “Andrea never said.” Her eyes narrow at the catch, wondering why exactly he did it. “Accounting. And I’m not surprised. If it’s not something racing related, my brother has no interest.” Charles laughs. “I think Lorenzo and you would get along well. Having siblings that live and breath racing while you don’t.” “Maybe.” “Are you close to getting your degree?” “I am actually. My final exams start Monday.” “And you came to the Monaco Grand Prix?” Charles’ eyes are wide. “Yes.” “My goodness.” He looks at Ollie, winking at him. “This one is a keeper.” “Oh,” she says, feeling blood rush to her cheeks and Ollie is turning pink. “We aren’t.” He shrugs, taking a drink of his red bull. “Maybe not yet.” His eyes then fall to their still intertwined fingers and she gives another tug to Ollie’s hand, expecting him now to let go, but he doesn’t. “No, not yet.”

—

“What race are you coming to next?” Her hand tingles at the sound of Ollie’s voice. “I’m not.” “What?” She turns to face him. “Andrea wanted me at the first race of the season, but I couldn’t make it, so I said I’d come to these two.” She doesn’t mention that the want of her coming was because he apparently missed her. She had her doubts about that, especially after this weekend. “You don’t think he’ll ask you to come again?” She looks around, seeing no one nearby, she sighs. “Even if he did, I wouldn’t come. I love my brother, but not on race weekends, not during the season. I’ve seen you more than him.” Ollie’s face that had looked shocked, turns to understanding. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.” She shrugs. “He’s busy.” Ollie looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

Instead he leans a bit closer, “so, could I get your number now?” She laughs, shaking her head. “No. Still not happening.” “Oh, c’mon. I won today. This is the one thing I want as the Monaco F2 feature race winner.” She shakes her head. “Maybe, if you actually wanted it as a friend. I’d say yes.” “And why can’t we be more than friends?” He’s closer now somehow and she has to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Ollie,” Her name spills from his lips in a gentle sigh as he leans ever closer. “We can’t.” She whispers, hand against his chest, holding him place. “Why? Give me one good reason why.”

He’s guiding her backwards, down the short hallway and into a room that’s thankfully empty, the door shutting behind him.

“One good reason.” “You’re Andrea’s teammate.” “For nine more weekends.” She lets out a shaky breath, watching as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m busy with school and work.” “You have final exams this week, which you’ll pass. And I’m busy with work as well.” “You're younger than me. I’m twenty-two, you just turned nineteen.” He shrugs, her eyes following the strong line of shoulders with the movement. “I’m an adult. And I like you.” “Ollie.” She breathes. He’s closer than ever before, their lips nearly brushing. “I’m still waiting.” Her eyes scan his face, his words full of confidence, his body too, but he’s flushed and his nervousness is easy to read. And she delivers the reason that has to make him see reason. Because she doesn’t know if he stays this close to her if she can stop herself from kissing him. “Your parents,” his throat bobs. “Would never approve.” He looks at her and she looks back, holding her breath, waiting for him to back away but he doesn’t, and god when does Ollie ever do things she expects. “They don’t need to.” He whispers and then he’s kissing her.

—

“What are you talking about?” “Andrea,” “No.” He stops her, shaking her head. “What do you mean, you are seeing Oliver?” He spits the name out. “Don’t, Andrea.” “NO!” His face is red and she’s reminded of the times when he wanted candy that she had and threw a fit over not getting it instead. “He is, he is,” he shakes his head. “I don’t even know what he is. He is my teammate, he works in motorsports, you hate motorsports.” She keeps quiet, watching as her brother processes the news. “He is younger than you, barely older than me. And you.” He shakes his head again. “Does padre know?” She scoffs, now shaking her head. “Does padre know? That’s all you care about isn’t it. If our father approves or not, if you knows what he thinks, because heaven forbid Kimi,” he flinches at the name. “You think for yourself.” “That is not.” “Don’t.” She cuts him off. “Yes, he knows. Don’t worry he disapproves as well. So, you don’t have to think for yourself again.”

She stares at her younger brother, knowing that this is her fault, but she can’t, she still doesn’t have it in her to deal with it, not today. “I will talk to you sometime, Andrea.”

—

“Your fans are lovely.” Ollie makes a humming sound, half asleep. She pauses her scrolling on twitter, unable to stop herself from liking the picture of Charles’ dog in his own personal little car. “Your fans. Very creative as well. They can’t call me a gold digger, but a fame seeker? Well, if the shoe fits.” “They what?” He sounds so much more awake, it makes her laugh. “It’s just hate, Ollie. I’m an old woman praying on the young. Apparently I’m like Piquet.” “Ew.” And she can picture his nose wrinkling. “You know you aren’t though right?” “An old woman?” She jokes. “A predator.” She softens, turning in his arms, so that they are chest to chest. “I know.” “I mean, really if anything I was.” “You were very insistent.” He flushes. “Only a little.” She nods, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Only a little.”

“I know we talked about it before, but are you okay with everything?” “Yes. I mean, it hurts that Andrea is still not okay with it but my father’s opinion has not mattered to me in a long time. And no matter what the media and fans were never going to give us peace, so I made my peace with that as well. Besides, your parents are okay with it.” “They love you.” “Our friends are understanding.” “They are.” “And you aren’t about to dedicate any more podiums to me.” He grins at her and dread starts to form in her stomach. “Ollie…” “About that last one.” “Ollie!”

@crashingwavesofeuphoria @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Sympathy for the spammer

Catch me in Miami! I'll be at Books and Books in Coral Gables on Jan 22 at 8PM.

In any scam, any con, any hustle, the big winners are the people who supply the scammers – not the scammers themselves. The kids selling dope on the corner are making less than minimum wage, while the respectable crime-bosses who own the labs clean up. Desperate "retail investors" who buy shitcoins from Superbowl ads get skinned, while the MBA bros who issue the coins make millions (in real dollars, not crypto).

It's ever been thus. The California gold rush was a con, and nearly everyone who went west went broke. Famously, the only reliable way to cash out on the gold rush was to sell "picks and shovels" to the credulous, doomed and desperate. That's how Leland Stanford made his fortune, which he funneled into eugenics programs (and founding a university):

https://www.hachettebookgroup.com/titles/malcolm-harris/palo-alto/9780316592031/

That means that the people who try to con you are almost always getting conned themselves. Think of Multi-Level Marketing (MLM) scams. My forthcoming novel The Bezzle opens with a baroque and improbable fast-food Ponzi in the town of Avalon on the island of Catalina, founded by the chicle monopolist William Wrigley Jr:

http://thebezzle.org

Wrigley found fast food declasse and banned it from the island, a rule that persists to this day. In The Bezzle, the forensic detective Martin Hench uncovers The Fry Guys, an MLM that flash-freezes contraband burgers and fries smuggled on-island from the mainland and sells them to islanders though an "affiliate marketing" scheme that is really about recruiting other affiliate markets to sell under you. As with every MLM, the value of the burgers and fries sold is dwarfed by the gigantic edifice of finance fraud built around it, with "points" being bought and sold for real cash, which is snaffled up and sucked out of the island by a greedy mainlander who is behind the scheme.

A "bezzle" is John Kenneth Galbraith's term for "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it." In every scam, there's a period where everyone feels richer – but only the scammers are actually cleaning up. The wealth of the marks is illusory, but the longer the scammer can preserve the illusion, the more real money the marks will pump into the system.

MLMs are particularly ugly, because they target people who are shut out of economic opportunity – women, people of color, working people. These people necessarily rely on social ties for survival, looking after each others' kids, loaning each other money they can't afford, sharing what little they have when others have nothing.

It's this social cohesion that MLMs weaponize. Crypto "entrepreneurs" are encouraged to suck in their friends and family by telling them that they're "building Black wealth." Working women are exhorted to suck in their bffs by appealing to their sisterhood and the chance for "women to lift each other up."

The "sales people" trying to get you to buy crypto or leggings or supplements are engaged in predatory conduct that will make you financially and socially worse off, wrecking their communities' finances and shattering the mutual aid survival networks they rely on. But they're not getting rich on this – they're also being scammed:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4686468

This really hit home for me in the mid-2000s, when I was still editing Boing Boing. We had a submission form where our readers could submit links for us to look at for inclusion on the blog, and it was overwhelmed by spam. We'd add all kinds of antispam to it, and still, we'd get floods of hundreds or even thousands of spam submissions to it.

One night, I was lying in my bed in London and watching these spams roll in. They were all for small businesses in the rustbelt, handyman services, lawn-care, odd jobs, that kind of thing. They were 10 million miles from the kind of thing we'd ever post about on Boing Boing. They were coming in so thickly that I literally couldn't finish downloading my email – the POP session was dropping before I could get all the mail in the spool. I had to ssh into my mail server and delete them by hand. It was maddening.

Frustrated and furious, I started calling the phone numbers associated with these small businesses, demanding an explanation. I assumed that they'd hired some kind of sleazy marketing service and I wanted to know who it was so I could give them a piece of my mind.

But what I discovered when I got through was much weirder. These people had all been laid off from factories that were shuttering due to globalization. As part of their termination packages, their bosses had offered them "retraining" via "courses" in founding their own businesses.

The "courses" were the precursors to the current era's rise-and-grind hustle-culture scams (again, the only people getting rich from that stuff are the people selling the courses – the "students" finish the course poorer). They promised these laid-off workers, who'd given their lives to their former employers before being discarded, that they just needed to pull themselves up by their own boostraps:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/10/declaration-of-interdependence/#solidarity-forever

After all, we had the internet now! There were so many new opportunities to be your own boss! The course came with a dreadful build-your-own-website service, complete with an overpriced domain sales portal, and a single form for submitting your new business to "thousands of search engines."

This was nearly 20 years ago, but even then, there was really only one search engine that mattered: Google. The "thousands of search engines" the scammers promised to submit these desperate peoples' websites to were just submission forms for directories, indexes, blogs, and mailing lists. The number of directories, indexes, blogs and mailing lists that would publish their submissions was either "zero" or "nearly zero." There was certainly no possibility that anyone at Boing Boing would ever press the wrong key and accidentally write a 500-word blog post about a leaf-raking service in a collapsing deindustrialized exurb in Kentucky or Ohio.

The people who were drowning me in spam weren't the scammers – they were the scammees.

But that's only half the story. Years later, I discovered how our submission form was getting included in this get-rich-quick's mass-submission system. It was a MLM! Coders in the former Soviet Union were getting work via darknet websites that promised them relative pittances for every submission form they reverse-engineered and submitted. The smart coders didn't crack the forms directly – they recruited other, less business-savvy coders to do that for them, and then often as not, ripped them off.

The scam economy runs on this kind of indirection, where scammees are turned into scammers, who flood useful and productive and nice spaces with useless dross that doesn't even make them any money. Take the submission queue at Clarkesworld, the great online science fiction magazine, which famously had to close after it was flooded with thousands of junk submission "written" by LLMs:

https://www.npr.org/2023/02/24/1159286436/ai-chatbot-chatgpt-magazine-clarkesworld-artificial-intelligence

There was a zero percent chance that Neil Clarke would accidentally accept one of these submissions. They were uniformly terrible. The people submitting these "stories" weren't frustrated sf writers who'd discovered a "life hack" that let them turn out more brilliant prose at scale.

They were scammers who'd been scammed into thinking that AIs were the key to a life of passive income, a 4-Hour Work-Week powered by an AI-based self-licking ice-cream cone:

https://pod.link/1651876897/episode/995c8a778ede17d2d7cff393e5203157

This is absolutely classic passive-income brainworms thinking. "I have a bot that can turn out plausible sentences. I will locate places where sentences can be exchanged for money, aim my bot at it, sit back, and count my winnings." It's MBA logic on meth: find a thing people pay for, then, without bothering to understand why they pay for that thing, find a way to generate something like it at scale and bombard them with it.

Con artists start by conning themselves, with the idea that "you can't con an honest man." But the factor that predicts whether someone is connable isn't their honesty – it's their desperation. The kid selling drugs on the corner, the mom desperately DMing her high-school friends to sell them leggings, the cousin who insists that you get in on their shitcoin – they're all doing it because the system is rigged against them, and getting worse every day.

These people reason – correctly – that all the people getting really rich are scamming. If Amazon can make $38b/year selling "ads" that push worse products that cost more to the top of their search results, why should the mere fact that an "opportunity" is obviously predatory and fraudulent disqualify it?

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/29/aethelred-the-unready/#not-one-penny-for-tribute

The quest for passive income is really the quest for a "greater fool," the economist's term for the person who relieves you of the useless crap you just overpaid for. It rots the mind, atomizes communities, shatters solidarity and breeds cynicism:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

The rise and rise of botshit cannot be separated from this phenomenon. The botshit in our search-results, our social media feeds, and our in-boxes isn't making money for the enshittifiers who send it – rather, they are being hustled by someone who's selling them the "picks and shovels" for the AI gold rush:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/jan/03/botshit-generative-ai-imminent-threat-democracy

That's the true cost of all the automation-driven unemployment criti-hype: while we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

The manic "entrepreneurs" who've been stampeded into panic by the (correct) perception that the economy is a game of musical chairs where the number of chairs is decreasing at breakneck speed are easy marks for the Leland Stanfords of AI, who are creating generational wealth for themselves by promising that their bots will automate away all the tedious work that goes into creating value. Expect a lot more Amazon Marketplace products called "I'm sorry, I cannot fulfil this request as it goes against OpenAI use policy":

https://www.theverge.com/2024/1/12/24036156/openai-policy-amazon-ai-listings

No one's going to buy these products, but the AI picks-and-shovels people will still reap a fortune from the attempt. And because history repeats itself, these newly minted billionaires are continuing Leland Stanford's love affair with eugenics:

https://www.truthdig.com/dig-series/eugenics/

The fact that AI spam doesn't pay is important to the fortunes of AI companies. Most high-value AI applications are very risk-intolerant (self-driving cars, radiology analysis, etc). An AI tool might help a human perform these tasks more accurately – by warning them of things that they've missed – but that's not how AI will turn a profit. There's no market for AI that makes your workers cost more but makes them better at their jobs:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Plenty of people think that spam might be the elusive high-value, low-risk AI application. But that's just not true. The point of AI spam is to get clicks from people who are looking for better content. It's SEO. No one reads 2000 words of algorithm-pleasing LLM garbage over an omelette recipe and then subscribes to that site's feed.

And the omelette recipe generates pennies for the spammer that posted it. They are doing massive volume in order to make those pennies into dollars. You don't make money by posting one spam. If every spammer had to pay the actual recovery costs (energy, chillers, capital amortization, wages) for their query, every AI spam would lose (lots of) money.

Hustle culture and passive income are about turning other peoples' dollars into your dimes. It is a negative-sum activity, a net drain on society. Behind every seemingly successful "passive income" is a con artist who's getting rich by promising – but not delivering – that elusive passive income, and then blaming the victims for not hustling hard enough:

https://www.ftc.gov/business-guidance/blog/2023/12/blueprint-trouble

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[zerolune]

I Hate (Love) You

Synopsis: Being born in a rich family is a double-edged sword. You have everything, except choice. So when you were arranged to be married to Gunwook, you didn't have much of a choice either. Despite his scowl everytime he saw you, and despite your own hatred towards him, you couldn't help but admit it, you wanted him. And lucky for you, he was your husband after all.

Warnings: Includes smut, MDNI, Aged up Gunwook, inexperienced reader, Gunwook is plenty mean at first, fingering, use of petnames (baby, darling, doll), penetration, sort of unsafe sex (use protection always please) and that should be it.

They say love harbours the beauty of life. Through thick and thin, one has a person to rely on- their person. And marriage is a vow to bond that love permanently. However, for you that was very different.

When you were told you would soon be marrying you weren't happy, but you weren't entirely sad either.

Your fiancé, Park Gunwook was the son and the heir to the Park industries, the leading investors in your father's newest business venture. So of course as fate it be- you were arranged to marry this man without your knowing.

"Y/n honey, are you done getting ready- oh...oh thank god you're wearing the dress I asked you to!" Your mother nearly squeals in excitement complimenting the way the dress hugs you, talking about how her choice is always the best. You hold back an eye roll as you smile, you and your parents finally getting out.

When you reach the 3 star Michelin restaurant, the aura of the fancy decor immediately hits you, piercing your gaze as you tried to focus on your sight in front of you.

"Oh Taejung!" Your father greets his friend, your future father-in-law. They both hug as your mother and Gunwook's mother exchange warm smiles.

And there he was, clad in a grey blazer over a white dress shirt- his stature was tall with broad shoulders and his face was smiling...until it turned to you and it became rather indifferent. His sparkling eyes became cold and uninviting and all the confidence you'd managed to build up was- flooding down the drain..

"So, y/n you're currently in your first year of MBA right?" Mr.Park asks, his lips curving in a smile as you shake your head, "I'm starting my second year this August actually."

"Impressive really...you started college at 15 hm?" Your mother in law to-be asks, her face rather intimidating.

"Yes, I skipped a few grades as a child..." you said, gaze travelling towards Gunwook who seemed to be eyeing the way your dress dipped down near your cleavage. His gaze then meets yours, sharp eyes scowling at you, just what was his problem?

Amongst the young people of the high class society circle...Gunwook was an infamous Casanova, sure he was every parent's dream son with his wit and charm but he was also every girl's dream. He was pretty much perfect and kind, except to you.

Weeks passed, you got engaged, you were officially his fiancee, and soon enough your wedding day arrived- it was really celebratory with all the expensive decor your and his parents spent thousands on, but really, it was simple. You walked down the aisle, your marriage was officiated and just like that, the two of you were going back home.

"So, you're my wife now huh?" His voice is is neutral as his hands are fixed on the steering wheel. "Well yea sure."

He scoffs, his foot hitting the breaks as you both approach a red light. "You're way too nonchalant about this you know?"

"And why does that make you mad?" You ask, turning to face him.

"Well, you...I never wanted to marry you, I.. I don't even like you for god's sake!" It's as if his gaze betrayed him, travelling down to your chest that wore a strapless white dress.

"I didn't want to marry you either, gosh..." you roll your eyes, annoyed by his attitude. "You should be happy, I'm the most coveted bachelor you know?" He tried to boast, not looking away from you.

"So?" He was right, but it was also way too cocky of him to say that, it pissed you off in a way that you wanted him to shut up. To make him shut up.

His tongue poked the side of cheek, anger practically ensuing his striking features. Truth be told, he too was pissed. Pissed in a way that he wanted to shut that pretty mouth of yours.

"You know what? Since none of us love each other let's just keep an open marriage-" before Gunwook could register any of your words he had to make a sharp break since a pedestrian decided to just randomly walk during a green light. You heard him curse under his breath, the veins on his hand beautifully popping as gripped the wheel harder. You had to suck in a breath to not drool, okay...maybe he was attractive- no what the fuck were you thinking?

"You okay?" He asks, his face softened a little bit. "Yea...I'm fine." You say, it was rather pathetic how easily you let his pretty face distract you from how much you hated him- but, did you really?

Maybe it was the idea of him that you hated, the idea that a man you barely knew was your husband. The idea that you would have probably chose him, if you had a choice. Maybe you hated the fact that you had no choice. It was for certain that you hated the fact that since birth, nothing was a choice but an obligation and this was too, you hated the deprivation of control you had over your own life.

That is exactly what you thought of as you showered, reluctantly did your skincare as you pulled through tiredness and finally draped yourself in your nightdress before walking in to your room.

Just as you sit down on the bed, you hear a knock. "Come in." You say as you couldn't help but let your gaze travel over Gunwook's tall figure wearing simple shorts and hoodie with his hair down.

"Y/n...I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean all those harsh words I've said to you, just...I've been mad over not-"

"Not having a choice over your own life?"

His eyes widened as you cut him off, realising that you too went through the same thing. "I...well yea. Since i was a child, I have barely been able to do what I want. And just the thought of me being nothing but a pawn for my father's business, it...it makes me feel helpless." You could see him slowly getting vulnerable realising how the two of you were going through the exact situation.

"Me too Gunwook, I...I think it's wrong, but you're...you're not that bad really,"

"Oh trust me, I'm plenty bad..." he purses his lips. "Bad joke sorry..." he bows his head down as you chuckle.

"Gunwook, I have a proposal to make, what if we keep our marriage open? I mean, we're already sleeping in two different rooms...let's...let's just stick to the fact that we may not want to love each other and that-"

"Shut up." His face turned furious again, he didn't know it but the thought of you being so close...but still not his made him rather furious. "None of that crap Y/n, you're really fucking beautiful and I'd be an idiot to not want you. I would be an idiot to not admit that you stir up a lot of different emotions in me. I would be an idiot to not admit that I want to shut you up everytime you start speaking."

"What? But you said that you never wanted to-" before you could complete your sentence your lips were suddenly meeting his before he pulled away and looked at you. "Shut up Y/n" he said before he pulled your face to his and kissed you, your fingers entangled in his hair as his roamed over your body.

He bit your lip to make his tongue enter your mouth, his hands explored your body, clinging to and wrinkling the silk of your dress as he continued to kiss you, pulling away for a bit, hungry eyes darting all over your body as he suddenly stood up.

"What's wrong- OH WHAT THE FUCK-" You were more than flabbergasted as he suddenly picked you up and threw you over his shoulders like some kind of potato sack.

He gave your butt a gentle pat as he made his way to his room, effortlessly putting you down on the floor. "There."

"Why did you bring me here?" You raise a brow as he chuckles. "Just to show you that I could maneuver you any way I like."

It was sick, but you couldn't help but blush at that, clearing you throat as you avoided his eyes. "Ah, quite easily flustered aren't ya?" He said, gently pushing you on the soft sheets of the bed.

"Mhm, haven't been laid in a while, quite happy I get this for the rest of my life." His words are a soft hum against your skin as he kisses your neck, pinning your wrists with his one hand as the other bunches up your dress near your hips.

"I...wait Gunwook, I...I haven't gone further than this before..." you suddenly confess, blood rushing to your cheeks like clockwork as his hands tug on the hems of your underwear.

"Mhm, no big deal, I'll be gentle." He whispers in your ear before pulling your panties down, lifting up your hips and spreading your thighs apart, groaning at the wet sight in front of him.

"All this for me?" He mocks, his hands now holding your knees apart as you try to close your thighs. "No baby, let me see..." his fingers trail down to your core, brushing against it as you let out tiny gasps.

"I'll use just one finger first, hold my hand if it hurts and keep your legs nice and spread baby." His voice is laced with such dominance that you immediately nod reaching to hold his hand as he gently inserts a finger- oh god...that hurt- until it didn't and you wanted him to move, and before you could say so, he did, slowly thrusting his finger in and out, cooing at you, as you try to hold back your moans.

"Don't hide those pretty noises doll, let me hear you...let me hear you please." His movements speed up, and you scream a little when he adds another finger, your grip on his hand growing tighter and tighter until you feel some sort of knot forming in your belly.

"Gunwook- I...I think I'm close..." just as you say that and you let your eyes roll back you find that he thrusts out, but he doesn't go back in, he pulls his fingers away, smirking as he takes them to his lips and licks them clean. You whimper in annoyance from the empty feeling as he makes a mocking pout with his lips.

"You-what-but you-" he tsks at your pathetic behaviour, rolling you to the side as he takes his place on the bed next to you. "Come baby, it's time to sleep."

"You can't do this to me!!" He traps you in his arms, putting a leg over you as he lulls you to sleep. "No more whining." He says, giving your neck a sweet peck.

"But Gunwook!!"

"Y/n what did I say?" And just like that, you were forced to sleep, being cradled in his arms like you were some sort of child.

The next morning, you woke up, only to find him not next to you but heating the sounds of the shower running in the bathroom.

You sigh as you get up from his bed, trying to find your panties from yesterday but couldn't so you head back to your room, also taking a quick shower and wearing some comfy shorts and tshirt.

You go into the kitchen, already finding him sipping some coffee as he sat shirtless on the dining table, scrolling his phone. Wait...what?

You turn around a second time and indeed he had no shirt on. You were not baffled, but rather flabbergasted at the sight because not only did he flaunt his broad shoulders accompanied by his muscular arms. Was he trying to seduce you after edging you last night?

"G-good morning," you curse yourself as you stutter like some character from a fanfiction when he innocently looks up from his phone and grins sheepishly.

"Something wrong darling?"

"No..." you trail off as you head to the fridge and remove a fresh carton of orange juice before treading to the kitchen counter, reaching up to get a glass before you turn your head back to the way he chuckles.

"What?" You cross your arms, watching him walk over to you. "Nothing, baby," oh that annoying smirk was back...

You roll your eyes, turning around when suddenly you found yourself pressed to the counter, your back against his bare chest as his hand touched yours to reach for the glass you could've easily got.

He keeps the glass aside, wrapping his arm around your waist to turn you around before caging you between the marble platform and his tall frame.

"Thirsty?" He asks, tilting his head to the side as his gaze locks onto your features.

"Could've gone for some juice yea." You say, raising a brow at his seemingly pointless antics that you seemed to love.

"Eh? Shouldn't little girls like you have milk to grow up?" He teases, probably hinting towards either your height or your two year age difference.

"Oh but I find it quite unappealing, quite bad for the skin you know..." you reply, putting your palms over his bare shoulders.

"What if I knew a type that wasn't bad for the skin?" Gunwook's knees spread your thighs apart, settling to hover over the middle of your shorts as he leaned closer to your neck, breath tickling your ear as he whispered, "A type that's more natural, raw, straight from the source even...and fulfils your....thirst."

You gasp as his knee rubs against your core, his lips pressed to your neck as he keeps you pressed to the kitchen counter. You feel your breathing turn ragged as he continues to press his knee against your now dampening shorts and pulls your hoodie to the side to gain better access of your neck, sucking marks that you would have to hide later on. You feel yourself getting lost in the tiny pleasures he gave you...but you wanted more. You needed him to give you more.

"Gunwook...please...more..." you whimper, already weak from his ministrations.

"You just don't ever have patience do you?" He says, before picking you up again, perhaps boasting his strength and carrying you to his room, gently (not so gently) throwing you on the bed.

"I'll ask you this, are you sure you're ready-" he was cut off as you annoyedly let out a groan.

"Can't you just give me what I need? Do I have to beg-"

"That doesn't sound all that bad," he begins, his hands pulling down your shorts and panties, "but I'm too hard myself, so I'll give it you baby."

He leads your hand to his groin, making you feel his length as you gasp at the size. "You expect that to fit in there?"

"Baby, I'll be gentle, trust me and let me do I do best...at least I think I do a fairly good job-" he chuckles, spreading your thighs apart before his thumb played with your clit, the wet sound making this whole interaction even more nasty.

He slowly inserts two fingers, cooing at you when you whine from the stretch...eventually he gets rid of his sweats and boxers, stroking his cock before looking at your face for approval once more.

"Please..." you say, already weak for him...just then you feel it. That rip. That pain...you can't help but let the tears pool. "Baby...I know you're nervous, but don't clench, it makes it a little painful at first...just relax..." he caresses your cheek.

"Tell me when to move darling..." he wipes your tears, before leaning down to kiss you. You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, before he pulls away, breathless and panting, kissing your neck again, trying to distract you from the pain. "You can...move..." you say, feeling a bit comfortable.

That was when he began thrusting, it was slow and comforting at first, but then, he began moving faster, pulling your hoodie over your chest to squeeze the flesh and pinch the sensitive bud. You moan at the pleasure, which was previously painful, but now you need him to move faster and bring you to that high.

"Gunwook...please...more..."

"Baby, I don't want to hurt you..."

"But- ah...I want more..." you whimper again, gripping his broad shoulders. "Okay baby...okay..." he moves faster, his own face contorting in pleasure as he groans...

"Do you want me to pull out?"

You say something but he doesn't get it, so when he feels you and him both shudder, he thrusts out but doesn't go back in, choosing to merely stroke his cock as he fingers your wet pussy.

You try to bring your hands to stroke him but he refuses..."No...baby...this is your pleasure...ah-" that was when he felt the wet, sticky fluid dripping down you, and he shivers in ecstasy as his own cock spurts out his cum.

"You did so...so fucking good for me baby..." he says, still recovering from his high. You both pant for air, the adrenaline soon coming down.

"You...I don't know if it's cuz I'm a virgin but you did so good...fuck..." you say, losing any self respect you ever had. "Oh trust me darling, I could've done so much more...but since this is your first..." he smiles, before collapsing beside you, pulling you in his embrace as he buries his face in your neck.

"But don't worry, we'll have plenty more firsts on our honeymoon." He mutters, his hand creeping under your sweater to knead your boob again.

"What honeymoon?"

"The one we're going on day after tomorrow, pack up soon baby."

"But I have a test on-"

"Oh shut up. Now tell me, ever given a blow job before?"

"Oh I hate you so much." You scowl, as he continues to laugh, "Oh I love you too my prett baby..."

You giggle in his arms as you both continued to enjoy the lazy Saturday morning, in bed, and the bathtub...and then lunch before which he bent you over the counter and his way with you.

[thebiggerbear]

"You're safe now. I'm here." - Russell Shaw Prompt Response Part 1

Summary: You've been taken hostage and Russell is part of the unit sent in to retrieve you.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

A/N: This is a prompt from @sydnee-kom-spacekru that I had to turn into a two-parter because it got way too long for just one posting. I've been working on this since May 19th when I decided to add Russell to the multi-character prompt response project I'm currently working on.

For this story, I chose Colombia as the country featured in here because I remember when we were growing up, we would ask our parents why we couldn't visit our cousins from there, and we were told it was too dangerous. As we grew older, we obviously found out why. That's the only reason I chose it for that part of the story. Obviously, I'm not making any statements, political or otherwise, about Colombia or any past/present situation happening there.

A tiny disclaimer: I do not work in the medical field so I apologize for any inconsistencies, exaggerations, or complete fallacies. I did my best to research but ultimately, I'm not trained in that industry. I also am not in the military, political, or governmental fields. I also am not the CEO of a major corporation. I utilized those parts of the story strictly for fictional purposes. So I apologize in advance again if I get anything incorrect for those fields.

All unbeta'd.

Part 2

Warnings: graphic violence; attempted sexual assault; trauma; graphic blood/injury; gun violence/gunfire; mentions of dead bodies; death; mentions of execution; kidnapping/hostage situation; PTSD; angst

Word Count: 11k+

You can also read on AO3

“You’re safe now, I’m here.”

Soldier Boy version ✨ SDV Leah version

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx

You slowly glanced around the room you were being held in. You winced when the pain in your head started up again from the movement. You knew you had some cuts on your face, your lip, and one near your hairline. One of the people who had taken you and your co-workers hostage had shouted at you in Spanish and worked you over a little. You understood most of what he had screamed but you had no answers for him. 

You and your team had come down to visit the Bogota office upon the insistence of your father. The company his grandfather had started decades prior had expanded to become one of the top corporations in the United States, eventually branching out internationally. Growing up, you hadn’t wanted for anything. As you got older and entered high school, your father made it clear to you, being his only child, that he wanted you to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business one day. It wasn’t exactly what you’d dreamed of but it had been made known from the outset that whatever you might want would never matter in the scheme of things. Not when it came to the importance of legacy and carrying on the family name and the company’s brand, all while working closely with the Board. So, you had pursued your business degree in college at an Ivy League school, even going so far as to achieve your MBA and make your father proud.

You were quickly welcomed into the company and you put your nose to the grindstone, worked hard, and began to climb the corporate ladder. A lot of people knew that had to do with your last name but they also saw you working the same long hours as them, working just as much, and sacrificing any semblance of a personal life you could have had. You didn’t even have plants in your lavish city apartment because you were practically never there to water them. Weekends were a concept that ceased to exist the moment you left the university. If your co-workers worked 60-hour work weeks, you worked 80. If they worked through holidays like Memorial Day and July 4th, you worked those days, too, in addition to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s. So you earned some respect, some envy, and some resentment — a healthy mix of it all as you raced to the top at your father’s constant prodding. 

Only a year ago, you’d moved to Manhattan to run the New York office, a promotion that had your father beaming with pride. It was a bit of a transition, as any transition would be, but ultimately, you got to know your team, your department heads, and you’d settled in as best you could. You never truly relaxed into your role but you let your employees know up front that you were there to make things easier, not more difficult. You were interested in flooding the figurative harbor so everyone’s boats would rise, not just yours or the Board’s. Your father had not appreciated that little introductory speech you had made but you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret it. You had meant every word and you set out every single day to not only prove yourself but to also make that vision come true. 

Which was partially what had brought you to the Bogota office. While you were responsible for New York, your father had made the valid point that you should travel to the international offices of Bogota, London, and Beijing. You should show your face and introduce yourself in person, not just on Zoom. You had been hesitant, not because you didn’t want to visit the sites and meet the crews, but because you still didn’t feel confident that you could afford to be away from your home office for that long (it would be about a two and a half week trip). Not because you didn’t trust your team to run things without you but because you had several projects in the works that required your constant participation, feedback, approval, and sometimes guidance. It felt strange to put it all at risk by choosing the most inopportune moment for you to go shake hands on the international stage and take tours of the other facilities. You didn’t want to leave your team in a lurch at a dire time such as this one. You had tried to explain all of this to your father when he grew irritated at your resistance.

“Stop with the excuses. You’re going and that’s final,” he had snapped at you before leaving your office. And that had been that. 

The next morning, you and a few selected co-workers (handpicked by your father) were on a flight to Bogota, the first stop on your international tour. Thankfully, Colombia was only one hour behind New York so you’d be able to check in with your office as soon as you landed. 

Things were going well with your visit, right up until the moment you and your team were leaving the building to head back to the hotel for a late lunch when you were ambushed. A black hood had been thrown over your head, you’d felt pain as something hit you from the side, and the next thing you knew, you woke up in a vehicle that you could feel and hear but not see. You had no idea what happened until you were instructed in Spanish to shut up, stay quiet and not struggle, and you wouldn’t get hurt. You knew you were in trouble when you came to but now you knew without a doubt as you listened to the conversation between the men surrounding you, you had been taken hostage.

You had no idea where they had brought you but you’d been there for what felt like a month though you couldn’t be sure. You had been held in the same room, only able to use the bathroom which they escorted you to. You were in some compound and any time you’d tried to sneak a peek out of an open window during your bathroom treks, you either got yelled at and hit or you could only make out a thick cover of trees. You and your group had been terrified every single day of your captivity that they would kill you all, or worse. You had three men in your group and four women including you. One of the kidnappers had already tried to take advantage of that fact and had thrown Meredith from Finance onto the floor, unbuckling his pants. You had begged in Spanish for her to be left alone while Pat and Suzanne had cried and screamed. Tim, Jerry, and Rob had all been taken to the bathroom beforehand (something that hadn’t happened before, they usually took the guys one at a time) so it had been just you four in the room. When the man didn’t show any signs of stopping and Meredith tearfully begged him from the floor to let her be, something switched off in your brain and you flew at him. You attempted to hit him anywhere you could but he knocked you down flat in seconds. He backhanded you a couple of times, making the women in the background scream louder, and he then decided you were going to be the one he was going to assault instead. He ripped your shirt and you tried to fight him off but he was too strong. Thankfully, another kidnapper heard all of the commotion and came running, rushing into the room and stopping the man, yelling at him that none of you were to be touched, that was part of the deal. Your would-be assailant yelled back at the man who had saved you and then got to his feet, spitting on you, as he stormed out of the room, followed by your unintentional savior. 

You attempted to cover yourself with the shreds of your shirt but it was useless. You now only had a bra and little bits of cloth left from how violently he had torn the fabric. You were shaking but somehow you were able to crawl your way over to Meredith to check on her. Sobbing, she held onto you and before you knew it, Pat and Suzanne had rushed over, throwing their arms around you both, still crying themselves but also trying to speak reassurances to you both. Your body shook in their embrace as it finally hit you how close you had come to being assaulted. If that other man hadn’t interrupted when he did… You shuddered at the thought. It wasn’t long after that when Tim, Jerry, and Rob were returned to the room, their hoods removed, and one glance in your direction let them know immediately what had happened. Rob had actually removed his shirt and offered it to you, apologizing for the smell. You appreciated his selfless gesture but you were thankful when Tim instead offered up the windbreaker pullover he had been wearing the day you had been taken. You took the latter, thanking them both for their generosity and thoughtfulness. Tim at least still had his t-shirt.

Then, a couple of days later, you had been dragged from the room, thrust into a chair, and tied up. The questioning began, about the money from your company among other things, and you were worked over when they didn’t get the answers they wanted. You hadn’t noticed a man holding a smartphone while sitting in the corner, taking in every second of the torture you endured, until your interrogation ended. You had been afraid but seeing that phone…you were absolutely terrified. Were they going to kill you on video, sending it off to media outlets to share globally for your father to see? Or would they use social media?

They didn’t end up killing you, though. Instead, they brought you to a room with a single bed that you had never seen before. You did not like the fact that you had been separated from your group. You began to hyperventilate at the realization that they were isolating you for a purpose, thinking you would be attacked again, especially when you heard a loud gunshot reverberate from outside followed by yelling that you couldn’t quite make out. But instead of anyone coming to hurt you, they sent in a doctor to tend to your wounds. Once he had, you curled up into a ball and hugged your knees to your chest, waiting for the worst to happen, intent on fighting tooth and nail when the time came. But a few days later or however long it had been, they brought you back into the interrogation room again. 

You expected the blows this time though they still hurt horribly. They began to cut you on your arms, near your neck, your shoulders, your torso…they never cut your face, though. While you were grateful for that small mercy, they still beat the hell out of you, the worst they ever had. While your face may have been spared the cutting, it was not spared the hits. You had even taken a couple of hard blows to the head that left you reeling. You didn’t even remember if you had screamed, cried, or begged for them to stop. Instead, you remembered some random saying in some movie you had seen stating that pain was the way you knew you were still alive. You held onto that as they continued to inflict as much damage as they could without actually killing you or making it impossible for you to speak. They had even unzipped Tim’s pullover at the beginning of the torture, leaving you in your bra, and besides the cuts they had also landed punches to your already severely bruised stomach and sides. They had even stomped on your bare feet, making you cry out as some of your toes broke from the force. They had even taken a bat to your right knee. That time you screamed the loudest you ever had in your life, sobbing so hard you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. The pain was immense, something you hadn’t felt before, and tears poured down your face, mixing with the blood dripping from a busted lip and most likely broken nose. When they stopped to take a break, it didn’t surprise you in the least that the same man with the phone from last time was there in the same corner. It did surprise you, though, that they didn’t leave. While you figured they were just ramping up to go for a second round, something told you that you may not come out alive from this particular interrogation. You could only hope the others you had been brought here with somehow did. A small part of you wondered if the reason they were going harder on you this time, possibly about to kill you on video, is because your company didn’t pay the sum demanded in the last one. You knew your father must have done everything he could to secure your release, even if the Board for some reason hadn’t. You hadn’t prayed since you were a girl, right before your mother died, but you sent a silent one up anyway to anyone who might be listening that your father would never see this footage. It would destroy him if he did. You didn’t expect much, though. Your mom had still passed away from a terminal illness, so you were pretty sure your father wouldn’t be spared seeing your last moments like this.

But instead of starting back up again as you anticipated, the men ended up stepping outside of the room though they left the phone behind, on some sort of stand, still pointing in your direction. 

So now here you were, your body exhausted yet radiating nothing but pain. You slowly swung your head around in a daze, blinking against the bright light they had turned on before leaving. You waited for them to come back, to finally do their worst and possibly end your life. You were terrified but you also knew how badly injured you were, that there was nothing you could do. Even if you could somehow get loose, how would you manage to escape? Even if you got outside, this compound was heavily patrolled by armed guards. And even if by some miracle you could get past them without being seen or an alarm being sounded when your absence was discovered, you had no idea where you were. You were in the jungle for Christ’s sake, from the brief glimpses you’d managed to catch on your bathroom runs. You had no idea where to go from here. Still, though, you heard that small voice inside your head, telling you to fight, not to give in or give up. You had to work hard, be the best, and prove yourself. Go, go, go. The voice sounded strangely like your father’s. 

As you waited for your captors to come back, you glanced around the room to see if there was anything that could help you. You attempted to move your arms but gasped in pain when you did. You didn’t even try anything with your right leg. You knew your kneecap was broken; it had to be. You chanced moving your left leg, though, but it didn’t budge. You were stuck to this chair.

Suddenly, you heard the last thing you expected. Gunfire. 

Not that gunfire was all that unusual around here. You had heard some happen during your captivity but it was short and never answered. You and your co-workers had no idea what went on in the rest of the compound but after hearing those rounds being fired every so often, you didn’t really want to know.

But these were extended rapid bursts of gunfire and someone was definitely shooting back. Not to mention all of the furious yelling you could hear down the hall. You idly wondered if one of your people got free and they were making a break for it. If it was, you hoped they got free and were able to go for help. 

You knew you should be scared as the gunshots got closer to you, when you heard more yells and some thuds right outside your door, but you simply resigned yourself to your fate. Especially when one of the kidnappers burst into the room and held a gun to your head, yelling in Spanish at an unseen person to stay back or he would kill you. Your body began to shake uncontrollably once more, thinking this was it. You knew it; you were going to die. 

Two men swept into the room, dressed in tactical-looking gear and donning black face masks with holes only for eyes and mouths, assault rifles pointed in your captor’s direction. The man on your right told him to let you go in Spanish or he would be dead before he could squeeze a round off. 

The man on your left briefly glanced at you, his gaze an assessing one, before focusing back onto his target. Your captor screamed at them and pushed the gun into your temple, making you shake harder and take shallow breaths. 

“You got him?” The man on the left asked, surprising you when you heard him speak English. He sounded…American. 

“I got him,” the man on the right answered. Another American.

The kidnapper must have understood them because he gripped your head and pulled it back, pushing his gun now into the side of your face, making you scream out in pain. You heard a gunshot and suddenly the barrel against your cheek was gone as was the pressure around your head. A loud thud sounded as your captor’s body fell to the ground behind you and you moved your head to a position that didn’t hurt so much.

The two men were suddenly there, the one on the left laying a hand on your shoulder. “Please…don’t hurt me,” you begged in a raspy whisper. You followed it up with the same plea in Spanish, still not sure who you were exactly dealing with as your head swam.

“Hey,” the left soldier spoke softly. “Look at me.”

You did the best you could. It shocked you to see green eyes staring back at you with something that looked like kindness. Kindness…you hadn’t seen that in what felt like forever. Considering you’d only seen hatred and disgust from everyone around you since this whole ordeal started, this was something new and you held onto it with all of your might. 

“We’re here to get you out. Just hold on.” He pulled out a switchblade and you immediately gasped and began to shake again. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just cutting the ropes,” he explained gently as he did it. “See?” You carefully moved your head to gaze down, seeing that he was indeed doing as he said. 

Once you were free, you began to slide off of the chair, unable to sit up right due to your head still swimming. The movement caused you to cry out in pain from your injured knee being jostled when he caught you and lifted your arm around his shoulders to gently help you back into your original seated position. Your body still shaking, your brain told you that he was telling you the truth and he had just proved it, but you were still terrified and unsure of what to believe — no matter how kind his eyes were. “Shh, you’re safe now. I’m here and I’m going to get you out. I’m guessing they did a number on your legs?” He frowned down at your bloody feet. 

“My knee,” you quietly sobbed, the pain still radiating throughout your right leg. “They—they broke it.”

“Shit,” he muttered, studying the leg you had glanced at. 

In the background, you noticed the other man grab the smartphone and slip it into his pocket before heading back over in your direction. “What are we doing, man? Grab her and let’s go. Clock’s ticking.”

The man crouched in front of you looked up at the other one. “She can’t walk.” He inclined his head in the direction of your knee. “We’re going to have to carry her out.”

“Fucking hell,” the other one hissed. “Maybe we can get in touch with the chopper and get an evac.”

The man in front of you shook his head. “No, this is supposed to be a quick in and out. We have to get to the extraction point. They’re not coming for us.” So maybe these two were soldiers? They sounded like they might be military. Had your father somehow managed to get the government to send the US military in to rescue you?

“But, there’s no way we can—”

“No time for this, man. We’ve got to move now before reinforcements arrive.” Your rescuer turned back to you. “Alright, listen, I’m not going to lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell. I’m going to try my best to take it easy on you but we have to get you out of here now.”

You shook your head, causing tears to roll down your face. You wouldn’t admit it but you were as scared of the pain as you were to go out into the chaos you still heard happening outside of the room you were in. 

He laid his hand on your shoulder again and locked gazes with you. “We have to do this. I told you before. I’m here to get you out and that means I’m not leaving without you.” He very gently rubbed at your shoulder in reassurance. “So, just try to relax and I’ll—” He carefully tried to slip his free hand underneath your legs and gingerly lift them but the movement caused you to scream in pain. 

“Okay, okay,” your soldier soothed and backed off.

The other soldier was shaking his head. “We are so fucked.”

“Hey, we’re not.” Your guy turned to give him a sharp look. “Just give me a second with her.”

The other one let out an aggravated sigh and impatiently pointed to his watch before holding his rifle up and leaving the room. 

Your soldier glanced back at you. “Okay. Time for some real talk. We’ve got about seventeen minutes to get to the extraction point which is out of this place and up the hill on the north side. Which would be, not exactly a cakewalk because it would still be tough, but if you were able to use your legs and we were running, we’d probably make it there in the next fifteen despite any resistance we might encounter. But, this is—”

“Going to slow you down,” you choked out. “I’m not going to make it.” More tears rolled down your cheeks, stinging when they came into contact with your injuries. If you had to be left behind, you knew you would die. No question about it.

“Hey,” he spoke softer than he had a moment ago. “I told you I’m not leaving here without you and I meant it. So don’t go thinking anything like that.” His eyes narrowed slightly as your head became too heavy to try to hold up. His hand was suddenly behind your neck, helping you, as he visually inspected one of the wounds at your hairline. “Dammit,” you heard him mutter. “Okay, I’m getting you out of here.”

He bent down to scoop you up but you grabbed onto his uniform, gripping a bit of the fabric in your fingers though it hurt to do so. He turned to look at you and you shook your head, whimpering. “Please,” you begged. 

He reached up with a gloved hand and gently wiped under your eyes with his thumb. “I’m sorry but I have to. If I don’t…” He didn’t finish that sentence but he didn’t need to; the concern you saw in his green gaze said more than enough, and confirmed what he had already told you. “I know the pain is going to be a bitch and a half, but you’ve got to push through as best you can. I’ll carry you and get you to that chopper, I promise, but I need you to hold on. If you have to cry, scream, hell, even bite down on me, you do whatever you’ve got to do. But we’re doing this and we’re doing it now. You ready?”

“N-No.” Your voice wobbled a little bit but you heard him. You were going to try your best but you were still scared of the impending pain. “I’ll try.”

“Atta girl.” He gently positioned you as close to him as possible, zipping up the pullover that your captors had left open, and then carefully placed his free arm under your legs again. You got ready for the pain and whimpered again when he got ready to lift you. “I promise, after this, we’ll get that knee looked at, and that head injury, as soon as we get you someplace safe. Hey, look at me.” You struggled to meet his eyes but when you did, you saw the kindness from earlier staring back at you. “You’ve got this. You’ve made it this far and you’re going to make it all the way. I’m going to make sure you do.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder when the threat of the impending pain. Almost as if you spoke a half a decibel higher, you might make it hurt worse than it already was going to. It didn’t make sense but you weren’t exactly thinking straight right then. 

You held onto the outer edge of his vest, wincing at the flare up of pain in your hand, as ready as you could possibly be in that moment. 

He gave you another second, a brief respite from what was to come, and then a nod. “Alright, here we go.”

The man slowly lifted you and it hurt, sure, but what really hurt was when gravity did its work when he carefully got to his feet. You couldn’t help but cry out. You immediately stuck your thumb knuckle into your mouth and bit down, hoping this would all be over very soon.

The other soldier appeared in the doorway, having heard your cries. Your soldier took a few steps towards him, forcing you to bite harder into your skin and more tears to roll down your cheeks. “Let’s get moving. Call the bird and let them know we’re on our way.” The man nodded and turned, speaking to someone to let them know you were about to leave the compound and would need backup on the way. 

When he turned around and gave you both a nod, your soldier held you a little closer to him. “You take point and lead us out. We’re good.” He then turned a reassuring smile on you. “Aren’t we?”

You wanted to answer him but you couldn’t. He hadn’t even started really moving yet and already the pain was agonizing. Instead, you carefully laid your head on his shoulder, feeling pure exhaustion wash over you that left an even foggier trace behind in your mind.

“Let’s do this.” Your soldier looked back towards the door and began to follow his fellow soldier out of the room. You gasped from the pain, bit into your flesh harder, and ignored the tears spilling onto your face. You weren’t going to be able to hold back the pained cries for long. You had no idea how you weren’t screaming at this point.

As you all turned down a hallway, you couldn’t help but think of the others and that provided a momentary distraction. “What about—my people?” You asked through gritted teeth.   

“Already extracted,” he whispered. “Now it’s your turn, Y/N.”

You were still fighting your way through a misty fog of pain and sluggishness but that caught your attention. You released your thumb and stuttered out, “You know my name.”

“Of course I know your name. We came here for you.” He shot you a wink and then proceeded to carefully make his way down the stairs after the way forward was cleared. 

You idly wondered about that as you held onto him, noting several dead bodies in your peripherals but refusing to look straight at them. You could hear him huffing and puffing next to you and you felt badly that he had to carry you because you were unable to walk. A couple of times, he had to stop and hunker down with you while the other soldier engaged the remaining kidnappers you came across. The third time, it was a struggle for you but you whispered, “Slowing you down. Not —gonna make it.”

“Shhh, don’t worry about that. I’ve got you,” he murmured back. And sure enough, once it was clear again, you were on the move. Before long, you had met up with more soldiers (the backup that must have been called for) and one of them offered to take you. You involuntarily tightened your grip on your rescuer’s vest and he shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m good.” 

Eventually, you made your way out onto the terrain and you could no longer hold back your pained cries. “Almost there,” he promised. After what felt like prolonged agony, you finally reached an area where a helicopter was indeed waiting. The sight of it made something that felt like relief loosen inside your chest. You were really going to make it out of here alive. Your soldier went to hand you off to another inside when your fingers tightened reflexively around him again. “It’s just for a second to let me get in,” he reassured you. 

You nodded, hoping it wouldn’t hurt as bad as that run had, and let him go. Once you were all boarded onto the helicopter, you were moved around again until you were back in your soldier’s embrace, holding tightly onto him as the aircraft lifted into the air and headed away from the compound where more gunfire erupted. 

You tried to ask him something but he couldn’t hear you so he ducked his head near yours. “Where are my people?” You asked as loudly as you could, taking every little bit of strength you had left. You were still under the fog, but you still noticed your co-workers weren’t in the helicopter with you. 

He turned and placed his lips near your ear. “They’re in another chopper!” You had all made it safely out. Thank God.

You nodded and laid your head against his shoulder, completely spent and feeling the throbbing of pain in your body intensify, making you acutely aware of all the rest of your injuries. The pain radiated from your knee outwardly and now you could feel it in your torso, your arms, your head… Your eyes began to close of their own accord when he shook your shoulder a little. “I’m sure all you want to do right now is sleep but I need you to stay awake. At least until the docs get a good look at you!”

You blinked dazedly up at him. “I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, not even sure he heard you. The tide of pain was washing you under.

He then did the last thing you expected. He lifted his mask and you finally saw the man underneath, the owner of those green eyes that you had been holding onto during this entire ordeal. 

“Man, what the hell are you doing?” You heard yelled nearby, but your soldier kept his eyes on yours.

“I need you to stay awake, Y/N! You think you can do that for me?”

You took in his features, your fingers carefully lifting up to touch the thick beard he sported, noting the dirt and grime smears all over his face, but his eyes were what captivated you. Now without the mask in the way, you were free to get lost in those green orbs as deeply as you dared. Too bad you couldn’t seem to stay conscious. 

He shook you again. “Y/N! Hey! Stay awake!”

“Sorry,” you slurred before everything went black.

The next time you jerked into consciousness, screaming out in pain, the helicopter had just landed and your soldier, once again wearing his face mask, was yelling instructions to the men around him. You couldn’t hear exactly what they were, the pain was that intense. You were lifted out into another soldier’s arms and looking past him, you saw a second helicopter not that far away. You watched as your co-workers were ushered off of it alongside other masked soldiers but something didn’t seem right. You weren’t sure what it was but something was off to you.

You were placed into someone else’s arms and you saw the eyes of your rescuer once again, softening when he saw that you were crying.

“Something’s—wrong.” 

“Stay with me this time, Y/N,” he urged as he hurried you away from the helicopter. “Help is just a few feet away! Only a little bit more to go.”

You tried to stay with him, you really did, but the tide of pain started to blanket you once again. Alongside it, the feeling of something’s wrong surged throughout your body before the darkness overtook you once more. 

The next time you came to, you were on a gurney and bright lights were shining down on you. Doctors and nurses surrounded you, talking quickly in Spanish and calling out a few instructions. Your body began to involuntarily tremble again. Had your rescue been a dream? Had your kidnappers brought you to another part of the compound where they had an assembled medical team waiting to somehow keep you alive after they had unleashed such brutality on you? Or were you just dead?

You felt a warm hand in yours, a thumb stroking the top of yours reassuringly. You gingerly turned your head to find your soldier, still wearing his mask, standing right there, smiling down at you. “There you are. You had me worried for a second.”

Before you could ask him if he was real, if any of it was, a nurse started yelling at him, trying to get him to leave. He replied in perfect Spanish, telling her in a very resolved tone that he wasn’t leaving until he knew you were going to be okay. She let out a frustrated huff and shot him a glare before turning away to speak to the doctors. They insisted he had to go and once again, without your permission, you tightened your grip on him, not wanting him to go anywhere.

“No,” you rasped out. “Please let him stay. Please.” He was the only thing anchoring you in this moment. You got the distinct feeling that if you lost him, you’d be lost entirely, never to resurface. He was safety for you, an end to the horrific ordeal you had been through, and you didn’t want him to leave you.

A doctor leaned over you, speaking kindly in English. “It’s okay,” he spoke with a heavy accent. “We are going to make you better but he can’t be in here.”

You shook your head and grabbed at your soldier’s forearm with your free hand though it hurt like hell. 

“Doc, can you give us a second?”

The doctor gave him a look but did as he asked, moving back over to his team. 

The man next to you pulled a chair from out of nowhere and positioned it next to you. He took a seat and only when he had did you release him, wincing as you dropped your right hand next to you. 

He smiled reassuringly down at you. “You’re going to be okay. They’re going to fix you right up. You’ve been through a lot but you’re going to be alright.”

You knew what he was doing; he was calming you down and saying goodbye. For some reason, that made you tear up. Even though you didn’t know this man, he had been your harbor of safety in a chaotic whirlwind, a beacon of hope to cling to in a truly terrifying situation you had found yourself in. When a tear rolled down your cheek, he wiped it away with his thumb. “Will you be here when I wake up?” You choked out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

That set loose more tears and he made sure to catch every single one. In the meantime, the nurse came over and injected something into your IV. When you started feeling drowsy a minute or so later, it wasn’t hard to guess what was happening. “Will I ever see you again?” You frantically intertwined your fingers with his as you struggled to stay awake.

He leaned closer, smiling in the same reassurance his green eyes were trying to convey. “I’ll find you,” he murmured, gently squeezing your hand. That made even more tears fall. It surprised you when he moved in to whisper to you, “Get some rest, sweetheart. You’ve more than earned it.”

You wanted to stay awake; you fought it, not wanting to lose sight of those green eyes fixated on you, knowing they would be gone once you closed yours. But you lost that battle as a sea of sleepiness dragged you down with it. You held onto his words as your eyes finally shut from the weight of the drug and you could no longer see him or feel his hand in yours. “I’ll find you” reverberated through your mind as you sank deeper and deeper into oblivion, falling at a rapid rate from deep green into solid black, until you were completely engulfed by it and you were gone.

You briefly closed your eyes as you felt a cool breeze gently make its way past you. You watched as two orange leaves pirouetted in the air, spinning round and round, until they landed several feet away. Silent ripples danced along the water’s surface in front of you and you could hear the sounds of people milling about near you, talking, surrounded by a symphony of nature sounds mixed in with the faroff noises of city life. You couldn’t help but smile when you heard small children giggling as they played on the grass nearby with their parents watching over them. You watched as a small group of teenage girls walked past you, laughing as they reminisced over something that had happened the past weekend. You saw an old man on another bench further down the path, an open book in his hands. 

These were the small peaceful moments that you had come to appreciate since you rejoined society a couple of months ago. These were the ones you held onto when the memories of the terror and pain all became a bit too much, that reminded you that you were back home, safe. 

You watched as two moms in workout gear jogged by with their strollers. A man and woman coming from the opposite direction made their way around the two women and continued their trek, drinking from to-go cups and dressed in business casual attire. Sure enough, you could hear them discussing work-related topics as they passed you by. You smiled sadly as you watched them get further and further from your sight. 

That had been you not that long ago, where you didn’t have a care in the world other than pushing out new product lines and being in charge of one of the main offices of the family business. The pressure had been near soul-crushing most of the time but you had adapted for the most part and rolled with it. You worked hard, you worked long hours, and you were alright with that. You took the stress of hectic deadlines and constantly putting out fires and you rolled with the punches. It became part of your make-up and it could only help fuel you even faster towards your goal — your father’s goal. Now, after what you’d been through, your outlook on it all had changed. What had felt like life and death matters in the corporate world before no longer felt as dire as it used to. You’d been in a literal life and death situation and lived to tell the tale; whatever came your way business wise you knew you could more than handle. There was something about being tortured and having a gun held to your head, convinced you were about to die, that just put things into perspective for you.

And though you survived, you didn’t actually get to tell your tale. The minute you were reunited with your father, while he had been grateful you were alive and kissed your forehead, it was made clear to you that you and the co-workers who had been in captivity with you were to sign NDA’s. That had completely floored you. That was the Board’s main concern? That the public might find out that some of its employees had been kidnapped, terrorized, and tortured? How were they going to explain your month long absence from the job, from your lives? You knew Meredith had a fiance, Pat was a grandmother, Rob had just gotten married weeks before this happened, and Tim had a wife and kids waiting back at home for him. Suzanne was dating someone in HR and you could have sworn you heard Jerry mention at some point that he had a dog to get back to, hoping his neighbor had either checked in on it or at least notified someone to do so. How in the world did the Board plan to explain away any of it?

Your father had let out an aggravated sigh as you fired question after question at him. Who had taken you? What had they wanted besides money? Why hadn’t the Board met their demands? Why had it taken them so long to get the government involved?

“They weren’t involved.”

Your eyes had widened in shock. “What? How?”

Your father had taken your hand in between his and stared into your eyes with meaning. “I’m only going to mention this once and then we’re never going to speak of it again. We hired someone to send in a team to get you out of there.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Hired someone? As in mercenaries?”

“Private contractors for security. They handle this type of situation quite frequently but they keep it all very hush hush. So that is why the Board is insisting on NDA’s for all of you. It’s not only to protect the brand but also to protect all of you.”

“Protect this organization they hired, you mean.”

Your father nodded, not looking troubled by your accusation in the least.

“I don’t understand, Dad. You have contacts in Defense. Why wouldn’t you call them?”

“We did. They recommended these people and said they were our best option. If we hired them, they could get in quickly and get you out. If we didn’t and chose to go through more official channels, it might prolong the process and that might be time that you didn’t have.”

You could see the wisdom in that advice he’d been given. They had been right; had they gotten there even just an hour later than they did, you might not be alive right now. “But a month, Dad? Why did they wait so long?”

Your father tightened his grip on your hand and you knew you weren’t going to like what he had to say next. “At first, we didn’t know who had taken you. When they made contact…the Board wanted to try negotiating with them first.”

You huffed out a breath in disbelief. Those sons of bitches…

“I pushed for them to do something more drastic but they fought me every step of the way. It wasn’t until they received that first video message that they finally agreed that I should make the call.” 

So your father had fought for you, but to a point. That fact rolled around in your brain for a moment. Had your roles been reversed, you would have told the Board to go screw themselves and immediately contacted whoever could rescue your father as soon as possible. No amount of money, litigation threats, or risk to the business would have stopped you. You, his only child, his only surviving family member, had been in mortal danger, and he hadn’t done everything he could to secure your safe return home as soon as possible? It was hard to wrap your mind around that. Then his last words finally registered. “Wait, what video message?”

His blue eyes softened with sympathy then and you could swear you could see a little bit of pain beginning to cloud them. “Where you were tortured.”

You should have known. Why else would your kidnappers have filmed it? Truthfully, you had known it back when they were hurting you. You shouldn’t be surprised, but you also didn’t want to talk about it. “You mean the pictures weren’t enough to convince them?” Before that first night, your kidnappers had forced you and your co-workers to look up at them as they snapped photos of you on their phones. You knew then that they were either using it as a scare tactic for your father and the Board or they were providing proof of life. Either way, it hadn’t mattered in the end since obviously the kidnappers had kicked it up a notch after that. 

A haunted look fleeted across your father’s tired face. While you may still be struggling with the idea that he hadn’t done everything you would have done in his place, you knew this had taken a toll on him. He had been genuinely concerned for you and the relief you’d seen on his expression when he saw you for the first time since you’d been separated was palpable. “When they saw the video, they could no longer pretend that this was something they could simply deal their way out of.”

Your brows drew together as you studied him. You were sure it had been hard for them to see what had happened to you, to hear your cries, your screams, your pained whimpers. You knew it must have been even more difficult for your father to see. But somehow you got the distinct impression that’s not what he was referring to. “Dad.” He glanced up at you and sure enough, you could tell he was keeping something from you. “Tell me.”

He grasped your hand tightly once more. This was definitely not going to be good. “It was bad enough to see what they did to you…but the end of the video was what convinced them.” At your knitted brow, he elaborated, “They pulled Tim out of the room they were keeping you all in, brought him somewhere, and then killed him.”

Your eyes widened and your heart stopped. What?

“And they said if they didn’t get what they wanted in three days, you were next.” 

Your heart started up again and began to pound in your chest. You felt like you were falling with no end in sight. Tim was…dead? Your breathing sped up into short pants and you could hear beeping from a machine you were connected to but it sounded so far away.

You had blocked out some of that experience, your brain subconsciously trying to protect you perhaps, you weren’t sure. And whatever memories stayed, each time they started to flash in your mind, you would close your eyes and grab hold of your safe harbor in those turbulent waves of trauma that tried to overtake you. You would think of green and while the images didn’t exactly disappear, it kept them at a safe distance. Well, while you were awake at least. The nightmares you experienced were something else entirely.

But this…nothing could protect you from this. You suddenly remembered being locked in that bedroom, hearing the yelling, the gunshot—oh God, the gunshot. You had heard the moment they— Your father urged you to calm down, rubbing your hand comfortingly, but you couldn’t hear him or even when a nurse rushed into the room to ask what was going on. Because at that precise moment, a memory came back to you, ripping your tight grip on your green harbor and tossing you back into the dark ocean of trauma and pain to drown in. 

It had been right before you’d passed out the second time. While your soldier had gotten out of the helicopter, you had glanced over to see the other helicopter that your people were disembarking from. At the time, you had been so out of it due to the pain and disorientation you had been feeling that you didn’t realize the number of people you should have been seeing was one short. You didn’t even seem to process the black bag two soldiers removed from the aircraft and carried off the tarmac together. You just knew something was wrong, something you had tried to tell your soldier before you passed out again. But now you knew exactly what you had seen.

Tim. Tim had been with you since you started in the New York office; he preceded you actually. Even though your father had chosen him to accompany you and the others, all you could remember was the nice man who had smiled and said hello as he walked into the office; the man who was quiet and reserved but also a hard worker; who had offered you his jacket to cover up with; the man who had begged the kidnappers for the photos of his kids from his wallet that they had taken and then denied him; the man who talked about his family and proudly told you all about his children. His daughter, Riley, was eight and she had recently taken up soccer. Before you’d left for Bogota, she had told him that her coach wanted her to try the goalie position but she was scared; she didn’t want balls flying at her head. You couldn’t blame her on that one and had said as much. You remembered all too well the sports you had been made to join growing up and it had never really been your thing, but it made your father happy so you did it each time he urged you to sign up or try out. Tim’s son, David, was nearly six and he had just graduated kindergarten. And the baby, Olivia, could be quite the handful since she was a very rambunctious toddler who never seemed to run out of energy, but his wife, Angela, lived up to her name and couldn’t be happier with their current family setup. And now… Now, he would never get to see any of them ever again.

The pained wail that met your ears caught you off guard until you realized it was coming from you. Tim was a good man and he had managed to make a life outside of work. He had something you had never let yourself dream about having since it would inevitably get in the way of your successful climbing of the corporate ladder. Now, he would never get to see his kids grow up, go to any more of Riley’s soccer games to encourage her, go on any more date nights with his wife — none of it. You had the horrible thought for a moment that it should have been you in that bag instead. It nearly had been you.

Your father held onto you as you wept, as the nurse rubbed your back from the opposite side of the bed, crooning soft reassurances to you and urging you to try to calm down. But nothing could reassure you; you were here and Tim was not. A cold hard fact that you could do nothing to change. Even worse, you had missed his funeral since you were stuck in the hospital you had been transferred to once you were flown from the one you had briefly ended up in down in Colombia. You hadn’t even known about his death until this moment, your suddenly resurfaced traumatic memories aside. 

Since that day, the memory of that single gunshot had tormented you. Had Tim known it was coming? Did he think about Angela and the kids right then? Had he prayed they would be okay without him? How terrified must he have been? You knew how scared you were in that bedroom, how fearful you had been during your second round of torture, sensing that this wasn’t going to end with the doctor treating you as it had the last time (which had now been confirmed that your instinct had been spot on). You could only imagine how he must have felt in that final moment.

The nightmares proceeded to get even worse and you were afraid to be left alone in your hospital room. Though your father and the medical staff had assured you that you were safe, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t, no matter how irrational you knew you were being. Eventually, your assistant Luna started working remotely from your room to keep you company and your father had hired two full-time bodyguards to watch over you: Owen during the day and Simon at night. When the nightmares became practically unbearable, that rotation switched. For some reason, you felt safer with Owen there. Perhaps it had to do with his look, specifically his salt and pepper beard…you briefly remembered the feeling of a beard underneath your bloody fingertips though you couldn’t place the face it belonged to. You had a feeling it was connected to the green you remembered, that you clung to in the tumultuous sea of mayhem that was the night you were marked to die — the green that you associated with your rescuer. Why you couldn’t recall his face, you had no idea, but you chalked it up to your brain once again trying to make sense of the chaos that reigned inside your head. 

Green continued to symbolize safety and reassurance for you. So much so that when Luna brought a bag of clothes for you to change into for your beginning rehab sessions, you immediately picked out an olive green hoodie she had selected from your closet and set it aside. You took to holding it close as you slept, letting the scent of home attached to it wash over you as you closed your eyes. When you would wake from your nightmares, sometimes gasping for air that wouldn’t come, sometimes crying, or sometimes screaming, you would see the hoodie next to you and grab it, holding it close until you could either breathe again or calm back down. It became a source of comfort for you and long remained that even after you were discharged. 

Your doctor had recommended therapy in addition to the outpatient rehab you would be continuing but truth be told, you weren’t in a rush to relive anything or even unearth something that might somehow be worse than what you already remembered. Your father had also dismissed the idea of therapy, saying that focusing on regaining your ability to walk without the assistance of crutches would help, as well as getting back to concentrating on work. You didn’t agree, you knew better, but you also allowed his view to become your excuse, solidifying your refusal to deal with the trauma you had suffered. After all, you were still here, still breathing — as long as you kept reminding yourself of that, you would be fine. 

So you did as your father insisted: you focused on your physical therapy and you slowly found your way back to working full-time. You had graduated from crutches to a cane. Your doctor said your knee was healing nicely and right on schedule, which made you glad that you had listened to him and not your father’s initial suggestion of a knee replacement. You still felt a twinge of discomfort and a whispery echo of pain when walking so you relied more heavily on the cane than your doctor or physical therapist might have liked. You may not have remembered everything from your ordeal, but the pain of the initial impact of the bat and afterwards as you were carried to a waiting helicopter to take you to safety was still a very recent and clear memory for you. You doubted you would ever forget it as long as you lived. 

Eventually, you returned to your office and you accepted the well wishes all around. You had no idea what they had been told about your obvious injury or what had caused it but thankfully, no one questioned you. You had been in brief touch with Meredith and the others in the days after your initial surgery back in Colombia but not since then. You had been so focused on your recovery and processing the news of Tim’s death that, truthfully, you hadn’t thought of much else. Even though Luna had been working from your hospital room for a time and she kept you apprised on all developments as well as anything that required your attention, you knew your father had instructed her to keep it all to a strictly need-to-know basis until you were finally ready to fully take up the mantle again. And because you were already dealing with more than enough, you allowed it and didn’t push for more than she told you. So the guilt consumed you when you were informed that Suzanne had resigned and Pat had taken an early retirement to be able to spend more time with her kids and grandkids. Rob had taken a position at another company, though Jerry and Meredith were still there. However, Meredith worked remotely most days, something she had worked out with your father while you had been out. You wondered if it might have been a result of Meredith initially refusing to sign the NDA, a sort of compromise to get her to agree to keeping your ordeal under wraps. You made a mental note to reach out to all of them so you could at least check in to see how they were doing. Jerry was in Research; you’d stop by there later.

As tough as all of that had been to learn and stepping back into the swing of things proved to be a little more complicated than you thought it would be, the most difficult moment had been when you went up to Design. Seeing Tim’s office not being Tim’s anymore had left you reeling. Your father moved fast and had hired his replacement within days. From a professional perspective, you more than understood; the business still had to run after all and Design was one of your most crucial departments. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things. The nightmares were particularly brutal that night. You kept hearing the gunshot, kept seeing one of the kidnappers with their cell phone look over at you afterwards and give you the most terrifying smile. Even the hoodie hadn’t helped. When you looked at it, you didn’t see green anymore but red. A very bold and wet shade of dark red. You tossed it away from you and screamed, bursting into sobs as you rocked yourself back and forth in a soothing motion. 

You had immediately called out sick the next morning and spent the rest of the day in bed, alternating between crying and staring blankly at the TV on the wall. Later on, when you could think clearly again, you gave yourself a stern talking to. You were here, alive, and you had hundreds of people looking to you to lead them. You refused to dishonor Tim’s memory by hiding away in your apartment for the rest of your life, no matter how appealing the option might feel. You could hear your father’s voice in your head again, pushing you, telling you to get back up and go to work, to be the best you could be.

And sure enough, you heard his voice for real the next day when he walked into your office. “What is he doing here?”

You glanced up and looked over where he was pointing to see Owen sitting in one of the chairs off to the side, watching you both. You pressed your lips together and shut the portfolio in front of you. “His name’s Owen, Dad. You know that. And he’s here because I asked him to be.”

Your father looked quite displeased with that. “I dismissed him and the other one last week. We talked about this.”

You let out a quiet sigh and sat back in your chair. “I know but—”

“It’s not a good look and it certainly isn’t good for morale. The cane you still insist on unnecessarily using is bad enough. Do you think people around here aren’t asking themselves or each other why you have this man sitting in your office, watching your every move?” 

You leaned forward and lowered your voice. “Dad, I get that. I do, but I need—”

“Is this why you called out sick yesterday?” You briefly dropped your gaze to your desk. You didn’t really want to talk about that or how despondent you’d been in your bed for hours until your alarm went off, jolting you into grabbing your phone and making the call. Your father’s eyes softened though his tone didn’t. “Honey, what you need is to dismiss him, permanently, and get back to your life, to your work. Don’t forget, you’re at the helm of this ship and everyone’s looking to you to navigate it seamlessly through the waters.”

Your jaw clenched and for the first time in your life, you were about to draw a line in the sand between what he was telling you to do and what you knew you needed to do. “I’m aware of that and I can’t steer the ship unless I feel safe. Owen here,” you nodded in the man’s direction. “Makes me feel safe. With him present, I can focus and get the job done. So, Owen is staying until I say otherwise.”

Your father’s own jaw tightened. “I’m not paying for more—”

“You’re not. I am. And believe it or not, while I’m doing what’s right for me, I’m also doing what’s right for this office, to ensure our complete success. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reports from Research to review.” You slipped your eyeglasses back on and reopened the portfolio in front of you, scanning the contents.

You glanced up when your father stepped closer to your desk, his voice lower than before though his now angry gaze burned into you. You should have known by dismissing him in that manner after standing your ground, what it would do. “I’m going to strongly suggest that you finish up with Research and take your lunch out of the office. Perhaps outside. It’s a beautiful day and a dose of fresh air might just be what you need.” He gave you a curt nod and then swiftly left the room. Once he was gone, your shoulders deflated and you slumped back into your chair. You knew your father loved you and he only wanted the best for you, for you to succeed, but sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder if it ever came down to the choice of you or the business, who would he choose? He already chose. You blinked the rapidly forming tears in your eyes away at the thought that had popped into your head out of nowhere and carefully got to your feet, reaching for your cane. 

“Owen,” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him immediately stand at attention. “I think we’re going to take my father’s advice. He’s right. It is a beautiful day and I would like to take full advantage of it.” He moved towards you, watching as you moved to the corner and slipped on your light coat. “I’d prefer to be anywhere that isn’t here,” you mumbled, grabbing your handbag. 

You carefully made your way across your office with Owen following right behind you, ready to assist if need be while also keeping an eye out. You called out to your assistant as you passed her by, “Luna, I’m going out for lunch today. Please hold all calls until I return.”

“Of course, Ms. Y/L/N. If Research calls while you’re out, is there anything you would like me to tell them?”

You thought it over for a moment before turning towards the elevators. “Tell them I’m still working on it. Thank you.” And for the first time since you’d started in this company, you left without getting the job done. The thought didn’t sit well with you, you had always been conditioned to complete all of the tasks set out before you, no matter how late you might have to stay to complete them. But at the same time, it oddly made you smile a little.

So here you were, in Central Park on a gorgeous fall day, having taken your father’s advice to heart. You took every single one of your lunches outdoors now unless it was raining or too cold to sit outside for long. You always marveled at the fact that you had lived in New York City for close to two years and you had never once taken the time to stop and notice what surrounded you on a daily basis. You had never taken in the present moment, never taken an opportunity just to be, to sit quietly and listen. The bench you were on by the lake had quickly become one of your favorite spots. You could relax and indulge in the art of people watching, take in all of the sounds, sights, and smells around you. Truth be told, it was the best part of your day. 

Owen stood sentry not too far from you, giving you enough space but also ready to intervene at any moment should he be needed. Despite sitting in a park in the middle of one of the most crime-ridden cities in the country, you felt beyond safe. Owen would never let anything happen to you and being in public, around people living their everyday lives…you felt the safest you had in a long time. A feeling you ended up trying to replicate by looking up Central Park ambience videos on YouTube and playing them while you fell asleep though it didn’t always manage to keep the nightmares away. But you expected that; trauma could be a real stubborn pain in the ass.

But right now, sitting here like this, you were okay. That is, until someone decided to sit down on the opposite side of the bench you were on. All of the times you had sat in this spot, you had been left alone, free to claim this bench as your own for the hour or so you’d spend here. Now, someone appeared not to have gotten the unofficial memo. Out of your peripherals, you saw Owen quickly approaching, most likely intending to tell the stranger to move to another bench, when the person glanced back at him, holding a hand up.

“Relax, man. I appreciate you looking out but I’m not here to hurt her, alright? I’m just here to talk.” The second you heard the voice, your gaze snapped over to the man across from you. You immediately recognized it; it was one you’d heard in your nightmares over and over, telling you to stay with him as you desperately clung to his hand until the kidnappers snatched you away. Was it even possible or were you just imagining this man had spoken to Owen with that voice?

When the man turned back to look at you, you recognized the green eyes immediately and a small lump began to form in your throat. Sure enough, he had a beard, one that looked startlingly familiar when you warily prodded at the memory, trying to recall it. A flash of his face, dirtier than it appeared now, popped into your mind. As if it had been patiently waiting all of this time for you to simply reach out and grab a hold of it. Tears began to burn in the corner of your eyes; it was him.

“It’s you,” you choked out in a whisper without really meaning to. 

The smile you faintly remembered graced his face. “It’s me,” he confirmed.

You stared at him, truly dumbfounded. “How?”  

“I told you I’d find you.” 

You nearly started crying when the familiar words floated up from your subconscious, the phrase you had somehow forgotten in the midst of everything. But you remembered it now, as clearly and vividly as the man sitting before you who had said it. You had been about to pass out in the makeshift surgical room, crying and holding onto him tightly, afraid to let him go. “Will I ever see you again?” “I’ll find you.” 

“I made you a promise and I intended on keeping it.” His green eyes softened slightly, much as they had all of those months ago as he caught every single tear that rolled down your cheeks as you succumbed to the drug beginning to course through your system. “I’ll find you.”

And find you he did.

A little preview of the next installment:

Still sensing your discomfort, Russell immediately lifted up and peeled his shirt off, revealing his bare skin to you for the first time. Immediately, you noticed a small bandage wrapped around his left arm.  “What happened?” You gasped, sitting up and gingerly running your fingers below the bandage line.  He shrugged and looked down at it. “Got shot on a job.” Your jaw dropped and when he glanced back up at you, he must have seen the worry that was consuming you because he immediately chuckled and affectionately cupped your chin. “I’m okay. Besides, that’s not what I wanted to show you.” He took your hand in his and moved it to his other shoulder, guiding your fingertips over skin that was jagged, puckered slightly, and silver-looking. “Shot.” He then moved your hands down his side until it reached a decent sized line that was anything but smooth. “Stabbed.” Your hands moved again to right above his abdomen. “Cut.” They moved once more and ended up on his clavicle. “Cut from an attempted stab.” You winced as he mentioned each injury he had received; they had all been the result of violent means. He moved your hands up to the upper tip of his right ear. “Bullet graze.” There was no scar there to speak of but you could see the tiniest bit of difference between his ears in that area when you looked closely.  He finally brought your hand to rest over his heart, holding it there. “Sofia.” Your brows furrowed in confusion and he smirked over at you. “Cute little waitress in Costa Rica. Gave me one hell of a weekend and then left me high and dry for some young British guy who showed up at the beach and hadn’t yet run out of money.” You scoffed and yanked your hand from underneath his, making him laugh, as you crossed your arms. He moved closer to you, cupping your cheeks and staring into your eyes. “I’m kidding about that last part. The rest, I’m not. I’ve got plenty more on my back and even a few on my legs. A couple more on my arms. We all have scars. They’re just reminders of battles we’ve fought and survived. Don’t be ashamed of yours.” A tear escaped and rolled down your cheek but his thumb caught it. He pressed his forehead against yours and murmured, “You’re beautiful.”    When he looked at you like this, spoke softly to you like this, you genuinely believed him.

A/N: Coming soon. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for Part 2.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

[tonicandjins]

lights, camera, lee donghyuck - teaser

CHARACTERS: lee donghyuck | haechan x reader

GENRE: arranged marriage

AUTHOR'S NOTE: leave a comment or send an ask to be added to the taglist.

You used to think there is never a time or place for true love. They say it happens accidentally—in a heartbeat, in a single flashing, throbbing moment.

Standing in front of your very own groom, you laugh at the thought of true love, which makes very good publicity because you look like you’re looking at the love of your life as you seize the moment; you hope the photographers are taking great pictures, capturing this remarkable moment your parents would be extremely happy to display everywhere their empire reaches.

The officiator declares you husband and wife. The crowd cheers. The lights keep flashing as the cameras roll. They blind you just in time for Lee Donghyuck to lean in and press an empty kiss on your lips.

The ironic thing about being in an arranged marriage, despite your experience comprising of a night and half a day, is that it requires a huge amount of commitment. A shitload of commitment, as Donghyuck would say in hopes of convincing you to persuade your parents not to agree to the already-planned out marriage.

This whole fiasco, well, it’s not like you or Donghyuck didn’t expect it. To dumb it down, here’s what happened:

You and Donghyuck have known each other your whole lives, but apparently not enough to consider the other as a friend—barely a colleague, just someone you know because of your parents. Like the typical chaebols anyone would think of, you’d gone to the same school—literally from daycare until university.

Carrying the bloodline of the incredibly renowned Lee, who practically owns half the country’s economy considering his ancestors contribution to business and tourism, Donghyuck’s accustomed to the lights and cameras. As far as you know, young as he was, he had been trained to know their empire like the back of his hand. His grandfather, being the empire’s chairman, is meticulously particular with who his children and his children’s children marry. Somehow, it’s tradition for the Lee family. It’s tradition to marry someone from another wealthy and equally influential family, and if Donghyuck could say so himself, it’s the secret to success.

It’s a universally known truth that successful empires come from humble beginnings. In interviews, his grandfather talks about hard work and creating your own vision, which he says he’d learned from his parents who learned it from their parents. He emphasizes the importance of ethics in business and networking, expanding one’s territory by partnership. He brags about working at a young age, getting a degree and an MBA, and how he’d imposed and required higher education for his own children. What he doesn’t talk about is all the arranged marriages the entire Lee bloodline had signed up for—had committed to—to keep their empire expanding like the fucking universe. It just keeps going; there’s no stopping.

[nicmaruniversity]

MBA in Family Business - Benefits, Syllabus, and Other Course Details

Are you looking for an MBA in Family Business and Entrepreneurship? This program empowers you with strategic insights, leadership skills, and specialized knowledge to drive family businesses to new heights. Navigate the complexities of entrepreneurship while preserving your family business's legacy. Join us to transform your business acumen and create a lasting impact.

[octuscle]

Visiting relatives down south for the Christmas season. I always dread it. All my cousins are so much younger than me, just fresh out of high school, and they’re all such dumb country meatheads. I feel completely out of touch around them. I wish I could fit in better, just to make the holidays easier.

Dude, your cousins are kids. They are six to ten years younger than you. Why do you want to spend time with them? Do you want to smoke secretly behind the shed and push cows around at night? Then you'd better stay in Boston, you'll never have any real fun that way….

You're a sophomore in college. Economics and business math. Your dorm is emptying more and more just before Christmas. But you just don't feel like flying to South Carolina. But it doesn't help. Your mother is a family woman. And even though she has always lived in New England since she went to university and met your late father there, she always made a point of celebrating Christmas on the farm. Well, for your mother's sake…

There are a few other of your colleagues on the bus who are studying business administration and are about to do their MBA. You chat about your plans for the holidays. You're looking forward to playing football with your cousins. You're the big boy, they adore you.

Thank goodness you're only flying with hand luggage. A bit of dirty laundry, that's all you have with you. You buy presents in old Pete's general store. And you can certainly borrow clothes from one of your uncles. Most of the time you'll be hanging out with them and talking about the farm anyway. You're about to finish your master's degree in agricultural sciences. Yes, most people here think you're a nerd, but as long as you win at arm wrestling, your word carries weight.

Uncle Mikey picks you up at the airport. You can finally take off that damn thick down jacket. It's wonderfully warm. You don't talk much on the drive to the farm. You don't talk much at all. You're more men of action than men of words. And Mikey quickly gets down to action. By the time you're on the highway, he's already jerked you off. You love the holidays in the south.

Technically, you're their nephew. But your mother's younger brothers are barely older than you. And you are, after all, a trained agricultural machinery technician. Most of your family struggled to finish high school. In any case, you and your uncles are inseparable. Christmas Eve is your traditional tractor pull. Mikey has prepared his protein eggnog. Another tradition is that you have to empty the punch in one go. And you invented the tradition.

Burp! That was a good one. Hehehe! And let's see who can pull the six-ton monster the fastest the 100 yards. You may be a kid from the big city by now, but winning is a matter of honor!

Pic found @eurobeef 

[funemployed-fangirl]

Modern Bridgerton AU

Benedict & Sophie

Benedict does the “good second son thing” and goes to Yale (where his dad went), gets his MBA, and goes to work at the family company to help his brother. But it’s not really what he wants to be doing. And even though he’s miserable at the company, he sticks with it to support his brother. He starts to develop a painting hobby, though no one in the family knows.

Sophie has a rough background, having been through the not-so-great parts of the foster care system. Once she graduates high school, she works her ass off to put herself through college, mostly working as a nanny for rich New York families. Once she graduates, she gets a job as a live-in nanny for one of those families. It’s not what she wants to be doing, but this is New York City and taking care of rich people’s kids is good money, especially when your other expenses are practically zero.

After a couple years, she runs into Colin Bridgerton in her employer’s building (it happens to be the same building where the Featheringtons live, and Colin is heading in to see his college bestie Penelope while on break), and he invites her to a party that’s happening that night. While at that party, she meets Benedict. They spend the entire night together in a quiet corner of the party, but she ends up leaving abruptly after spotting someone who will know who she is.

A couple of years later, Sophie is now a household manager for a new family. When heading home one night she gets accosted by a couple of drunk frat bros, only for Benedict to step in and help escort her home. They recognize each other from the party two years prior, and perhaps despite better judgement, start seeing each other. 

Benedict has never been much of a relationship guy, so keeps insisting/acting like this thing with Sophie is a casual hook-up situation. But casual hook-up situations rarely include midnight rooftop dinners, or private gallery showings, or meeting members of the family (look, the man is clearly head over heels in love, and not being particularly subtle about it). Finally, Sophie puts her foot down and tells him to get his head out of his ass or they're over. Benedict panics, insists he’s only looking for something casual, and they break up.

He makes the mistake of telling his family about the break-up. His mother is devastated. Daphne and Kate are pissed when they find out about the break-up. Hyacinth is inconsolable. Everyone loves Sophie, and they’re not going to let Benedict make a stupid mistake like break-up with the woman he is clearly in love with. It’s at this point Benedict gets a call from Sophie - she’s been arrested, and “I didn’t know who else to call. I need your help.”

Her employers are going through a nasty divorce and can’t afford to keep her on, so they decide to fire her. But in the shuffle, something goes missing from their apartment and Sophie gets arrested for theft. Benedict comes to her rescue, bailing her out of jail and reminding everyone that “My sister-in-law is a lawyer!”. Turns out, whatever was “stolen” has actually just been misplaced in the shuffle of moving the husband’s stuff out of the apartment.

Benedict promptly leaves the family business (though he maintains his seat on the board and almost always shows up for board meetings), and he and Sophie move to some adorable small town in Connecticut, where Benedict takes up painting full-time (turns out he’s pretty good) and Sophie runs a small art gallery. They’re just far enough away from the city that the family doesn’t visit too often (“You’re like 2 hours away. We have to drive!”), but the nieces and nephews LOVE going for long weekends at Aunt Sophie and Uncle Benedict’s house. They have a pool!

more (x)

[cinderella-ish]

Adulting: What did everyone do after the curse broke?

So, I have a LOT of headcanons as to what the different characters did after the curse broke. We do get several answers in Another, but for the answers we don't get, here's what I think happened!

Tohru: I don't think the specific nature of her job would be terribly important to her, so much as just entering into the workforce. From her outfit in the Prelude epilogue, it seems like she's not doing manual labor (like cleaning, which was what I initially thought she'd be doing, since she had experience). I wonder if she's an employee at a school; her colleague kind of looks like an elementary or middle school teacher to me. I don't think Tohru would be able to teach without further education, and she was very clear that she did not want to pursue further study. I'm not sure if Japan has classified staff/paraprofessionals or an equivalent, but I think she'd be amazing at that job. I also think she probably became a stay-at-home parent as soon as she and Kyo had the means for her to do so.

Kyo: we know he became a karate instructor, and I just bet he's a fabulous teacher. I think him eventually taking over the Sohma dojo would be a full circle moment for both him and the Sohma family.

Saki: I can honestly see a lot of different jobs for her. Some favorites that I've seen in fanfic are art gallery employee, ghost hunter, and food critic. I have her becoming a hairstylist in Bloom Within Us, after attending beauty school through correspondence. Her clients ADORE her and she uses her wave-reading to make sure they're satisfied and tell them anything they really need to hear. It's common for appointments to end with her clients crying and hugging her because she's just healed some childhood wound of theirs. I could also see her becoming a ritual mortician, preparing the departed for their funeral (which would include hair, makeup, etc...) I think she'd be really good at working with grieving families and getting the deceased to look just right.

Arisa: she worked to put herself through junior college after she moved in with Kureno (though they had the money, she insisted on doing it for herself), and became a nurse in elder care. She makes friends with the crankiest old folks and cries like a baby when one of them dies.

Yuki: I shared in my Yuki headcanons post that I see Yuki going into politics and eventually working in international relations. I see him wanting to see the world far outside of the Sohma estate.

Machi: I always pictured her becoming an accountant.

Kakeru: we know he goes to college, and that he wants to help Komaki's family with their business, so I always assumed he'd major in something that would help with that. Maybe business management?

Momiji: we know he went on to take over his father's corporation. In my Momiji headcanons post, I shared that I see him going to university in Germany, and getting his MBA (or the equivalent). I think he'd need to know this before beginning his third year, so I suspect his father sat him down at some point during his second year to bring up the possibility of taking over his business, and told Momiji of his intent to "adopt" him so he could officially be part of their family again without raising his mother's suspicions (in Japan, it's common for CEOs to adopt their successors). I think this is what would've led Momiji to pursue business instead of music. I do think music is probably still a huge part of his life; I suspect he still plays violin casually, and he probably has a season subscription to orchestras in both Tokyo and Berlin (or wherever the German branch of his father's company is).

Kagura: she studied childcare, and I actually think that's a spectacular fit for her. When she's not being a total yandere over Kyo, she's a very nurturing and big-sisterly character.

Rin: so, I think Rin would continue to have major health problems for the rest of her life, and would probably struggle to find work that accommodates her needs and doesn't trigger any of her stress-related symptoms. I think she'd have short stints in a few jobs, like maybe retail, or modeling, or something artistic or design-y, but eventually I could see her just taking commissions for her own artwork when she feels like it. She seems like someone who wants very badly to contribute, and I think it would take a lot for her to accept that her body won't let her work full-time or on someone else's schedule, but Haru (and all her friends) would gently encourage her to take better care of herself, and at some point I think she'd accept that working for someone else just isn't sustainable for her long-term. (Though, pregnancy would also be extremely risky for her, and I'm surprised they had kids, let alone TWINS.)

Haru: I love that he does metalwork and makes most of his own accessories, so I always imagine him continuing that. I could also see him picking up odd jobs (like dog-walking? why does that seem like something he'd do?) from time to time. I think an independent, artisan-type job would suit him best.

Kisa and Hiro: most of the fandom seems to have Kisa becoming a teacher and Hiro becoming a lawyer, and those are absolutely perfect jobs for them.

Ritsu and Mitsuru: I like to imagine that Ritsu goes to work for Ayame, specializing in styling traditional clothing. This is how Ritsu comes back around to wearing whatever tf he wants, which ends up being a mix of "women's" kimonos and more flamboyant menswear (like his idol, Ayame). He and Mitsuru do eventually get married, and Mitsuru's the one who ends up running the onsen, because that girl deserves to relax!!!

Ayame, Mine, Shigure, Akito, Hatori, and Mayu: we mostly know what these characters do as of Another, and I don't have a ton to add except for Mayu (see below).

Megumi: Since we know Megumi becomes a teacher at Kaibara, I also headcanon that Mayu's still a much-loved teacher at Kaibara in Another, and that she and Megumi are work besties who like to mess with Makoto Takei when he's being especially obnoxious. I also headcanon that Mayu eventually introduces him to his future wife, since we know he likes older women.

Kureno: I imagine he'd become someone else's assistant; even better if he can work from home.

Yusuke and Hiroshi: In Bloom Within Us, Yusuke helps his dad run a grocery they own, and Hiroshi becomes a doctor (GP). I think, if I were only going off canon and not the elaborate backstories I created for them, I could imagine Hiroshi being someone who emcees events (almost a la Ryan Seacrest? but on a much smaller scale) and Yusuke I could see working at a University as like, a freshman advisor or residence life director. Basically someone who makes sure everyone's adjusting well to the campus and who people can go to with questions. I could actually see both of them doing this.

Kimi and Nao: side note, I kind of ship these two? But anyway, I can see Nao becoming a very stressed out CEO or (more likely) director of a non-profit, and I can totally see Kimi as someone whose job it is to secure donations for that non-profit, which she absolutely does by flirting with prospective donors. They'd be almost frighteningly effective when working together...

What do you think? Did I miss anyone?

Also, I almost used the scene where Tohru imagines their future together while at Kyoko's grave for the header image, but it made me cry, so...

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is working his way up through the Endless Leisure organization. He wants to be a head of security or GM for one of their resorts one day - he's got all the hospitality education and his MBA and this summer he's working as staff at one of his favorite of the properties. When it's time for his promotion he wants to have all the relevant experience so he can run his Endless resort as well as possible.

Dream might have a little crush on Robert "Hob" Gadling. Hob has been working for the family company since they were both in high school, Hob spent an initial summer as an intern. Dream never had much of an interest in the family business - and with his art career slowly taking off he didn’t have to, but if anyone could convince Dream to pay attention to the *business* it would be Hob.

But Hob is so focused on getting ahead in the company, he can't have noticed Dream even existed. When Dream hears (he might have an email alert set up 👀) that Hob is working at one of the higher end adult focused (the one with the nude/semi nude private beaches and skimpiest staff uniforms) resorts all summer, he might have offered to do an artist's residency (teach a few painting/pottery classes for guests and/or produce a giant piece of art of the resort's lobby) so that he could be there at the same time. Maybe Hob would notice him then.

Hob wasn't in high enough position at the resort (by design) to be briefed on the fact that one of the Endless children would be staying at the resort for a few months. He just heard the gossip that an uber VIP was staying at the resort and could have whatever they wanted; he also heard that the resort was going to offer (sexy??) art classes once a month. All of that was (unrelated) interesting, Hob guesses, but at the time he was a little more concerned that he was busting out if his uniform short shorts - sure this resort is for adults, but Hob is many levels of indecent in these shorts and the less said about the lifeguard speedo, the better.

The first time Hob realizes that (the gorgeous) Dream Endless was the VIP/new art teacher, Hob happens upon him swiming gloriously naked in his private pool. Dream had always been the one Endless to turn Hob's head. Hob was never happier than when he realized Dream could care less about the Endless business, if Hob had to be around Dream more frequently, he would still be an intern.

Akajsjdhdhs resort au babies!!!! They're so cute, I love it. I'm imagining that Hob absolutely drops the tray of drinks he was carrying when he sees Dream swimming nude. And then Dream hops out of the pool to help clear up, and Hob nearly dies because all of his blood rushes to his dick so fast. Needless to say, the teeny tiny uniform shorts do absolutely nothing to hide his half-chub problem.

Dream is so sweet and nice to Hob!! He helps sweep up the glass and (regrettably) slips into a robe, insisting that he'll help refill the drinks and come with Hob to explain to the other guests why he's late. He wouldn't want Hob to get in trouble! It's funny, Hob has heard so many of the managers talking shit about Dream and his snooty, entitled attitude... but he's not like that at all! Hob has always fancied him but now he's crushing so hard, it's a little bit embarrassing.

Dream even invites Hob to one of his art classes. He'll have to act as an assistant and help the guests, but Dream promises that afterwards he'll give Hob a tutorial... one on one. Poor Hob knows that he's going to be the most useless employee in the entire resort whenever he's around Dream from now on. He can't stop envisaging the gorgeous man naked...

Their one on one painting session breaks so many of the resort's rules for employees, Hob is almost certain he's going to get fired. But God, its worth it. He can get another nothing job, but he'll never have anyone like Dream naked in his arms again.

In the morning, Hob wakes up to a promotion, and an invitation to join Dream at breakfast. Apparently he wants to talk about Hob’s new position as assistant head of security... and check for sure that Hob has the body and stamina for the job. Needless to say, Dream already knows the answer to that!