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marvelstoriesepic · 4 months ago

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Creamy or Crunchy

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Bucky joins you grocery shopping to everyone’s surprise.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Bucky hovering; Bucky knowing his favorite people; little bit of protective!Bucky

Author’s Note: I don’t know what this is but I was in need of some silly fluff. Hope you enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

He’s been trailing after you since you left the tower, stuck to your side.

Not in an obvious way, not in a manner that would draw stares or second glances, but in that ever-present way of his - like a second shadow or an old instinct that never really shuts off.

You’ve barely gone five blocks to the nearest grocery store, and Bucky has stuck close the whole time, keeping pace without a word.

It caught everyone off guard when he volunteered to come with you.

He had been slouched in his usual spot at the kitchen counter, cradling a cup of coffee he never seemed to finish, and looking like he had nowhere in particular to be. So when he had straightened, eyes trained on how you pulled on your shoes and muttered a gruff “I’ll come with you,” there was a moment of pause in the conversation between Natasha, Steve, Clint and Sam lounging on the couch in the common room.

Even you had blinked at him, thrown off by the suddenness of it.

Still, you didn’t argue.

Normally, grocery shopping isn’t something that interests anyone in the tower. It is a mundane, civilian thing - something of a life most of you had long since left behind.

There are people who handle it, services that deliver whatever you need at the touch of a button. But you aren’t looking for efficiency. You are looking for something real - something that can make you feel like a human being again.

You’d just gotten back yesterday from a month-long solo mission in Vorkuta, Russia. It was rather harsh. You spent those weeks in the cold, in silence, every step a deliberate calculation, every breath rationed as if you weren’t entirely sure when you’d be allowed another. You operated alone, only allowed to talk to Tony once a week for updates. It was the kind of quiet that made a person feel less like a person and more like an echo.

So you need something normal now. Something unremarkable.

No mission, no intel, no carefully rehearsed exit strategies.

Just a trip to the store, because you want to pick out your own food instead of eating whatever shows up in the tower’s stocked fridge. You want to grab things impulsively - maybe a bag of chips you don’t need or a carton of juice just because it looks good.

You want the simple, stupid pleasure of choosing something, just because. Of standing under the fluorescent hum of grocery store lights and deciding between brands of cereal and coffee creamers like it actually matters.

And Bucky, for all his presence, says nothing.

He just walks with you, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes darting between the sidewalk and the people passing by. He is relaxed, but only just. There is tension in the way he moves, like he is running an assessment every few steps, tracking details of things you don’t care about at the moment.

The doors to the store slide open with a mechanical hiss, spilling warm, artificial air onto the street.

Inside, there is that familiar smell of waxed floors and cold produce, the sounds of shoppers, the beeping of registers.

A cart squeaks somewhere to your left. A child giggles near the bakery section. A bored-looking cashier stares blankly at the register screen. A tired-locking employee is restocking shelves.

It’s nothing special. But it feels real and humane in a way you need.

Bucky steps in behind you, scanning the store out of habit, then looking at you as if waiting for direction.

You grab a basket and move forward.

He follows without a word.

You walk through fruits and vegetables in bright, and glassy colors, stacked in neat abundance. The air smells like citrus, earth, the scent of misted greens, and something fairly plastic all slightly overwhelming your senses after a month of smelling mostly cold air.

You extend a hand toward the lemons, fingers brushing the textured skin of one when you feel the weight of the basket shift.

Bucky’s hand curls around the handle, pulling it from your grip and holding it himself.

Your gaze snaps up to him, but he isn’t looking at you. Not directly. His eyes are fixed on the rows of produce in front of you, his brows drawn together just slightly, his mouth set in that endearing little frown.

He stands close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. Close enough that, if you shifted just an inch, the fabric of his sleeve would brush against yours.

It’s not intentional, this proximity - it’s more like a habit. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it, doesn’t notice the way his presence expands to fill the space between you until there’s almost nothing left.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly, eyes sweeping the fruit display as if it’s something to be figured out rather than casually shopping through.

His metal fingers whir slightly as he flexes his grip around the basket handle.

“This is a lot,” he murmurs, almost absently.

You keep glancing at him. It takes you a second to realize he is speaking at all, his voice being so quiet, a thought that accidentally made its way out.

“What?” you ask softly.

His eyes fall to you briefly, then back to the fruit. His mouth tightens, jaw working, debating whether to explain it or just let it drop.

“Back then,” he says, still not quite looking at you. His eyes scan the apples, the oranges, the rows of neatly stacked avocados and kiwis and papayas flown in from places he never got to see. “You had your basics. Apples. Pears. Some oranges, if you were lucky. But this?” He tilts his head slightly. “This is a lot.”

He doesn’t say it with wonder. He says it with assessment, categorizing this excess, measuring it against whatever memory of the past lingers in the spaces of his mind. Like he is trying to decide if this abundance is a good thing or just another shift in the world that changed without him.

For a second you wonder, if he is talking to you at all - or just thinking out loud, caught between time periods, a man stretched across decades that won’t quite line up.

Your fingers brush the lemons again, grabbing one and carefully putting it in the basket Bucky is holding. “Well,” you mumble, keeping your voice light. “You should see the cereal aisle.”

Bucky huffs out something that’s almost a laugh, something genuine and his eyes land on you again.

You move and pluck what you need. Apples, zucchini, a handful of bright bell peppers. A bundle of fresh basil, its scent still on your fingertips - something Wanda has been asking for. Some mangoes, ripe and golden, the kind Sam offhandedly mentioned craving the other day.

Bucky watches.

He doesn’t reach for anything himself, just keeps his grip on the basket as you fill it and trails closely after you.

His eyes track every motion - the way your fingers test the hardness of an avocado, the way you turn a tomato in your palm, the way you pause just a second before deciding on a bunch of grapes.

He simply observes.

You step over to the plums.

Their deep purple skins glisten under the lights, some nearly black, some streaked with dusky red. You pick one up, pressing it lightly with your thumb, feeling the faint give beneath your touch. Satisfied, you reach for more, slipping them into a paper bag one by one.

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

But you feel him.

The attention he gives you.

His face is unreadable, expression carefully neutral, but there is something behind his eyes - something considering, something caught between memory and recognition.

You don’t know if he realizes you are getting them for him.

You don’t know if he remembers, or if it is just something subconscious, some buried instinct nudging at him in a way he can’t understand.

But you remember. You remember the way he stared at the heap of plums on the kitchen counter weeks ago, the way his fingers had twitched with a want to take one, but he hadn’t. And the way he watched Wanda as she used them to make a pie he didn’t end up eating.

“Do you want some more?” Your voice is casual, warm. And when you glance up at him, he is already looking at you.

Then, almost abruptly, he clears his throat, dropping his gaze. The fingers of his metal hand flex once around the basket handle. He shifts his stance slightly but does not move away from you. When he speaks, his voice is low, almost careful, almost bashful.

“S’ fine.”

But you catch the almost-question in the way his eyes move around, how his fingers tighten and release.

So you grab a handful more and drop them into the bag without a word. Then you fold the top down and place it into the basket.

Bucky doesn’t look away this time.

And he continues wandering along with you through the aisles.

The plums sit among other products and you catch him glancing at them once or twice.

You reach for a carton of eggs when there is a shift.

Not in the air, not in the store itself, but in Bucky.

His posture tightens, his grip on the basket adjusts slightly. You don’t immediately know why, but then you turn your head and see a man standing a few feet away, watching you.

It’s not overtly threatening, not enough to draw attention, but something about his gaze lingers too long, too deliberate. His eyes trace the shape of you, moving slow, assessing. He isn’t leering, isn’t smirking, but the way he looks makes your skin prickle.

He seems to debate if he should say something. Waiting for an opportunity.

You barely have time to move away before Bucky does.

He doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t say a word, just shifts seamlessly into place - between you and the man.

It’s not a dramatic gesture. No sudden motions, no confrontational stance. Just his presence - him planting himself in the way, broad shoulders squaring, jaw setting, scowling.

That man takes his brown eyes away from you and meets Bucky’s gaze, and whatever he sees there - whatever lives behind those icy blue eyes - is enough to make him rethink his interest. He looks away, scratching the back of his head, shuffling back a step, and seems suddenly far more interested in bread.

You exhale softly. Bucky doesn’t move.

He stays right where he is, a silent wall between you and whatever attention you haven’t wanted. His scowl lingers for a second longer before he glances back at you, eyes sweeping over your face as if he is making sure you are fine.

You tilt your head, offering a small, gentle smile. “Everything good?”

His lips twitch, almost like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how to form those words.

“Yeah,” he mutters, swallowing.

But his stance is still slightly stiff, his fingers can’t stay calm around the basket handle. And he glances, just once, in the man’s direction - making sure he stays gone.

Something warm fills your chest.

You missed him, while you were gone.

He’s always such a grounding presence at your side.

You missed his dry, reluctant commentary whenever the team does something ridiculous.

You missed walking into the common area with him brooding in his usual chair, pretending not to listen to conversations he’d eventually grumble his way into.

He was there when you stepped off the jet yesterday.

It wasn’t necessary for him to be there, it was six in the morning, after all, but he was.

He hadn’t said much - he never says much - but his eyes ran over you in a way that told you he had been waiting. That there was something heavy underneath that furrowed brow and the almost too casual nod he gave you. Something like relief. Satisfaction. And something much more profound.

You remember how he was when you left.

Standing off to the side of the hangar, arms crossed, jaw pressed tight as you made your final checks. It also wasn’t necessary for him to be there, but, again, he was.

He said goodbye briefly, wished you luck, but in the way you felt him watch you board the jet it seemed there was more he wanted to tell you.

And when the engines had roared to life, when the ground beneath you had begun to shrink, you caught the last glimpse of him - standing stiff, pensive, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Now, he walks beside you, trailing just a half-step behind, his grip steady around the basket that should be in your hands, watching you more than anything you’re planning to buy.

Maybe that’s why he came with you.

Maybe that’s why he hasn’t strayed, why he hovers close, why his eyes find you like he is memorizing something he doesn’t want to lose track of again.

Maybe he missed you, too.

He is not grumpy, but there is still a tension in him. Something wound too tight in his shoulders, in the set of his jaw, in the way he glances at you like he wants to say something and then doesn’t.

You can’t have that.

Your eyes scan the shelves as you walk further along, knowing that Bucky will follow.

“What kind of soup does Steve eat?”

Bucky’s brows pull together at your casual question, as if he can’t believe that’s what you asked. “Soup?”

You nod, dead serious. “Yeah. I mean, does he have a favorite? Chicken noodle? Tomato? Something tragic, like plain broth?”

Bucky exhales sharply, almost a laugh and something in him relaxes ever so slightly. He tilts his head back a little as if this is the most absurd thing anyone has ever asked him, but he humors you.

“Steve doesn’t eat plain broth,” he says in that low rasp that sometimes sends a shiver down your spine. Now is sometimes. “He’s got more sense than that.”

You hum thoughtfully, reaching for a can on the shelf, inspecting it like it holds the answer to some great mystery.

“So what is it, then? Something classic? Or does he secretly go for the weird gourmet stuff?”

Bucky steps closer, peering over your shoulder. The fabric of his jacket brushes against your back.

You glance up at him, arching your brow.

“You don’t know, do you?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but his face is soft. The scowl has faded. There is a tug at the corner of his mouth. “Of course, I know.”

“Uh-huh.”

He huffs, reaching past you to grab a can from the shelf, fingers brushing yours briefly. “Clam chowder,” he utters. “There. Happy?”

You blink, genuinely caught off guard. “Wait. Really?”

Bucky smirks, just a little, just enough to be real.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a bit quieter. “Really.”

“Well, then,” you quip, taking the can off his hands and putting it in the basket. “He shall have it.”

Bucky huffs out an amused laugh.

You walk a little slower now, Bucky falls into step beside you. He seems lighter now, his face softened as he watches a little boy excitedly run off to a certain aisle while his mother calls out for him.

You plan on keeping him that way.

You spot a ridiculously, colorful display stacked high with an array of different kinds of peanut butter.

“Creamy or crunchy?”

Bucky blinks, turning to look at you. “What?”

You gesture toward the display like it’s obvious. “Steve. What kind of peanut butter does he eat? Creamy or crunchy?”

There is a beat of silence. Then, something seems to turn alive in Bucky’s expression. His lips twitch as if he suppresses a smirk and doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction.

“You serious?”

“Deadly.” You fold your arms, tilting your head. “I feel like he’s a creamy peanut butter guy, but I could be wrong.”

Bucky is hovering again, looking at the shelves like this is suddenly a debate worth considering. His arm brushes against your side, but he doesn’t move away.

“You’re wrong.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“He’s a crunchy guy,” Bucky says, reaching for a jar with his flesh hand and inspecting it like proof. “Says the creamy stuff’s got no texture. No character.”

You snort.

Bucky hums, still holding the jar, rolling it absently in his hand. He looks at ease. The basket dangles from his metal fingers as if it weighs nothing, even though it is filled with products.

You watch him.

The tension in his shoulders is practically gone and you know you should probably leave it there, but you don’t.

Because you want more.

More of this, more of him, more of that unguarded space where he forgets to be closed off.

So, you bite your lip and tilt your head at him before asking carefully. “What about you?”

Bucky glances at you, a small crease forming between his brows. “What about me?”

You gesture vaguely. “What kind of peanut butter do you like?”

For a moment, he just stares at you, like the question has never occurred to him before. Like no one’s ever bothered to ask.

You can almost see the gears turning in his head, his fingers tightening slightly around the jar. The hesitation is there. He doesn’t know how to answer. Perhaps he doesn’t know if he has a preference. Or it’s just been a long, long time since someone cared enough to ask.

You wait, patiently.

Finally, he lets out a cough, looking back at the display as if searching for an answer among the shelves. “…Crunchy,” he mutters. “I guess.”

You gin. “Yeah?”

He shifts his weight, looking rather uncomfortable but not in a bad way. Just unsure. This is unfamiliar ground for him, not knowing what to do with the attention.

You reach forward and pluck the jar from his hand before he can second-guess himself.

“Alright,” you say, dropping it into the basket with a decisive little thud. “Crunchy it is.”

Bucky observes you do it, something shimmering in his expression - something soft, a little hesitant, but warm. Like this tiny, seemingly meaningless choice holds a weight to him.

His jaw flexes slightly, as if he is about to say something, but he just exhales through his nose and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

But there is no bite to it.

And this time, he is the one to start walking, making sure you come along, staying just a little closer than before.

You are nearing the checkout registers when Bucky suddenly stops walking. It’s so abrupt that you almost keep going, but the absence of him beside you makes you pause.

You turn, finding him standing in front of a shelf, scanning its contents with a strange kind of focus, considering something.

You wait, watching the way his eyes search the options, his brows furrowing slightly. There is no tension in his posture, no obvious reason for the sudden stop - just deliberation.

Then, without a word, he reaches out, grasps a familiar-looking package, and drops it into the basket.

A soft thud.

Your gaze falls down, and your stomach does something strange when you realize what it is.

Chocolate-covered almonds.

The ones you always grab when you’re wandering the tower’s kitchen late at night, mind still wired from a mission, too awake to sleep but too tired to focus on anything real.

The ones you mindlessly snack on when you’re curled up on the couch, half-listening to, half-joining a conversation, or watching a movie.

The ones you didn’t even realize you had a thing for until you see them sitting in the basket between his plums, Steve’s soup, and the peanut butter Bucky prefers.

Your lips part slightly, surprised, searching his face. “You- Why’d you grab these?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate.

“Because you like them.”

Matter-of-fact. Simple. As if it’s obvious.

Just a fact.

Like it’s something he has known all along, something he has cataloged somewhere deep in that careful, quiet mind of his without ever making a big deal of it.

The realization unsettles you - not in a bad way, but in the kind of way that makes your chest feel suddenly too full.

You swallow, the corners of your lips twitching slightly, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

“How do you know that?”

The words leave your lips lightly, bright with curiosity, playful in their demand. But beneath it, there is something you don’t quite let slip.

Something about the fact that he’s been watching.

That he’s noticed.

That he has paid attention in a way you didn’t think anyone has.

His grip on the basket adjusts for the hundredth time, but not because it’s heavy, he just seems to need something to do with his hands.

He schools his expression into something nonchalant, something careless, but it’s betrayed by the hint of warmth dusting across his cheekbones.

“You’re always munchin’ on ‘em,” he says, a teasing edge lacing his voice. He tries to sound smug, like it is an observation, just a simple fact, but there is something softer beneath it. Something like fondness.

You don’t even know if it’s been that obvious. If you truly eat these things out in the open that often.

Or if he just really is that observant.

That realization settles deep in your chest, warm and startling all at once.

So you just huff, pretending like your heart isn’t skipping beats, like his answer isn’t winding around something tender inside you.

“Well,” you remark, nudging his arm as you start walking again, “now I feel self-conscious about my snacking habits.”

Bucky lets out a soft chuckle. And when he falls into step beside you, he leans in slightly, voice just low enough for you to hear.

“Don’t.”

“The most sincere compliment we can pay is attention.”

- Walter Anderson

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hradminist · 1 year ago

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theoraclephobetor · 2 years ago

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Just remembered the time a shit manager told me that my storm-triggered migraines were a superpower because I knew "when the weather would get real bad". Asked if she wanted temporary blindness and a frying pan to the skull every time she opened her fucking weather app.

3 days later I had a migraine and she didn't let me leave my shift. So I told every customer I saw that I was going to be slow ringing them through because I was losing my central vision and wasn't allowed to go home.

That lasted about five minutes before my manager demanded I leave 🤷 but that didn't stop 2 of the people from complaining to the regional director, which cost her a promotion.

#no moral here #except maybe dont piss off your disabled employees that already have their exit strategy #because sometimes we'll choose the nuclear option #surprise! your actions had consequences #ableism #migraines #retail #storytime

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

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AI and the fatfinger economy

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me at NEW ZEALAND'S UNITY BOOKS in WELLINGTON TODAY (May 3). More tour dates (Pittsburgh, PDX, London, Manchester) here.

Have you noticed that all the buttons you click most frequently to invoke routine, useful functions in your device have been moved, and their former place is now taken up by a curiously butthole-esque icon that summons an unwanted AI?

https://velvetshark.com/ai-company-logos-that-look-like-buttholes

These traps for the unwary aren't accidental, but neither are they placed there solely because tech companies think that if they can trick you into using their AI, you'll be so impressed that you'll become a regular user. To understand why you find yourself repeatedly fatfingering your way into an unwanted AI interaction – and why those interactions are so hard to exit – you have to understand something about both the macro- and microeconomics of high-growth tech companies.

Growth is a heady advantage for tech companies, and not because of an ideological commitment to "growth at all costs," but because companies with growth stocks enjoy substantial, material benefits. A growth stock trades at a higher "price to earnings ratio" ("P:E") than a "mature" stock. Because of this, there are a lot of actors in the economy who will accept shares in a growing company as though they were cash (indeed, some might prefer shares to cash). This means that a growing company can outbid their rivals when acquiring other companies and/or hiring key personnel, because they can bid with shares (which they get by typing zeroes into a spreadsheet), while their rivals need cash (which they can only get by selling things or borrowing money).

The problem is that all growth ends. Google has a 90% share of the search market. Google isn't going to appreciably increase the number of searchers, short of desperate gambits like raising a billion new humans to maturity and convincing them to become Google users (this is the strategy behind Google Classroom, of course). To continue posting growth, Google needs gimmicks. For example, in 2019, Google intentionally made Search less accurate so that users would have to run multiple queries (and see multiple rounds of ads) to find the answers to their questions:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/the-men-who-killed-google/

Thanks to Google's monopoly, worsening search perversely resulted in increased earnings, and Wall Street rewarded Google by continuing to trade its stock with that prized high P:E. But for Google – and other tech giants – the most enduring and convincing growth stories comes from moving into adjacent lines of business, which is why we've lived through so many hype bubbles: metaverse, web3, cryptocurrency, and now, of course, AI.

For a company like Google, the promise of these bubbles is that it will be able to double or triple in size, by dominating an entirely new sector. With that promise comes peril: growth must eventually stop ("anything that can't go on forever eventually stops"). When that happens, the company's stock instantaneously goes from being a "growth stock" to being a "mature stock" which means that its P:E is way too high. Anyone holding growth stock knows that there will come a day when those stocks will transition, in an eyeblink, from being undervalued to being grossly overvalued, and that when that day comes, there will be a mass sell-off. If you're still holding the stock when that happens, you stand to lose bigtime:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/03/06/privacy-last/#exceptionally-american

So everyone holding a growth stock sleeps with one eye open and their fists poised over the "sell" button. Managers of growth companies know how jittery their investors are, and they do everything they can to keep the growth story alive, as a matter of life and death.

But mass sell-offs aren't just bad for the company – it's also very bad for the company's key employees, that is, anyone who's been given stock in addition to their salary. Those people's portfolios are extremely heavy on their employer's shares, and they stand to disproportionately lose in the event of a selloff. So they are personally motivated to keep the growth story alive.

That's where these growth-at-all-stakes maneuvers bent on capturing an adjacent sector come from. If you remember the Google Plus days, you'll remember that every Google service you interacted with had some important functionality ripped out of it and replaced with a G+-based service. To make sure that happened, Google's bosses decreed that the company's bonuses would be tied to the amount of G+ activity each division generated. In companies where bonuses can amount to 90% of your annual salary or more, this was a powerful motivator. It meant that every product team at Google was fully aligned on a project to cram G+ buttons into their product design. Whether or not these made sense for users, they always made sense for the product team, whose ability to take a fancy Christmas holiday, buy a new car, or pay their kids' private school tuition depended on getting you to use G+.

Once you understand how corporate growth stories are converted to "key performance indicators" that drive product design, many of the annoyances of digital services suddenly make a great deal of sense. You know how it's almost impossible to watch a show on a streaming video service without accidentally tapping a part of the screen that whisks you to a completely different video?

The reason you have to handle your phone like a photonegative while watching a movie – the reason every millimeter of screen real-estate has been boobytrapped with an icon that takes you somewhere else – is that streaming services believe that their customers are apt to leave when they feel like there's nothing new to watch. These bosses have made their product teams' bonuses dependent on successfully "recommending" a show you've never seen or expressed any interest in to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/15/the-fatfinger-economy/

Of course, bosses understand that their workers will be tempted to game this metric. They want to distinguish between "real" clicks that lead to interest in a new video, and fake fatfinger clicks that you instantaneously regret. The easiest way to distinguish between these two types of click is to measure how long you watch the new show before clicking away.

Of course, this is also entirely gameable: all the product manager has to do is take away the "back" button, so that an accidental click to a new video is extremely hard to cancel. The five seconds you spend figuring out how to get back to your show are enough to count as a successful recommendation, and the product team is that much closer to a luxury ski vacation next Christmas.

So this is why you keep invoking AI by accident, and why the AI that is so easy to invoke is so hard to dispel. Like a demon, a chatbot is much easier to summon than it is to rid yourself of.

Google is an especially grievous offender here. Familiar buttons in Gmail, Gdocs, and the Android message apps have been replaced with AI-summoning fatfinger traps. Android is filled with these pitfalls – for example, the bottom-of-screen swipe gesture used to switch between open apps now summons an AI, while ridding yourself of that AI takes multiple clicks.

This is an entirely material phenomenon. Google doesn't necessarily believe that you will ever want to use AI, but they must convince investors that their AI offerings are "getting traction." Google – like other tech companies – gets to invent metrics to prove this proposition, like "how many times did a user click on the AI button" and "how long did the user spend with the AI after clicking?" The fact that your entire "AI use" consisted of hunting for a way to get rid of the AI doesn't matter – at least, not for the purposes of maintaining Google's growth story.

Goodhart's Law holds that "When a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure." For Google and other AI narrative-pushers, every measure is designed to be a target, a line that can be made to go up, as managers and product teams align to sell the company's growth story, lest we all sell off the company's shares.

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/2025/05/02/kpis-off/#principal-agentic-ai-problem

Image: Pogrebnoj-Alexandroff (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Index_finger_%3D_to_attention.JPG

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

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

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

#pluralistic #kpis #incentives matter #ui #ux #video streaming #google plus #g plus #ai #artificial intelligence #growth stocks #business #big tech

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ggidolsmuts · 17 hours ago

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Fromis App Part 17 (Final): Exit Strategy - Fromis_9 Seoyeon, Jisun, Jiwon, Hayoung, Nagyung, Saerom

A/N: Use the !. @. #. $. %. to quickly skip to the idol you want to read, it's in the order they appear in the title and below.

Seoyeon, Jisun, Jiwon, Hayoung, Nagyung, and Saerom.

One, two, three, four, five, six... and seven. The group Kakao chat is flooded with celebrations and congratulations. Baby storks will be visiting the employees of Fromis App in a few months time, and it's all thanks to you. How did it get to that point though? It all started with a meeting...

"Hey oppa."

"Hey Saerom, what's everyone doing here?"

"Oh, we thought it's best everyone is here for the meeting."

"You never told me what it's about, and Chaeyoung was evasive." You look around, and realize Chaeyoung isn't here, oddly enough. "Where is she anyways?"

"Home, I assume, or shopping for new clothes." Saerom claps her hands and gets everyone's attention. "Meeting's starting!"

"So, as most of you know, the Fromis company is being bought out, and the FROMIS app will be absorbed into their platform."

"Is... That good or bad?" you ask Saerom.

"Good, we get paid out very nicely. However, a condition of the pay out is that we stay on, golden handcuffs, if you will."

"I see." The other employees look bored, like none of this is news to them—Nagyung is on her laptop, Jisun's on her phone, and Seoyeon is writing in her notebook. "Why am I here then? I'm not an employee."

"I'm getting to that. As I said, we have to stay on, but there's a way around it, and we want you to help us."

"Help you?"

"Yes. There's a way we can stop working but still fulfill the golden handcuffs requirement, and that is if we go on maternity leave."

"Maternity leave, how am I—" You stop yourself mid-sentence, the blood suddenly pounding in your ears.

"Word around the office is you're having plenty of sex with all of us, and you added Chaeyoung to the list recently?" You suddenly felt put on the spot, like you've been caught with your hand (or cock, in this case) in the cookie jar.

"Umm, yes."

"Then we're all set. We've gone off birth control, so just keep doing what, or who I guess, you're doing, and just let things happen naturally."

"Right. Uhh, what if I can't make it happen? I haven't gotten tested or anything to make sure, you know, that everything works."

"Oh no no, we've tested you. You're very potent. You've only had sex with Chaeyoung once right?"

"Right, one night, but it was er, multiple times."

"Close enough, you're batting a hundred percent then."

"You mean—" The gears in your head turn just slow enough for Saerom to fill in the blank for you.

"Yes, that's why she isn't here, she's already on leave."

"And you're sure I did it?"

"You're the only guy she's slept with in months, so we're very sure. First time she gets some, and bam."

"Huh, okay, I guess that's good? What happens if all of you go on maternity leave though, can the company still run?"

"Yes yes, we have Jiheon our maknae, she can handle things, she's very good." Saerom dismisses your concerns. "That's all from me. Anyone else?" You spy someone fidgeting from the corner of your eye, but Saerom continues. "No? We're done then, this was more for you to know than anything, everyone else already understands and agrees." As they begin to file out, you call them back.

"Wait, I think Seoyeon's ready."

"Ready for?" You walk over to Seoyeon, and she doesn't resist when you pull her out of her chair.

"For us to go public." You bend her over the conference table, kissing her as the others gasp. You feel under her skirt, smiling into the kiss—she's not wearing any underwear. "This is what we've been doing in the building the whole time. We've just kept it under wraps." You shimmy your pants and boxers down, rubbing your cock against her slit before pulling it away briefly, just to show them how shiny Seoyeon has already made it. There are no gasps this time, just everyone holding their breaths, focused on the lewd scene unfolding in front of them.

"But since we all know what's going to be happening from now on, I don't think there's any need to hide what we do, is there Seoyeon?"

"No..." It comes out as a brittle sigh, her pussy clenching around your shaft sliding in. "It's okay if they see now. See how you use me, how I use you." She tilts her head, reaching for your neck as you continue pumping into her from behind. She sucks on your skin, leaving marks unabashedly on you.

"We should give them a better view," she whispers.

"Hold on then." Seoyeon leans back, rolling up her skirt and wrapping her hands around your neck. With a grunt you stand and lift her by her spread knees, showing everyone just how you're splitting her open. The atmosphere in the room immediately gets charged with arousal—to see you so openly lifting and fucking their petite colleague in an obvious show of virility and strength is causing their imaginations to run wild, about what you would do to them. You start moving slowly, pulling out almost all the way before pumping upward into her, to emphasize your cock disappearing into Seoyeon's fertile body.

"Ohh fuck, that's so deep!" Seoyeon cries out, getting into the act of being fucked so brazenly. Before, the thrill of getting caught was what turned her on—the danger of letting a moan leak, a squelch of her pussy if she's inevitably too wet and fucked too fast, the ability to hear others talking nearby, oblivious to your illicit act with her. But now, Seoyeon's finding the rush of being openly watched just as enticing—she's whining and whimpering, so wet that she's dripping down your balls, and she can see her colleagues looking at her. None of them are even moving, let alone trying to leave or hide their eyes, no they're openly watching, and getting aroused.

Getting aroused due to Seoyeon.

"Nngh I'm cumming!" All of them watch Seoyeon's legs shake helplessly in your arms as you ram an orgasm up through her, her head thrown back against your shoulder, a heel dangling loosely off one foot. In minutes you've wrecked her oh-so-perfectly, taking her apart so easily that there leaves little doubt in their minds—you're going to make them all cum their brains out while you breed them.

"Alright, tell me when," you mumble into Seoyeon's ear, ramping up your thrusting, bouncing her up and down a little to really drive yourself deep into her.

"Now please!" You let Seoyeon slip down slightly, and she is impaled deep on your cock as you unload into her. The others gasp as they watch a spurt of cum leak out from around your shaft—just how much did you cum that you're immediately leaking out of her? Seoyeon's low moan of satisfaction rumbles against your chest as you continue pumping potent seed into her. You draw your hips back, and lifted over the conference table Seoyeon shows them just how much you've left in her—a repeated thudding sound is heard as drop after thick drop of semen hit the table, staining the black varnish white.

You put Seoyeon back down, and she manages to straighten her skirt and fix her tousled hair a little before sitting down and cleaning the cumstain she just left, trying to pretend as if everything was normal.

"Let me know if you need another Seoyeon," you say, as if you're referring to the tissue paper you just handed her, rather than the baby you put in her.

"Sure, thanks oppa," she answers just as casually.

Seoyeon did ask you for more, but it was quickly clear that the first round got the job done, and she sent the group the first positive test to many cheers.

Jisun was the second one to send the group a positive test, but it came in the most surprising of ways—you finished using a condom!

"F-Fuck my ass, fuck it hard oppa!" Your arms burn as you ram the dildo hard into her ass. It was a compromise—Jisun wanted you in her ass, but that would be counterproductive to being reproductive, so she settled for damming herself on top of your cock as you filled her ass "manually". You could feel the dildo going through her, rubbing against your cock basically, but what's more enticing is Jisun's tits, dangling right in front of you like juicy melons as she arches her back on each deep thrust into her ass.

"Oh— Oh yes, suck on them!" You do just that, leaving her pointed tips shiny and dripping. Speaking of shiny and dripping, Jisun lifts her hips briefly, showing you just how slick your cock and the dildo have become before slamming herself back down on you.

"Fuck!" She screams as she double-penetrates herself. Jisun kisses you, grinding herself on your cock, rocking her hips back and forth, making both cock and dildo pump into her like a well-lubed engine. "Wish you could cum in both my holes..."

"Could go a second round, make you a runny mess down there." You squeeze handfuls of her chest, showing her just how little you would mind doing that.

"You think you could? Don't you— Hnngh! Need to save some for the others?"

"You can cook me something healthy and hearty, give me more energy after." You keep Jisun hips down, keeping her hilted on you as you sit up, allowing you to slam the dildo over and over into her ass. She slumps into you as she cums.

"Oh god my ass... Is all this just a ploy to get me to cook for you?" she asks, hair tickling your cheeks as she nuzzles you.

"Maybe, you are the best cook out of all of them, unless you think otherwise."

"How dare you, of course I am!" Jisun leaves a hickey on you in revenge. "God, such a Casanova aren't you? Sleeping around with everyone, and then judging their cooking after?" You kiss her harshly in response, her lips rosy red from your passionate indignance.

"Says the pure and chaste lady who agreed to be bred by me in a group effort, and has both her holes plugged up right now?"

"Fair." She sighs as you begin moving the dildo again—you didn't mind just staying inside Jisun, letting yourself last as long as you could as you played with her ass. "Best cook, what else am I the best at?"

"You have the best thighs." You run your hands up and down her juicy thighs, squeezing them.

"Don't let Saerom hear that."

"Best tits." You definitely take the chance to squeeze those, hearing her gasp as you flick her nipples.

"Don't let Hayoung hear that."

"Best pussy." You grind up into her, hearing her whine.

"Don't let any of them hear that."

"Best ass." You're gripping her cheeks, kneading them appreciatively.

"Don't let Chaeyoung hear that."

"Hm, best ass that let's me play with it." You apply a bit of pressure to the dildo, pushing it that little bit deeper and feeling Jisun tighten in response.

"Good point, but I think you're missing something."

"Am I?"

"Yup." Jisun leans in close, nibbling at your earlobe as she humps you. "Best mommy."

"Yeah? You think you'll be the best mother?"

"Not mother, mommy." You groan as her pussy contracts around you tightly—Jisun never skipped on her kegels. "Best at getting herself knocked up. I'm going to drain you right now, then I'm going to feed you, and then I'm going to drain you again."

"Fuck Jisun that sounds good." She was barely moving or bouncing on top of you, and yet your cock feels like it's getting tugged on, pulled on over and over to try and get your cum out of you.

"Yeah? Does it feel good? Does trying to make me a mommy feel good?" Jisun's breathing heavily too—your hand never stopped moving, fucking her ass with slow thrusts of the dildo.

"Yes, fuck yes Jisun!"

"Then cum, give me that thick cum you've stored up, give— Hnngh!" Jisun takes it from you, cumming from the anal stimulation, and her suddenly uncontrollable tightening around your shaft has you launching your potent load up into her. She collapses on top of you, her chest cushioning her fall and pressed against you, your heartbeats thundering in tandem. As you soften you feel your crotch get warmer, your load beginning to leak out of her.

"Can I feed you later?" Jisun asks quietly.

"You don't have to, I was kidding about the whole cooking thing."

"No, not that... I know we shouldn't waste any of it, but I really want you in my ass."

"No one else has to know, if you really want it."

"Okay." Without a second word Jisun slips down your body, her plump lips around your shaft promptly, cleaning you and getting you hard again. Your eyes are closed, enjoying her cleanup effort. You even let out a decadent moan when you feel your cock get squished between two comfortable pillows—Jisun's really trying to get you as hard as you can. You only open your eyes when you hear a crinkle.

"Condom?"

"Just in case I want you to plug the leak." She turns around to show you, her lightly parted lips still dripping with your load, and right above it, the dildo still deep in her. "But what are you waiting for?"

Jisun has a point. You pull the dildo out of her with little ceremony and plug the gaping hole immediately, a deep groan bursting from her lungs as you push the air out of her. You're definitely deeper in her compared to the dildo, because her reactions to you pumping in and out of her now are nothing like before—her cries are loud and unadulterated, flesh rippling as you pump into her ass. Jisun pushes her hips against you, trying to get you deeper into her, and you lift her slightly, her knees almost off the bed when you pull and yank her small juicy body against you.

"Hnngh fuck! Don't stop, open me up!" You slap a hand on her cheek and pull, making Jisun's hole stretch that little bit more. "Oh god I missed this, missed a real cock in my ass." She whines when you pull out, and looking past where you're plugged in her ass you see the puddle of cum get bigger by the moment, each thrust making her clench and shake, causing more to drip out. "Uhff!" she's huffing, groaning as you stretch out her second hole. You lean over her, grabbing a breast and squeezing it, playing with her stiff tip.

"Such a handful, literally," you snarl and kiss her wanting lips. "Wasting a perfectly good load too."

"Sorry, ah, sorry!" You slap her thighs, red handmark planted conspiciously on her thigh—no short dresses for Jisun for a while, and then for a few months after. You pull on her tits, squeezing them and leaving them red too. Jisun isn't a glutton for punishment, but she doesn't mind at all when you get a little rough, her soft flesh jiggling perfectly to absorb everything you have for her.

"Just cum with my cock in your ass already." You pull back to the very tip before slamming home into Jisun's ass, and she detonates with a choked cry. She shivers underneath you, anal walls gripping you tighter than ever, and you simply let yourself go, your throbbing cock pushing against her contractions, filling the condom fully. You land on top of her, and her arms give way, the two of you collapsing on the bed.

"Ah... fucking unbelievable..." Jisun sighs, kissing your cheek.

"Remember, no more anal until the job's done."

"I know I know. Just, just leave it in me for a little longer."

When you finally pull out, you're soft, and devilishly you leave the condom in her ass.

"Take it out, it's going to spill out if I sit up!" Jisun whines.

"No, now you have two loads in your holes, just like you wanted." You stay the night, and your nose wakes up to the smell of Jisun's delicious cooking the next morning. To both you and Jisun's pleasant surprise, a few weeks later her test comes back positive even if your final load with her ended up in a rubber.

Buoyed by Jisun's meal the third positive reading came quite quickly after the second...

"About time you came over, my stocks aren't doing so well, so I need another line to be going up." Jiwon flashes her prepared pregnancy kits at you.

"I'll try my best." Jiwon's hands land on your shoulders, gently squeezing you, pulling you close... And then she pauses, nose crinkling.

"Jisun?"

"Yeah, I spent the night with her."

"Do you need to take a day off today? It's no good trying and trying and not getting enough rest." You hold Jiwon's hands, interlocking fingers with her before letting them drift down her palms and to her wrists, growling as you watch them go limp.

"No, Jisun made me a delicious meal, and I'm ready to have another one." Jiwon's eyes flutter shut, ready to be eaten. She sighs when you breath on her neck, and she's trembling in your hands—a fertile Jiwon is simply ready to be devoured. "You don't want me to take a day off do you? You want this so bad."

"Y-Yeah, I, I really want it." It leaves her as a whimsper, a whimper and a whisper. You're happy to take your time kissing Jiwon, her hands resting on your shoulders as you move yours down her body, feeling her curves through her dress. "Please, let's go to the bed."

"Okay." Jiwon's eager, and she jumps into you, wrapping her legs around your hips. But almost immediately she lets herself down, an alert ringing in from her home office. "Oh, let me just check—"

"No." You hug her from behind, making her feel what she's responsible for against her lower back. "What are you doing?"

"The US markets, they just opened over there, let me check my investments—"

"No, not tonight." You re-wrap your arms around Jiwon, pinning them to her sides. "Just hold and let things... grow." A hand runs down to her belly, and Jiwon shudders as you press firmly down on her, where she's going to grow.

"Just let me take a quick look—"

"Fine." You lift Jiwon, carrying her to her office and plopping yourself in her chair with her in your lap. "You have one minute." Jiwon's hands shoot forward to her keyboard, and your hands are not idle either, pulling her dress up.

"30 seconds," you hiss, feeling the immediate bare skin between Jiwon's thighs—no panties, god, she's just begging to be bred at this point.

"It hasn't even been 30 seconds yet!"

"I don't care." You pull Jiwon's dress up further and manage to shimmy your bottoms off just enough to pull your hardness out. "5 seconds." You're already sliding into her.

"Hnngh wait, ah!" You push yourself off the chair, tipping Jiwon forward against the desk. "Bed, bed!"

"Can't wait," you're grunting, hand slipping under the side of her dress and pawing at her chest. Maybe it's Jisun's meal, or the sight of Jiwon in what is effectively a honeymoon dress, but you feel your thoughts slipping away. "Fucking you now."

Jiwon isn't fairing much better, the graphs and tickers on her screen blurring with every thrust into her. She's already forgotten what she wanted to do, why she needed to look at the market today. All she can feel is your cockhead pressing right against her womb, your hands firmly around her hips—she's not going anywhere until she's thoroughly "invested" in.

"Oh god, right there, you're so deep, too deep!" Her face is pressed into the keyboard, leaving imprints on her cheek but hopefully not actually triggering any hotkeys on her computer. Your breath is hot in her ear, huffing as you shake the desk, slamming into her from behind. Briefly you feel her flail her legs against you before she hiccups cutely and goes limp. You spy her expression as you kiss her cheek—Jiwon's eyes are rolled into her head, mouth open, drooling on to her keyboard. A warm spray of her juice splatters against your thighs—she's your prey, conquered and submitting to the pleasure, to her desires both carnal and biological. With a satisfied growl you press yourself over her, and Jiwon whines as her womb is filled with thick, almost syrupy, semen, laden with virility. Her mind's playing tricks on her, but Jiwon almost feels heavier when she's pulled back on to the chair on top of you.

"I expect rapid growth from you."

"Me too," Jiwon leans back against you, sighing into your neck. "Feels so thick, like it's never going to come out..." She's playing with the little bit leaking from her pussy.

"That's the goal. Do you need to do anymore checking?"

"No, it's a lost day already. The money's made in the opening minutes." Jiwon wraps her arms around your neck, pouting a little. "Take me to bed, I'm going to need... an injection of liquidity."

You carry her to the bedroom, and Jiwon pushes you away with a giggle once you get there. She makes a show of removing her dress, a bit of pointless flirting as you're already hard again at the sight of the complete lack of underwear underneath and your previous load sliding down the inside of her thighs.

"You know," you're on top of her now, her thighs loosely spread for you—she already wants more. "I'm thinking this might not be a good investment, you're staying up late all the time, ignoring your agreed upon responsibilities to check the market. Where's the condom, I might need to protect my investment." It's a fake threat, and like a magnet your cock is already drawn to Jiwon's warm core, entering her with a smooth thrust.

"No! I'll be good, I promise."

"What do you promise? I hope you're not making risky trades."

"No, no more risky trades, no more crypto, only safe investments from now on."

"Crypto? Oh no, that's very risky. I really might need a condom." You tease her, hands playing with her chest once more—not big, but they're plenty fun handfuls.

"No, no more. I'll be safe so..." Jiwon wraps her legs around your back, locking you in. "Please do me raw."

"Always," you groan as you pull and push back into her, her wetness and tightness and creaminess almost overwhelming you—damn Jiwon is needy right now. Every gasp and sigh is designed to pump blood to your cock, every drag of her nails across your back primally calculated to get your balls to start producing more sperm, every squeeze of her thighs around you fundamentally insistent on getting you to leave her a bubbling fertilized mess.

You do just that.

"Oh god, right there, fuck me right there, please cum, give me cum, I want it, I want it I want it I want it—" Jiwon yelps when you slam into her and then don't move. She hears the raw growl that rips from your throat, and then feels the sudden burst of warmth inside her, and she's tipped over the edge one last time. She loses herself, contracting around you, the bed instantly wet as she squirts uncontrollably with a loud wail. The rush of fluids over your cock make you fuck her even harder, sending the last few potent shots of cum even deeper into her.

"So warm, so happy..." Jiwon sighs at the creamy mess your connection has become, a weight lifted off her back and perhaps growing elsewhere in her.

"You made such a mess."

"Your fault, I can't help it, you make me feel so good, I get so wet, and then it just happens."

"Well, there's going to be quite a few messes to clean up soon, good to get some practice now." Jiwon blushes a vivid pink at the thought.

"Hopefully you're right."

While you waited on Jiwon's positive test, you got to work on Hayoung's, and work it was, considering the time and place of it happening.

"You want to do it... here?" You're somehow back in the security room, having Hayoung drag you through the gradually emptying out hallways of the company. She's somehow pulled a whole couch into the security room. "Where did you even get this?"

"Lounge, with people leaving and you knocking some of us up and out, we don't really need it in the lounge anymore, so I thought, why not?"

"That's true, but why'd you ask me here?"

"Why do you think?" Hayoung pushes you to the couch, a playful tilt to her voice.

"You really want to do it here?"

"Why not, we've done it plenty of times here."

"I guess, just figured you'd want some place more private."

"This is plenty private, besides, where else can we have so much screen space." Before you can ask what she means by that, she pulls up multiple recordings—the time you fucked Jiwon in Saerom's office, the few indiscretions you had with Seoyeon, the other time you fucked in Saerom's office, except this time it was Nagyung. Front and center though, was the recording from when you bred Seoyeon right there in front of all of them in the conference room.

"Hmm, I guess this is more than appropriate," you murmur as Hayoung settles in front of you, allowing you to wrap an arm around her. It was almost like a intimate movie night, except the movie was porn.

"Yeah, what's one more fuck in the office?" Hayoung turns to kiss you passionately, and your hand slips under her shirt, her smooth skin raising goosebumps in the cold whirr of the security room AC.

"Mm, what's one more baby made in the office?" You undo her pants, and Hayoung quickly shimmies it off as you get rid of your own jeans. Your hand dives underneath her thin panties, feeling her wetness—she's ready.

"Ah, just do me like this, do me while we watch the videos." You kick off your boxers and pull her panties to the side, and leisurely you slide into Hayoung, her raised leg resting on yours a little awkwardly to give you access.

"Is that comfortable?"

"It'll be fine, just stay in me." The couch creaks slightly as you start moving, pushing in and out of Hayoung best you could. Underneath her shirt you push her bra up, palming her pebbled tips, and she sighs contentedly. "That's nice, keep doing it."

Watching the security footage of you fucking the other employees, neither of you hurry, slowly getting both of you wetter and harder as time passes.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask her.

"Wondering what they were feeling, what they thought as it happened? I wonder what Seoyeon and Jisun felt when you did it."

"Having second thoughts?"

"No, just, it's nice to share you, but I also wonder what they felt."

"You really are an F. What about you, what are you feeling?"

"Feels nice, but also um, nervous? Like I know this is peak fertility for me right now and— Oh!" Hayoung gasps as she feels you twitch inside her, getting a little bigger. "You like that?"

"Yeah, you never wondered about how I felt?" She blushes a little, looking almost ashamed.

"Not really? Not my best F moment."

"I'll tell you later, you said you are nervous?" Hayoung's starts unbuttoning her shirt, revealing her delectable chest to you, her bra misplaced thanks to your hands.

"Yeah, it should feel different right, but how different would it feel, and don't accidents happen? So that means it didn't feel different, so I'm not sure—" You kiss Hayoung to quiet her, pulling her leg over your hips, trying to angle yourself deeper into her.

"How did that feel?"

"Good, you're really deep." Hayoung's hand drifts down to her tummy, and you join her there, letting her guide you to gently press on her lower abdomen. "You're like... here or something."

"Does this feel different?" You nudge forward, trying to reach even deeper, until you can't go any further, pushing against the end of Hayoung. You can tell it does, her breath catching in the kiss. "That's where I'll be when I cum." Hayoung clenches around you in response, she realizes what the difference is—intent. The accidents are merely a possible consequence of unprotected sex, but now, Hayoung's actively trying, and you're very actively trying to knock her up. A thrill runs up her spine, and Hayoung's sensitivity spikes immensely.

"Yes it does feel different, you're so, ah, hard!" All of a sudden Hayoung's pussy is milking you, contracting around you like she's on edge.

"Yeah? You like it more now?"

"Yes, it's so hot, oh fuck." Hayoung suddenly feels far too hot in the cold security room, she's going into some sort of heat. "T-Tell me how it feels for you!"

"It feels better than regular sex, you get extra sticky inside, so nice to thrust into."

"Hnngh more, tell me more!"

"It's so hot when you tell me you're fertile, and I don't have to tell you when I'm close, because there's no fucking doubt where I'm going to finish, you're practically begging for it."

"Yes I- I am, I will! Did the others beg too?"

"In their own ways." Hayoung's begging for your cum in her own way, legs and arms trying to loop around your hip and shoulders and through your limbs, as if tying herself to you so you can't pull out. "Seoyeon scratches the hell out of me, Jisun drains me with both holes. You know the best part?"

"What is it?"

"They cum extra hard, they love it so much it feels so good, and then I— fuck!" The mere thought of cumming hard has Hayoung writhing against you, and she's dragging you down with her, forcing you to do just as you planned to describe. Hayoung feels it briefly before the stars take her—you exploding deep inside her, filling her womb with potential life! She's not sure if she's screaming or not, but by the time she comes down, her throat is strained raw, her limbs like jelly, and yet she feels fulfilled, satisfied at the deep breaths you take against her neck.

"Fuck, I cum just like that," you manage. You continue grinding your hips into Hayoung mindlessly, trying to drain your balls fully inside her.

"Wow, it feels like that every time?"

"Yeah, we'll do it as many times as needed."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Until we get a positive." Slowly Hayoung gets on top of you, a small grin on her face.

"You have a loophole, I'm just never getting a test then."

"I guess we'll have to keep trying then." A few strokes from Hayoung is enough to get you hard again, and her creamy warmth envelopes you this time.

"I guess so, and this time, we're going to film it."

Hayoung did eventually do a test, and much to the surprise of a few people (including you) who opened the message in public, Hayoung attached a "home recording" of the process to the message too. Regardless, Hayoung was satisfied biologically if not hedonistically (she tried to get you to film the others even), but you could focus on those who come after. And poetically, just like the first time you found FROMIS app, as if it was written, Saerom and Nagyung demanded to do it with you, together.

"Oppa, wait till you see what we brought."

"I'm already the luckiest guy in the world, you don't need to tell me I got luckier."

"Well, we might need a little bit more luck. It's never a guarantee, but we'll try to stack the odds in our favor," Nagyung chirps, carrying two large grocery bags full of food and water.

"Stack the odds how? With those grocery bags?"

"That's just for the week. No Jissen cooked up some herbal tea for you, and some floral tea for us. I tried a sip and ugh, I had to do everything to make sure I had enough energy for tonight." As Saerom tells you that, you feel just how warm she is when she slips her arm around your elbow.

"Horny?"

"More than that, I got myself off like three times and it barely changed anything. It's all sticky and gooey, like I need someone to get in me and clean me out, to rub against me everywhere inside I— You're going to have to fuck me first," Saerom ends quietly, blushing at her own neediness.

"She made me promise not to drink it until after the first round, I don't know what Jisun unnie cooked but Saerom hasn't been quite right the whole day." You see how right Nagyung is when you get into the elevator—Saerom's practically rubbing against you, leaning into your body, hungry for skin-to-skin contact. As soon as you're inside Saerom's apartment she's on you, hands already lifting your t-shirt.

"Go ahead and get started, I'll make sure the fridge is well-stocked." Nagyung's only halfway through emptying the first bag of groceries when she hears Saerom's moan of relief.

"God unnie, you really couldn't wait could you?" Nagyung quickly pushes the entire second grocery bag into the fridge, slamming it shut behind her before she hurries to get in on the action.

"Nakko, it feels so good!" Saerom squeals in greeting. She's riding you in reverse cowboy, all of her clothes still on except for her panties. Saerom rolls her hips like no tomorrow, making sure your cock rubs against every inch of her walls, and Nagyung has the perfect view, watching Saerom's gooey cream coat your shaft liberally. Your arms hook Saerom's shoulders, pulling her back on to you in a great show of her flexibility, and Nagyung's round eyes almost pop when she sees the smallest of bulges between Saerom's legs, where your cock is jammed up against her front wall.

"God you're so fucking tight right now!" Saerom groans and grunts as you plow into her from below, her toned body bucking and bracing against the hold, trying to slam herself down on to you. She keeps asking you to fuck her harder, and the squelch between her legs gets lewder and lewder until things reach its natural climax. From Nagyung's point of view it is less an explosion and more of a bubbling over, your cum slowly leaking out of the connection, but internally Saerom is exploding, the pleasure driving her pussy to grip and milk you until you've painted every inch of her walls with cum.

"Wow, unnie, are you okay?"

"Never better. Get oppa his tea, and then it's your turn." You're quickly fed a cup of Jisun's herbal tea, and as soon as Nagyung's done stripping you're on her, mirroring Saerom's own aggressiveness.

"Fuck Nagyung, what's in that tea?" You can feel the blood rushing down your body and a tingling down there, like your reproductive system is working on Adderall or perhaps more appropriately, Red Bull. The warmth gathers between your legs, and the more you see Nagyung naked in front of you, the less brain function you have.

"I don't know, Jisun unnie made it. Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah, but I— Yeah I need to cum in you." Your mind is a little blunt, your actions even more so as you grab a handful of Nagyung's chest and squeeze.

"Looks like someone's ready," she purrs, and she manages to get on top of you. You throw your head back, the warmth of her walls almost cooling to the fire in your hips.

"Ohhh, yeah that's good, that feels good." To your tea-addled brain Nagyung's wrapped around you like she was always meant to be, but to Nagyung she feels like she's being spread, stretched, expanded, hollowed out, all the synonyms for "boring a hole straight to her womb" all at once.

"Nngh you're too big!" The blood rushing to your cock making you one large breeding stick buried deep in her.

"No, just almost too big." You grab Nagyung's tiny waist and begin moving her up and down your cock, leaving her wailing in intense pleasure. You're spreading her thin, stretching her walls and making sure you're hitting every spot that just lights her brain up.

"It's... Haah!" she tries to move her hips to keep up with you, but it's no use—her legs don't work, her muscle control no longer there as you overload her with bliss, and she hasn't even drunk the tea yet! She leans back, trying to get away from you a little. But it just makes things worse, you're push against her front walls like you did with Saerom earlier, grinding against her g-spot .

"Too much, it's too much unnie!" Nagyung wails to Saerom, who's now providing her with support, letting Nagyung lean against her while she's fucked up and into.

"You can do it, he's going to cum soon, he's going to cum so deep in you..." Nagyung can feel it too, your throbbing length pushing against her pussy, and she's responding in kind, clenching around you.

"I— Ahh!" Nagyung snaps, and she bucks so hard you slip out of her, to disastrous results. You're bucking as well in orgasm, and as you slip out everyone notices the effect of Jisun's tea—the strength and volume of your eruption is so great that your first shot of cum blasts them across the face. Subsequent shots land on Nagyung, staining her skin in white all over.

But you're not done.

"Move, get her the tea." You wave Saerom off, flipping Nagyung on her stomach, cum and all soiling the bedsheets.

"Oppa?"

"Haven't cum in her yet." Saerom watches you stroke yourself hard and quickly follows your order. She returns to find you proneboning Nagyung, hands on her lower back—this time you're not slipping out of her.

"So, hnngh, good..." Nagyung trails off, eyes rolling in her head. Despite her improved stamina over time, something about the way you're fucking her now is unmanageable. Her petite pixie body trembles as you bounce your hips off her again and again, and when you cum this time, you sink fully into Nagyung and growl.

"Take it all!" Her hands grip the sheets, tighter and tighter as you continue to fill her, until finally the heat becomes too much, she chokes a sigh out and goes limp. When you pull out you see that you've left her drooling from both holes—spit from one, cum from the other.

"God she's out again. What now?" Saerom asks. You spy the white trickle down the inside of her thigh, and the need to add to that trickle flares up.

"Want to go again? Grab one of mine?"

"Are you— Yeah, okay." Saerom almost wants to question you, but she stops short—you're sweaty, flushed with exertion from the latest round with Nagyung. You should be tired, spent, drained, yet you still want to knock her up, and it makes Saerom feel wanted like never before. When she comes back with your drink you make her wait, pulling her down next to you.

"Love shot."

"Cheesy." Saerom laughs before hooking her arm around yours, the two of you downing your shots of sex in one gulp. "It's so much stronger!" You feel a tug on your neck—she's pulling you down with her, chest heaving and legs spread.

"You okay?" You hover over Saerom, your eyes meet, and Saerom's pupils dilate right in front of you, her grip around your neck tensing.

"Yeah I— I need you. Put a baby in me." She's still more coherent than you, because all you can manage is a simple nod. You push in, groaning as you watch Saerom's abs flex—she's gripping you tighter than before! As soon as you're in she wraps her legs around you, and she's already bucking up into you, trying to get to the fucking right away. Saerom's so tight but so wet, so easy to push into, and both of you are delirious with need.

"Fuck me, fuck me harder!" she cries into your ear, and you slam into her, drawing out yelps of pleasure. The two of you are one organism, working in tandem to produce another. Saerom whines for you to get deeper, so you push her legs back, folding her in half and letting you plunge into her tightness fully. A dull twinge runs through Saerom—either from you thumping against her cervix or from her legs being pushed so far back, but it didn't matter, so long as you cum deep in her.

"Cumming," you grunt, and Saerom quickly plays with her clit, wanting to finish with you, to have her body drain you at the perfect time. Her ankles seize around your neck, holding you there as you pour a full load straight into her womb, drowning it with potent seed. Neither of you are done though, and after a short rest period of kissing and catching your breath in between the kisses, you're ready for more.

"Doggy." You're reduced to one word sentences, but Saerom follows your actions, letting you flip her around and pull her hips up. As soon are you're hard enough you start rutting into her, humping her like it was the only thing you knew how to do. You watch her ass and thighs jiggle against you, back muscles flexing in pleasure, and you need to see more of it, so you fuck her harder, getting bigger inside her as you're back to full hardness.

"That's it, fill me up again, need your baby—" Saerom feels it too, your thrusts reaching deeper into her again, the throbbing inside her pussy becoming more insistent. Saerom finds herself moaning into a sudden kiss, her head suddenly twisted to face you.

"Our baby." Saerom whimpers into your mouth, her emotions turned up to eleven. Pinned underneath you, her tongue thrashing against yours is the only way she can express her pleasure right now, and it is twisting and tangling, wanting every part of you to hold her down and breed her.

"Give it to me, I want our baby. Lock me down and knock me up."

"This is the one." The tea is wearing off, you're more coherent now, and there's only clarity as to what's going to happen.

"Yes!" Saerom simply agrees, gasping as you start thrusting even harder.

When it happens both of you burst into loud moans of satisfaction, hot virile seed rushing out of you and into her, the biological pressures of shooting and squeezing working to fill Saerom to the very brim and then some. You collapse on top of her, breathing heavily, leaving hickeys on her neck and more than a trickle down her thighs.

"You know, I'm so glad you found the app," Saerom whispers.

"I'm so glad you found me," you argue back, kissing her tenderly.

Fast forward to today, somehow the plan went off without a hitch, the company is doing fine, even doing some sort of a re-launch with a few employees that ended up sticking around, but that's none of your business anymore. You have a new FROMIS to care about.

Final ROMance Is Saerom.

A/N: That's a wrap to the series. I actually started thinking and planning this during Chaeyoung's chapter, but then time was cut short by the new Fromis comeback (go check that out!). Sadly I couldn't get this out before the comeback, but because of that I get to use that Jisun pic lol. I'll still write for the members, but just wanted to put a cap on the series. Thanks for reading!

#smut #fromis9 #seoyeon #jisun #jiwon #hayoung #nagyung #saerom

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waynes-multiverse · 6 months ago

Text

The Exit Strategy – Part 1

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there's one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, mystery, a tinge of angst, humor & brotherly banter, one tiny surprise 🤓

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Happy holidays, guys! Enjoy 🎄❤️

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 1: This Is Not a Pipe

The heavy truck door slammed shut behind him as Russell slid into the passenger seat with an exhaustive sigh. Colter’s big pickup was parked right next to his beautiful Chevelle in that same old motel parking lot in Virginia.

Russell hadn’t moved – yet. Well, sort of. He’d been away on assignment in some frosty region for a couple of weeks. He wasn’t allowed to say where exactly he’d been, and he knew better than to put it into writing, so let’s just agree he was at the North Pole looking for Santa Claus.

He could’ve ended up anywhere he wanted once he touched ground in the States again, but a very appreciated phone call from a former colleague made the decision for him. Besides, Russell knew this particular motel well. The coffee was more than decent and got the job done, the owner and employees were nice, comforting, and, most of all, trustworthy, and there were always fresh towels.

“Extra fluffy for you, Mr. Russell,” Rosa, the maid, would say every morning with the brightest smile.

Oh, and they had a hot tub in the back…

“Thanks for coming, man,” Russell extended his greeting without glancing at his younger brother once. He could feel Colter’s scrutinizing eyes on him, though, drilling for answers. Granted, his request had been rather unusual, so Russell understood where his younger brother’s ever-frozen furrowed brow stemmed from.

Providing answers didn’t come easy for the older Shaw, however. In fact, it had always been sort of a problem for him – even in the past. Especially in the past. Russell never lied, but he did omit things. Important things. On purpose.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Colter replied with a polite smile as he started the car and rolled out of the lot.

Ah, yes, politeness…

That was what they were at, although it was progressively improving. It was only the third time the brothers were seeing each other since they had reconnected. And while the last two encounters had given the Shaws some well-needed time to talk things out and build trust, Colter was still naturally wary of his estranged sibling. As was Russell.

“So, what’s this about? You were pretty vague on the phone. You in trouble?”

That finally caught Russell’s full attention. He quickly shook his head, causing his hair to fall into his face. “What? No! No… No trouble,” he swiftly assuaged his brother with a dismissive hand gesture and a lighthearted chuckle. “Just need your help tracking down an old friend of mine, is all.”

Colter quirked an eyebrow at that. “Another Army buddy of yours?”

“Uh, something like that, yeah,” Russell replied rather mysteriously and didn’t even try to conceal the fact that he was hiding something more behind his ambiguous answer. But Colter only intensified his stare at him and wouldn’t let go that easily. Russell knew that. After all, they were related.

Persistence was a Shaw family trait. Another survival skill, if you will.

But this time, Russell wasn’t hiding a big government secret (or maybe he was). No lives depended on this particular mission (or so he thought). He wasn’t protecting a client, a company, or even his dubious employer (but someone else). He wasn’t choked by an NDA or about to save someone in grave danger (as far as he knew).

No, if anything, it was the fact that Russell didn’t know how much he could or should share with his brother. They were related, yes. But, technically, they hadn’t seen each other in decades, so they weren’t just considered merely estranged but strangers. Russell had always been aware of that fact, and Colter was beginning to catch on.

Especially during this mission.

See, once upon a time, the two hadn’t been just brothers. After moving to the cabin, societal contacts became scarce for the siblings. All they had was them. They were friends. Best friends. Always competitive, but friends nonetheless.

How much did they really know about each other now, though? How much of the old was still there?

“So, who are we looking for? What’s the guy’s name?” Colter asked, suddenly eager as he jumped into gear. He had always been restless, even as a kid, which fondly reminded Russell of their childhood.

But how much was he still the Russell that Colter once knew?

Well, Russell, on the other hand, remained calm and ruffled a casual hand through his beard. “Well, she’s, uh–”

Eyebrow cocked, Colter snapped his head to the passenger seat where his brother started to squirm. “Oh… Oh, so it’s a she,” he emphasized with a small grin. “Now I think I get it.”

There it is. I knew it, Russell thought with an internal sigh. In order for this mission to work, he knew he had to reveal some things. Private things. Things about himself and his life. Going in, Russell knew he couldn’t ask Colter for help without giving him something.

Their father had loved tests (and so did you – but that’s another story…). Russell always thought it had been the professor in him. So, Russell saw this as a test as well.

Could he trust Colter? And more pressingly, considering some long held accusations of murder, did Colter trust him?

A clear of Russell’s throat cut right through Colter’s chuckle. And then, the eldest tried his best to give no reaction at all. “Yes, she’s a… woman, but hold your horses. It’s not what you think, okay?” Colter lifted his eyebrow once more, causing Russell to heave another exhaustive sigh. “Fine, alright? It’s exactly what you think.”

Well, close enough, Russell thought. He knew Colter couldn’t even possibly imagine the reality in his wildest dreams.

Usually, Russell was an expert in avoiding uncomfortable questions. He was a pro at ditching answers and keeping secrets, even under torture and duress. However, there was just something entirely unique about dodging questions posed by little brothers.

And Russell saw it as a perfect bonding opportunity. He wanted to fill the chasm between them that their father’s death had caused – once and for all. But he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t walking around on eggshells most of the time – something that reminded him of you again.

Learning from past mistakes, Russell wanted Colter to experience the fun side of him. The one that brewed his own beer, cared too much about his car, and had weird tastes in food. He chose to leave out the rest – the dark stuff and the very best stuff, too.

After all, Russell was good at omitting things.

Colter chuckled triumphantly. “Does this mean you’re finally giving up on Reenie?”

Amused, Russell let out a snort. “Ha! You wish… First things first, alright? Let’s just see how this thing pans out. It’s kind of a long shot. You know that exit plan I told you about?”

“Yeah, you wanna open your own brewery, right?”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say in an ideal world this, uh, woman would be part of that exit,” Russell said and sounded purposely casual as if he didn’t care the mission was successful or not in the end, omitting yet another thing – he did care.

He cared a fucking lot.

“Really? Okay.” Colter scratched his jaw and gave his words some thought. Then he offered a small, yet kind, smile. Honestly, Russell didn’t know what he had expected. “But, you know, if you want me to find the future Mrs. Shaw, I’m gonna need more information to go on. A name, last address, or a-, uh, a picture, maybe?”

“Well, name’s not gonna help you much in this case.” Your first name might’ve been shareable intel, but your last name was of the highest classification. “Her last address that I know of was in Berlin. And while I do have one photo of her, it’s not meant for your eyes, brother,” Russell said with a firmly territorial look that still carried a mischievous twinkle, revealing the exact nature of the photograph to be indeed inappropriate.

Russell had one naughty photo, yes. But he had a whole giant box of others, too.

Colter’s eyebrows met above his nose as he licked his lips. Customarily, people gave him more details when they needed him to find someone. But then again, those people usually weren’t his brother. “Do you know anything about this woman? How long have you two dated?”

“Uhm… not that long,” Russell supplied with a clear of his throat before mumbling the rest of his answer, hoping his beard would swallow most of his words. “Ten years. Give or take…”

What is time anyway if nothing but a concept, right?

Colter blinked at him and almost steered the vehicle off-road before gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I’m sorry… Did you just say ten years?”

“Well, might be more like twelve,” he admitted finally. “Well, anyways, saw her last three years ago.”

“Wow, okay, uhm…” Colter became quiet for a moment, speechless probably, the tiny bits of information running on a loop through his mind. He figured his brother still had lived a life while they hadn’t been speaking. Of course he had. He just never thought about what that life might have entailed, aside from classified military operations. “So, you’ve dated a woman for twelve years…”

“Fourteen.”

“…haven’t seen her in three, and know basically nothing about her?”

Russell snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I know. Ridiculous… Not even sure the name she did give me was her real one,” he said. It was a joke. He did know the name. He knew everything there was to know about you. So, maybe he did lie – sometimes. “But it’s the job, you know? It’s-, uh, it’s complicated.”

That part was true. Truer than he could ever possibly describe in words.

“I guess so…” Colter sighed, and Russell could hear the growing frustration. “So, she does what you do?”

Russell nodded. “In a way, yeah…” And Colter knew what that answer meant – he couldn’t say more. Again. “But don’t worry. We won’t have to turn over every stone on the face of this planet. I have a general idea of where she lives these days,” Russell provided. “One of my, uh, associates was working a job with her not that long ago. That’s how I found out she’s back in the States.”

Colter nodded in acceptance, knowing it was no use to try and prod more answers out of his brother. “Alright. Guess that’s something. So, where are we headed to?”

Russell then flashed him a grin with newfound determination sparkling in his green eyes. “Falls Church.”

The short drive had remained quiet for the most part. Colter refrained from asking more questions, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get straight answers out of his older brother in one form or the other. To accentuate Colter’s assumption of receiving non-answers, Russell mostly stared out the window with an intensity that had Colter believe his brother was counting trees when, in fact, Russell was pondering what he would, could, or should tell Colter.

Of course, Colter could also always ask more questions about their elusive father, but he didn’t do that either. Sure, one could say he was curious. More than that even.

What did Russell really know about his death? Their mother? Their family? Their work?

Another time, he kept telling himself throughout whenever he stole glances at his long-lost sibling. It was too soon. What was the point when Russell was so clearly reluctant to share anything at all?

Thus, there was nothing left but silence among peaceful woods and dense foliage till Colter pulled his truck over curbside in the idyllic town center of Falls Church.

Patiently, he waited a moment for Russell to open the floor and tell them their next logical steps. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, blew raspberries, clicked his tongue, and waited and waited and waited…

Nothing.

If Colter didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought someone carved a lifeless wax statue out of his brother and planted it on his passenger seat. Russell’s entire body stood motionless, only a set of green eyes flickered alive every once in a while and swayed out the windshield in search of something – or someone.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Colter asked with a clear of his throat. “You just wanna stay here and wait till she accidentally runs across the street?” It was meant as a joke, but to Colter’s dismay, Russell remained dead serious.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” the older Shaw confirmed and squinted his eyes at the busy street. Again, he had omitted a few things. In his mind, Colter didn’t need to know why Russell knew to be in front of the post office at exactly 15:03 (UTC–4) on a Tuesday.

Colter snorted a laugh. “What? C’mon, that can’t be the plan… Do you know how many people live in Falls Church? Or in the general Washington metropolitan area? We could be here for days. Weeks even…” The younger Shaw then switched fully into work mode, grabbing his phone from the Bluetooth car mount. “We’re never gonna find her like this. You got a phone number, maybe?” But before Russell could answer, Colter replied himself, shaking his head at his own silliness. “What am I even asking? Of course you don’t.”

Russell only smirked at that. Restless, he thought again.

“What about an old one? Maybe even that would help. I could call Bobby, Reenie… You got anything? Nothing?” But the younger Shaw’s questions apparently stumbled upon deaf ears. “Russell? Russ? Are you even listening to me? I’m trying to help you here. You could at least–”

“Found her!”

Russell almost jumped out of the car as his voice rang with sheer excitement. His heart was beating a mile a minute when his emerald eyes landed on the target. It felt like the very first time all over again.

Granted, the first meeting didn’t go so smoothly – there had definitely been some bumps (all on his part). Then again, he expected this next meeting to go a little roughly too (again, all on him).

“Wait, what?!”

Russell downright beamed. “Told you this would work.”

Colter only scoffed under his breath, the familiar competitiveness crawling back to the surface. “Yeah, well, beginner’s luck, okay?”

One boot had nearly touched asphalt before Russell remembered this wasn’t a situation that required him to storm in guns a-blazing – not even covert. Gentle hands, he reminded himself and swiftly closed the car door again, falling back into his seat. His lungs deflated.

Colter, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. “What-, uh, what are you doing?” Half-amused, his brow furrowed a bit more. “If you’ve found her, go talk to her. Where is she? Who is it?”

Curiosity could only be contained for so long. Colter wanted to know who had been a part of his brother’s life for almost as long as he had. He felt this was a key piece of information that would cause the first domino to fall. And then, revelation after revelation about Russell’s past would unravel.

Basically, Colter was waiting for the big epiphany. No pressure.

Russell vehemently shook his head. “Can’t. At least not like this. I need more intel first. You need to find out her name, and then we need your guy Bobby to get onto this.”

And yet again, guess what? Yes, Russell was, indeed, omitting things.

“Me? Why me?” Colter blinked at him. Surprise, surprise…

“‘Cause, obviously, she’d recognize me,” Russell pointed out. Again, omission. Like he had explained earlier, it was a real problem…

Colter exhaled a deep sigh. “Okay, and I’m guessing you’re still not gonna tell me why we’re doing all of this, right?”

“Nope.”

“Yup, thought so.” Still not convinced, Colter narrowed his eyes at his clearly paranoid brother. Maybe paranoia ran in the family. Not to point fingers – he recognized it in himself, too. “Do we really need to go through all that trouble? I mean, you’ve known that woman for, what, fourteen years, you said? Isn’t that a little extreme… even for you?”

Fifteen, Russell corrected in his mind. Close to sixteen. Nineteen max.

“Just trust me, okay? It’s necessary,” Russell reassured, knowing those words bore some weight. Hurriedly (he was getting antsy – this was a time-sensitive issue), he pointed a finger out the window to the sidewalk across the street. “You see that woman walking into the post office? That’s her.”

“What, the brunette in the flowery dress with the golden cross necklace? That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“Wow, okay…” Surprised didn’t come close to explain how Colter felt. He had expected… different. His brow almost met his hairline, but he still tried his best to conceal his wonder – to no avail.

Suspiciously, Russell leaned back in his seat and assessed his brother’s demeanor with a small glare. “What?”

“Nothing.” Colter threw his hands up in surrender, swallowing. “Just… She doesn’t really seem like your type.”

Amused, Russell stifled a chuckle. “And what exactly do you think is my type, little brother?”

“I don’t know…”

“What, you think some nice Christian girl is too good for me?” Russell deadpanned. Admittedly, he enjoyed bantering with his little brother. It reminded him of what he had missed out on for years. This was what he had wanted and longed for since he had left the family at eighteen.

Well, “left” wasn’t really the right word for it now, was it? It implied a voluntary act, and his leaving wasn’t so voluntary.

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Colter countered, laughing. “It’s just, you know… dental hygienist in a motel hot tub springs to mind.”

“Okay, alright… You done?” Russell huffed, shaking his head. He refrained from showing his honest amusement. “You’re gonna follow her in or not?”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Colter finally agreed somewhat enthusiastically and jumped out of the car, swiftly following the woman inside. After all, he was curiouser and curiouser…

Russell kept his eyes trained on his younger brother until Colter vanished inside the post office. Now, it was out of his hands, only hoping his little brother wouldn’t blow it. Chances were high he would. Not that Russell didn’t have some faith.

He just had more faith in you.

Colter spotted you picking up mail from a PO box and decided on a plan of action in a matter of seconds. After all, he was quick thinking on his feet and the best at what he did. That’s why he was here. That’s why Russell had picked him for the job, right?

As you made your way back to the door, Colter eloquently intercepted you without disturbing the crowd. Another thing he had learned from his father.

He bumped straight into your shoulder and almost tackled you to the ground by the sheer force of his sneak attack. The mail in your hands scattered to the tiled floor like autumn leaves, and as Colter bent down to help you pick it up, he took a peek at your name on a postcard.

“Oh my God, would you look at that… I’m so sorry, Miss–,” the younger Shaw apologized clumsily, “Nora Laurier.” He uttered your name with a suave smile as he handed you back your pile of letters. The flirt in his eyes, however, he only added for Russell as revenge for Reenie. “Beautiful name.”

Your hands lingered on the letters between you for a moment as you took in his features and tall stature. It left you with a strange haunting of familiarity.

“Thank you,” you finally said with a hint of a smile as he let go of the mail. “Be more careful next time.”

“I will. Sorry again.” Colter chuckled with blushed cheeks and watched you leave. He waited till you had passed the row of windows before exiting himself.

He was a good actor, too.

Antsy, Russell almost bit his lip bloody as he stared the post office down till a migraine began to form. God, what he wouldn’t pay for some X-ray vision and super-hearing. He could be downright Superman with that – and the hero always got the girl.

His heart dithered anew with longing as you walked out – it took his breath away. You always did that, and you did it well. But then, you stopped short for a mere second, which wouldn’t have caused a civilian to raise a single brow. But Russell did.

“Shit…” he mumbled in the silence of the truck and lowered himself down to the dashboard. He watched you reach for your phone in your purse and call someone as you headed down the street.

Eventually, you stopped three houses east and finished your call in the shade of a tree next to a busy (and noisy) bus station. Russell caught your eyes drifting back to the doors of the post office, though, just as his little brother walked out and jogged towards the car.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Russell ducked even further down, hitting his head in several places. “What did that knucklehead do?”

The driver’s door opened as Colter casually slipped inside. “Got a name,” he announced victoriously. Part of his happiness emanated from gathering yet another puzzle piece of his mysterious brother – meeting you. “She goes by Nora Laurier now… And she seems nice. Way too nice for you, actually…” As he drifted off, his eyes searched for the elder one before finding him almost kissing the floor mat. “Russ, uh… What-, uh, what are you doing down there?”

“What the hell did you do?” Russell’s tone was both snappy and frustrated.

“Whoa, what d’you mean what did I do?” Colter waved off defensively. “I did what you told me to do!”

“She made you!”

“She did not make me,” Colter brushed off with a laugh, quite confident of his own skill set. They’d had the same teacher. He would know if you had suspected anything.

“Then why did she wait and look after you, huh?” Russell pointed out in annoyance.

Colter’s lips itched to break a smile. He couldn’t help it. It was the perfect opportunity to teach his flirt of a brother a well-needed lesson. “Well, maybe I caught her eye… piqued her interest, you know?”

Russell cocked a brow from below, his stare lethal. “Did you flirt with her?”

Colter hesitated for a moment. Mostly for dramatic effect. “I-, uh… You told me to get her name. ‘Sides, I told you Reenie was off limits.”

“Oh, so this is about revenge? Very mature.” Russell frowned. “She still there?”

“Where?” Colter stretched himself a bit as he looked out the windshield.

“Tree. Bus station.”

An amused smile formed on Colter’s lips as he spotted you. “Oh, yeah. I see her. I don’t think she suspects anything. She’s not even loo-… No, uh, wait… Yup.”

“What?” Russell’s brows drew together as he rose a little from his crouched position.

“Yeah, she’s definitely looking over here.”

“Well, stop looking down,” Russell hissed through gritted teeth. After a deep breath, he spoke in a calmer, more advising tone, “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Trying to, trust me… Should I wave at her? Smile?”

“Are you nuts?! Just look ahead. Pretend you’re getting a phone call.”

Colter did as he was told and held his phone to his ear. “She’s still looking,” he informed with a pressed smile, barely moving his mouth when he spoke.

“Okay, what’s she doing now?”

“There’s a-, uh, there’s a car coming and pulling over by the bus station. Dark gray Audi A6. Virginia Plates. Yankee-Papa-Charlie-5824,” Colter said as Russell hauled a pen from his pocket and began to jot down the plate numbers on his left palm.

“Copy that.”

He’d memorize them anyway, but one could never be too safe. He could get a concussion in the next hour or so (most likely because of you), and then what?

“Okay, she’s getting in,” Colter narrated. “Driver’s in his late-thirties. Male. Glasses. Medium height. Medium build… I think you could take him,” he added with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Russell retorted. “Are they gone now?”

“Pulling away from the curb and… Yep, they’re gone. Headed south down the road,” Colter affirmed.

“Alright.” Russell popped back into his seat with a sigh and some sore muscles. He had been sure he’d heard a few bones crack while he’d been cowering down there. He might be finally getting too old for these missions. But that was part of the reason why he was here in the first place – retirement was calling. And Russell wanted to fill the chair next to him on the porch.

“You good?” Colter checked and choked the small laugh that wanted to escape upon the ruffled sight of his older brother.

“Yeah, go ahead and follow them. Just keep a low profile,” Russell instructed. “On our way, you might wanna call your op analyst, too. See what he can find out.”

“Alright,” Colter agreed somewhat reluctantly but still tailed the sedan. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“What d’you mean?” Russell said mindlessly, keeping his eyes focused on the target vehicle.

“Us… stalking your ex-girlfriend?” Colter noted with a cocked brow. “And her potentially new boyfriend?”

Russell only laughed at that. “We’re good. Trust me.”

Admittedly, though, a small part of him wondered (and worried) if this was all real. Maybe Nora Laurier wasn’t your real name, but it might be your actual new one – one you’d adopted as a safety precaution after you’d left it all behind. Maybe you had finally done it and retired, found a perfectly normal guy, and settled down – just without him.

Or:

Maybe you were still in the game, after all.

Russell was hoping it was the latter. Otherwise, he could probably expect a hefty restraining order in his future, but he wasn’t about to tell Colter that. Not until he knew for sure.

The Audi parked in front of an organic grocery store a few blocks down. Colter chose a spot across the parking lot, keeping a reasonable distance with the perfect view. Russell watched as you and Unnamed Man #1 sauntered into the store, an arm slung tightly around your waist and a smile on your face.

While on the phone with Bobby, Colter could tell that the sight of you in another man’s arms stung. “Okay, uh, thanks, Bobby.”

“What’d he say?” Russell fired as soon as Colter had removed the phone even just an inch from his ear.

“Uh, well, there’s some bad news,” Colter revealed hesitantly and licked his lips, not knowing how he was supposed to break his brother’s heart. “Bobby ran the plate number through the DMV. It’s registered to an Aiden Laurier.”

“Laurier?” Undeniably, Russell’s heart flinched at the connection. “Maybe a brother. Cousin…”

Or a colleague, Russell’s mind stubbornly added.

Colter bit his lower lip hard before he spoke, “They’ve been married for two years. I’m sorry, Russ.”

A hand comfortingly patted Russell’s shoulder. A part of him wanted to scream heavenward, but something else inside was gnawing on him.

He clicked his tongue. “No… No.” Sure, one could argue that denial was always the first step of grief. “No. No way she married sweater-vest John Mulaney over there.”

“I’m pretty sure she did. Bobby sent me the marriage certificate,” Colter countered and showed him the screenshot on his phone.

Russell glanced at it for a short second, not even bothering to waste more time on fake news. He shook his head. He knew better.

“Nah. I’m not buying it. You need to go in there and tell me what you see.” He sealed his words with an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Colter exhaled deeply. “Russ, I-, uh, I think you need to let this go, man. You’re starting to… Never mind.”

“No. Go ahead. Say it,” Russell prompted with some thunder in his voice. “I’m reminding you of Dad, don’t I?”

Colter only twitched his shoulders. “I mean, yeah. A little.”

Russell’s head bobbed in thought before he met his little brother’s eyes. “You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“The post office, the road crew over there, the-, the fake documents?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon… Just think about everything Dad taught us, huh?”

Was Colter really not getting it? Russell found that quite hard to believe. He had known his little brother to be as sharp as a whip. While Russell didn’t always have the nicest things to say about their father, he could admit the old man had prepared them well for life. Well, one life at least. This one.

The nomad life, the odd jobs that required them to have a particular set of skills like Liam Neeson.

Colter shook his head. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Russell.”

Russell let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat. “Alright, if you don’t see it, you don’t see it.” A smirk twitched in the corners of his lips. “It’s your funeral, brother…”

With narrowed eyes, Colter pursed his lips. “Alright, just tell me one thing, okay?”

“You know I can’t tell you anything,” Russell reiterated and brushed his beard.

“I know. I know… It’s not that kinda question,” the younger Shaw reassured.

“Go ahead,” Russell relented and curiously looked at his brother.

Within a second, Russell could think of a million questions Colter might want to ask him, but this hadn’t been one of them:

“In the past three years, how many times have you thought about her? And I don’t just mean ‘crossed your mind’ every couple of months. I mean ‘seriously thought’ about her?”

“Hmm.” Russell pondered for a moment before replying, “Every damn day.”

It wasn’t a lie, no omission of anything, and Colter could tell. You were the first thought that popped into Russell’s still groggy mind when he woke up and the last one every night that fluttered across his weary eyelids. Obviously, he didn’t give Colter the soppy answer, though.

“Fine. I’ll go,” Colter softened his stance. “You owe me,” he added with a pointed finger before setting foot outside the car.

“I do owe you. Anything you want, brother,” Russell agreed with a broad grin. “How about we start with a full case of my homebrew, huh?”

Colter danced gracefully through the aisles, spying through canned goods and boxes of cereal. He watched you carefully select fruit with your husband, move through the dairy talking about “organic” and “locally sourced” till you landed on a few choices of toothpaste and finally strolled to the cash register.

Everything seemed boringly normal and ordinary. You chatted with the cashier. They handed you a coupon, which you slipped into your purse. Your husband paid with his credit card (which carried the same name matching the DMV records), and both of you left the store with two paper bags in your arms.

Once through the sliding glass doors, you stopped and turned to your husband. “Darn, honey, I think we forgot the milk.”

“You want me to grab it?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, I’ll wait by the car and load the rest of the groceries.”

Now, Colter found that odd. He had watched you spent at least five minutes in the dairy aisle. How could you forget something as basic as milk?

As you hushed inside, your husband sauntered back to the car, and Colter followed you back in. You passed right by the dairy and, with a few looks that resembled a scan of your surroundings, you slipped past the door that led to the restrooms.

Waiting a beat, Colter went in after you. But you were long gone – just not to the restroom. An ‘Employee Only’ door that led to a dumpster alley outside was just falling shut.

Granted, Colter had a bad feeling about this. It was the same feeling he always got shortly before walking into a trap. In his defense, though, you were not a seven-foot-tall, 300-pound kind of guy. He wasn’t about to be ambushed by Shaquille O’Neal, which is probably why Colter didn’t find it necessary to pull his gun.

In hindsight, he should have.

The narrow alley was quiet and empty, except for some trash littering the ground around the dumpsters. It was closed-off, too, wedged between buildings with no view to the parking lot or nearby streets.

And then, something hit him. Or better yet: You hit him. With an elbow to the face and a stiff, flat palm to his throat, Colter stumbled forward before you gave him the final blow and knocked him off balance, tackling him to the ground.

Pressing his cheek into the rough and unforgiving surface of the asphalt, you jumped on him and restrained his arms tightly behind his back. While he squirmed to get out of your hold, he didn’t use as much brutal force as you expected he would.

“Shit,” he muttered below you, his voice muffled by the gravel. A light chuckle escaped him. “Okay, you got me.”

“Sounds about right,” you agreed with a smirk and tightened your grip on his arm.

Then, Colter heard a gun click above him. Hoping to see his brother, he looked up – only to find your husband with a weapon in hand as he stared down the barrel.

“Ah, I think you broke my nose,” the younger Shaw mumbled with a groan.

“Good. You’ve been following me. Why?” you prompted sternly. “Who are you? Who are you working for? Jafari? Mueller?”

“Listen, I-I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not who you think I am,” Colter argued with a strained voice. What the hell had Russell gotten him into? “This is just a big misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh.” You could only roll your eyes at that. How many times had you heard that line before?

“Let’s hood him. Get him to the Market,” your partner suggested. “We’ll see if he talks then.”

“No, really,” Colter insisted, growing a bit more uneasy. He had no idea what the Market was, but it didn’t sound pleasant. “You know my brother.”

“Who’s your brother?” With your elbow, you put more pressure on his back.

“Ow, alright…” Colter groaned once more as the pain intensified. “Looks kinda like me. Think two decades younger. He was in the Army, so probably didn’t have long hair and a beard. Uh, kind… green eyes? No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

Colter watched your brow furrow in his periphery as he squinted upwards. He could see the gears starting to turn in your head. You just needed one final push to put all the puzzle pieces together.

“If it helps, my name is Colter. Colter Sh–”

“Shaw,” you shot like a missile. Your jaw plummeted to the ground, your heart springing right out with it. Your grip on the man caught between your thighs loosened, hearing Colter’s sigh of relief before you heard his voice.

“Hiya, sweetheart.”

Your head darted up, the man beneath you long forgotten. You swallowed as your eyes landed on an all too familiar face – even when it was covered by a bunch of hair that had never been there before. The heart-crushing smile was still the same as if it had been ripped straight from an old photograph you had of him.

“Russell?!”

Part 2: This Is a Russell Mission

Quite the entrance! Writing Russell reminded me somewhat of Plastic Hearts Dean (minus the addiction problems unless you count lying) because of all the wild overthinking 😂

If you enjoyed this story, then I'll gladly keep working on its prequel. Was a bit nervous to post this since I filled in some family history gaps myself 😅 I also dove into the books a little and added some things that kinda fit their "show" personalities.

Please let me know what you think and if you'd be interested in a young soldier!Russell series 😉🤍

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