suh dude

Underswap - Blue

That's so cute! His entire face lights up with such joy, it's not hard to bask in his glow. He thinks you look so good in blue! Frankly, he finds it adorable that you even thought about doing this.

Are you trying to get his attention? Because this is one surefire way of getting it. He can't look at you without smiling.

Very pleased with himself because those are his colours on his lover (a running theme with these skeletons). He definitely gets some, uh, thoughts about you wearing blue in bed. You wouldn't mind if he went out and did a little shopping, would you? The shit-eating grin on his face tell you what his intentions are but he won't advance if you don't want him to.

He's a gentleman at heart, albeit a horny one, and he'll keep his thoughts to himself.

The offer to buy you clothes still stands though. You truly do look good in blue and he doesn't mind a little splurging on your behalf. Jewellery, accessories, bags, shirts, pants, dresses, skirts, he knows all the right shops to find exactly what you want.

Afterwards, he'll propose a date to show off your pretty colours. Why spend all that money on nice clothes if you (he) can't show off! A nice romantic date walking around town is the perfect way to show off. Everyone can see you this way.

He can't take his eyes off you the whole time.

Will ask what your colours are so he can so the same for you. Think of how cute it would be! Walking around town with matching colours, a splash of blue here, another colour there. You'll be the most colour coordinated people on the planet.

Underswap - Stretch

Oh, he didn't expect this. What a pleasant surprise!

He doesn't make a big deal out of it like Red and Blue but he finds himself staring more than usual.

It looks good on you. Well, everything looks good on you, but he's partial to the orange. He feels oddly… touched. He's so used to doing things for other people, making them laugh, helping with chores around the house, lending a listening ear to whoever needs it, that when someone returns the favour, even in such a small way, it takes a second for his brain to catch up with him.

Once it does, he's a very happy skeleton. He really struck gold with you, didn't he?

He might briefly wonder if you're trying to get something out of him and this is just a way of sucking up to him but that's just his trust issues and paranoia talking. Once he reassures himself that this is you he's talking about (and the most you'll realistically want right now is either a kiss or a hug), that doubt flies straight out the window and is promptly forgotten.

Noticeably compliments you more. Hey, what can he say? You've put him in a good mood!

And as I said, he stares more than usual. Glances at you from the corner of his eyes and the smallest little smirk overtakes his face. You won't mind him taking a photo and making it his wallpaper, do you?

If you stole his hoodie for the day and aren't actually wearing anything orange of your own, he'll offer to get you your own hoodie. And he keeps your preferences in mind! Baggy and oversized? Or maybe something more form-fitting? Do you like them super thick, warm, and heavy, or thin and light? What materials feel best on your skin?

I get the feeling that both Blue and Stretch know fashion and how to get good clothes for cheap. Stretch will make sure the hoodie fits with the rest of your wardrobe, mark my words.

Blue taught him well.

==================================================

hey, this writing thing is actually a lot of fun- *gets shot*

It's unfair. 

You have never smiled at them like that— eyes crinkled, corner of lips quirked up, and cheeks all puffed up because you're smiling so wide. 

You have never let out those heartfelt and boisterous laughs, the kind that would turn into a high-pitch squeal at how much you're laughing, the kind of laugh that would make your shoulders shake and force a hand down to your stomach to hold it. 

You have been with them for months, years even. Yet, they have never seen those gestures pointed at them as easily as you do so with that alexandria man. 

All of you arrived just a couple of weeks ago, and that man was someone that Aaron had introduced to them as one of the people that goes out on runs. He was friendly and polite at best, making them figure out that he wasn't all that aboard on letting rugged people like them into the community, however, the moment you stepped out from the back of the group, the man's expression changed drastically. 

The others could remember how your face brightened up upon seeing him. You ran up to him and he did the same. The two of you met in the middle, with him catching you in his arms. The two of you laughed, cried, and whispered words to each other that no one else could hear. 

You were crying and laughing so much that the words that somehow stumbled out of your mouth were incomprehensible. They didn't know what happened after that, and just remembered that all of a sudden, the man whisked you away from them— telling Deanna that he will bring you to be interrogated later on. 

Daryl and Michonne tried to fight back, to lash out to come get you back, but Aaron assured them that the man, whose name they didn't bother to remember, will take care of you. 

Rick and the others barely fit in, even after a week, but here you are, already humming and laughing along with the man living across the street— the same man whom you laughed and hugged like he was somebody important. 

You woke up early in the morning for what? To walk across and flirt with them openly? To giggle and flutter those beautiful eyelashes towards his way? 

“Look at her.” Michonne huffed, eyes squinted under the scorching sun, “All smiles and laughs.” 

The alexandria man said something that made you lean forward and pinch his cheek, making him jut his bottom lip out in a dramatic manner. It earned a roll of eyes from you, which was quickly accompanied by the same loving smile they have been seeing on your lips ever since all of you arrived in the community. 

“And she's smilin’ like he hung the moon.” Came a gruff hiss from the archer sitting on the porch's step. 

“I can't believe she became comfortable real fast.” Rick muttered, eyes flickering away from you and the man across the street in hopes of wiping the image off from his mind, “Didn't even tell me clearly where she was going this morning.” 

“She told me.” Maggie quipped, making everyone on the porch turn to look at her, but she was looking directly at Rick, a knowing grin plastered on her face, “She tried to tell you, too, by the way, but you seemed to be focused more on what she was wearing rather than to what she was saying.”

Daryl and Michonne raised an eyebrow at the sheriff, both of them looking unimpressed. 

“She didn't tell me nothing.” Rick insisted, shooting the archer and the samurai a pointed look, “If she did, I would have known, and I wasn't looking at her dress—”

“It's a sundress.” Maggie pointed out, jutting a finger towards your way, “It's the dress that makes men drool.” 

“I’m not a man.” Michonne uttered, earning a giggle from Maggie, which she took as something offensive, “What? I really am no man.” 

“Yes, but you like her.” Maggie sang softly, grinning. 

It was no secret that Rick, Daryl, and Michonne harbor some kind of romantic feelings towards you. You have always been their anchor in everything. The three of them weren't slick with their feelings, but somehow, you still managed to miss the signs of them liking you. 

Carol and Maggie pointed it out on some occasions— at how obvious they were regarding their feelings, but they always denied it. 

Why would they listen to the teasing anyway? It's not like you have any interest in entering a relationship with any of them. You never showed that you care about things like that. You never did. 

You're always bound and about on your feet when someone tries to flirt with you back at the prison. You always try to slither away from any kind of conversation pertaining to relations. You always try to look busy when someone tries to ask you questions about what kind of person you want as your partner. You never let yourself linger around anyone longer than necessary. 

Rick and others tried to get you to open up, but damn, it was hard. They spent months with you on the road. They spent through thick and thin with you. Hell, all of you even almost got yourselves cut open by cannibals! Aren't those situations enough to have you open up to them? 

Daryl, Rick, and Michonne brooded over their thoughts. The three of them rested themselves on the porch, all the while shooting glares towards the man you're talking to. 

“Come on, y'all.” Carol cooed, stepping out of the door, “Brooding in jealousy won't make the woman drop her necklace! You have to do something to woo her! If not, why not just tell her how you feel?” 

“As if.” Michonne sighed, dropping her weight down beside Daryl who agreed with her statement by letting out a scoff. 

“Oh, come on, what gives?” Maggie groaned, walking over to the railing to lean her weight against it, her eyes flickering over to you and the man who is now wrapping his arms around you, “Look, he got himself another hug from her. Keep this up and someone else will get y'all woman.” 

“Ain't mine.” Daryl grunted, cleaning his fingers with his dirty rug. “Ain't nobody else's.” 

“Right..” Maggie trailed off, rolling her eyes. 

“Seriously, keep this up and she'll be taken away.” Carol huffed out, placing both of her hands on her hips to send all three people a disappointed look, “I'd rather watch her be loved by the people I know and love than have to watch her hand get taken away by someone we barely know.” 

Rick pursed his lips and stared at Carol. The woman is right. You may never be type to show interest in that kind of thing, but there's no telling that you might not be wooed by any of them if they were to try. 

“Alright, so may the best man win?” Rick forced out, earning him looks from Michonne and Daryl. 

“The hell does that mean?” The archer gruffed out, glaring. 

“It means, it's time for us to grow two balls and sweep her off her feet. Like some kind of prince charming.” Rick mumbled, doing wild gestures with his hands as he pointed at you and the man who are now waving you goodbye as you cross the street. 

“Act natural.” Carol tutted to everyone, plastering the same old loving smile on her lips as she watch you approach. 

Daryl's head snapped forward, his eyes flickering to your form as you ran across, a hand over your forehead to shield your eyes from the sunlight. The hem of your sundress fluttered against the soft breeze, the (color) cotton complementing your features well. 

You look stunning. Incredibly so. 

The three of them were busy glaring at the man that they completely failed to acknowledge how much of a beauty you are at the moment. God, one look at you and you knocked the air out of their lungs. 

“What are you all doing out here?” You asked, dropping your hand down that you were using to shield your eyes to your side before raising an eyebrow at them. 

“Observing.” Michonne answered a little too quickly. 

“Inspecting.” Rick backed her up just as quickly, his hand falling to the leather belt on his pants. 

Daryl grunted, not offering any kind of excuse. 

Carol and Maggie shared a glance, both of them looking amused and entertained at what's happening. They are kind though, so they snatched your attention away from the three fools in love. 

“I made bread.” Carol informed you, smiling, “Come on up and eat with us, honey.” 

You nodded your head as a response to her invitation, but kept your eyes glued to Rick, silently asking him what's up with everyone, but he gave you no answer and simply shrugged his shoulders. Your confusion showed up in your face, pulling a couple of smiles from them. 

If you're not smiling at them, which is rare for you to smile at any of them, then you would either show confusion, irritation, and boredom. Most of the time, it's the latter. 

When they showed no signs of answering your questions, you proceeded to walk past Michonne and Daryl, the hem of your sundress brushing past their shoulders and ears. The sensation of the fabric against their skin caused a shiver run down Michonne's and Daryl's spine, their body going taut with surprise. 

Damn, not only did you look stunning, but you also smelled extremely good. Just how much of this community brought the domesticity out of you? 

“What did you make?” You asked Carol, eyes darting past her as she led you back inside the house all of you have been staying at for now. 

“Brownies.” Carol hummed, sliding behind the kitchen counter to bring out the said treats. 

“Seriously?” You croaked, disbelief lacing your voice. 

“Seriously.” Glenn commented from his spot on the couch, holding one brownie in his hand with his mouth full of brownie bite, “This is so good, Carol. I didn't know that you could make something as amazing as this.” 

“Agreed.” Maggie giggled, slotting herself beside her husband. 

“Where’d you get the ingredients?” You croaked, snatching one brownie from Carol's platter as you settled yourself by the armrest beside Maggie, “By the way, our lovely neighbor told me that some of us can crash into his house. He has three vacant bedrooms that we can use if ever.” 

You took a bite from the brownie, and almost immediately, a moan escaped your lips. 

“Oh, shit, this is amazing.” You praised the baker, shaking slightly at how good the brownie was, “You're the best, Carol. Hold on though, I'll have to make him taste this and ask about his opinion.” 

Glenn, Maggie, and Carol blinked when you sprung up in your seat, your legs carrying you out of the house and across the street. 

“Where are ya goin’?” Daryl croaked as you ran past them, but didn't receive an answer. 

The three of them, along with Glenn, Maggie, and Carol, watched you rush to the front door. You knocked on the door three times, the sound reaching their ears even though they're literally across the street. 

The door swung open and the man greeted you, but it looked like he barely forced a word out because you shoved the brownie in his mouth. 

“Oh, god.” Carol snorted, shaking her head, “She didn't give him a chance.” 

“Just who's that dude?” Glenn voiced out, his eyebrows furrowing as he watched you laugh at the man, who's now choking on the brownie and hunched over the doorway, through the house’s window, “Why is she laughing like that? She never laughs with us like that. Did she laugh like that with us? I can't remember her laughing that loud with us—” 

“We get it, Glenn.” Michonne grumbled, shooting him a glare from her spot on the porch. 

“Yeah, they're already suffering enough as is.” Carol teased, her own lips pulled into a smile, “I mean, look at her. She's glowing and she's laughing. She laughed with us before, but never that loud and boisterous. Can you imagine? Someone else made her laugh like that.” 

“Can you not?” Rick huffed, glancing at the teasing woman over his shoulder. 

“Oh, I certainly can.” Carol sang, giggling. 

All of them turned to Carol, their eyes squinted into glares. Carol couldn't stop herself from laughing loudly at the sight, turning in her heels and walking further inside the house. 

The reason why she's extremely delighted upon seeing their suffering? It's because she knows who that man is to you. He's your cousin, one that you have grown up with and got separated from when the shit hit the fan, but they don't have to know that. 

You have opened up to her about it back at the prison. You told her about the people you had in your life before you stumbled on their group at the Quarry. 

You told her a lot of things about yourself, and she felt so damn proud to be the only one to know such things about you, because of all the people to open up to, you chose her. You have opened up to her like how Daryl did, or maybe more open than Daryl did. 

When she saw you running up to that man, at how relieved you were, she knew right then and there who he was. You confirmed her suspicion of the man when you ran down the street just now, just to shove the brownie in his mouth. 

One of the things that you told her about the said cousin is that he absolutely goes crazy for chocolates, and guess what? The brownie has a few chocolate chips in them. 

She grinned, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. It's such a relief that you haven't told the others that the man across the street is your cousin. She has to use him to her advantage, because if the three people who are pining for you don't plan to do anything soon, someone will actually take you away.  

She can't have that, can she? 

So, all she could do right now is to make them as jealous as possible. She refuses to miss the chance to make them pull moves to make you theirs after all. 

Your lungs burned.

The feeling struck somewhere between your fifth and fiftieth glance over your shoulder. Time had become meaningless the moment you started running. Every thought had narrowed into a single desperate objective: put as much distance between yourself and the walkers as physically possible.

The problem was that your body had never received the memo.

You weren’t Rick, or Daryl, or Glenn, or Michonne, or any other badass main character from the show.

You weren’t even one of the background survivors who somehow managed to sprint across forests every other episode without collapsing from exhaustion.

You were a person who had spent most of the evening curled up beneath a blanket with a bowl of popcorn.

The difference was becoming painfully apparent.

Your legs felt like lead. Each step jarred through your knees and hips. Dry grass slapped against your calves as you stumbled through the field, desperately trying to maintain a pace that your body was increasingly unwilling to provide.

A stitch had developed in your side ten minutes ago. At least, you thought it was ten minutes. It might have been less, it might have been more. Your heart was beating so hard that it felt impossible to judge anything accurately.

The only thing you knew for certain was that you couldn’t keep this up forever.

The thought sent another surge of panic through you.

Because the walkers could.

Walkers didn’t get tired.

They didn’t need water.

They didn’t need sleep.

A human could outrun them for a while, but eventually exhaustion would win.

It always did.

You risked another glance over your shoulder.

The herd remained there.

A sprawling mass of bodies moving steadily across the landscape.

The sight nearly made your stomach drop out through your shoes.

You immediately turned forward again and pushed yourself harder.

Your breathing had become ragged, every inhale scraping against your throat. The afternoon heat only made things worse. Sweat soaked through your clothes and clung uncomfortably to your skin.

The Georgia sun.

Of course it had to be Georgia.

You had never appreciated just how miserable Georgia looked until you found yourself running through it.

A hysterical laugh almost escapes you.

The absurdity of that thought was enough to make you feel slightly unhinged.

You had been transported into a zombie apocalypse.

You were being chased by a herd of the undead.

And somehow your brain had chosen that exact moment to complain about the weather.

Maybe panic was finally frying your remaining brain cells.

The field gradually gave way to a sparse collection of trees. You veered toward them immediately, driven little more than by instinct. Open ground felt dangerous. Trees meant cover.

Not that you had any idea what you were covering yourself from.

The walkers had already seen you.

At least, you assumed they had.

Several of them had been looking directly at you.

The memory alone sent another burst of adrenaline through your veins.

You pushed between two trees and nearly tripped over an exposed root. A startled yelp escaped before you managed to catch yourself.

Your foot slipped.

For one horrifying second, you thought you were going down.

Images flashed through your mind with brutal speed.

You falling.

A broken ankle.

The herd catching up.

Tearing hands.

Rotting teeth.

The end.

Somehow, you regained your balance at the last second and a shaky breath pushed itself from your chest.

“Okay,” you wheezed.

The word sounded more desperate than reassuring.

You forced your legs to keep moving, ignoring the burning that spreads through your body.

Eventually, your body makes the decision for you.

The adrenaline that had fueled your escape could only carry you so far, and it had long since begun to burn itself out. No matter how desperately you tried to force your legs onward, they felt heavier with every step. The stitch from earlier had only worsened, your throat felt raw from panting, and each breath seemed to bring in less air than the one before it.

You staggered toward the nearest tree and braced a hand against the trunk, bending forward as your lungs fought to recover. Sweat dripped from your forehead and into your eyes, stinging enough to make you wince. For a few moments, all you could do was stand there and breathe, focusing entirely on the simple act of remaining upright.

Gradually, the worst of the dizziness began to fade.

The moment it did, panic returned.

The walkers.

Your head snapped up and you immediately regretted the movement when the world tilted slightly beneath your feet. Ignoring the sensation, you turned toward the direction you’d come from and searched for the herd.

They were still there.

The walkers continued their slow march across the countryside, their movements as steady and relentless as ever. The sight alone was enough to send your pulse racing again. Yet as you watched them, something about the scene felt strangely off.

You frowned and squinted into the distance.

The herd wasn’t closing in.

At least, not in the way you had expected.

You had spent the last twenty minutes running as though your life depended on it. Given the amount of noise you’d made, the walkers should have been converging on your location. They should have been drifting toward the sound of your movement and your voice.

Instead, the herd appeared to be following the same general course it had maintained from the beginning.

For a moment, you wondered if exhaustion was clouding your judgement.

A few walkers wandered near the edge of the herd, occasionally turning their heads as though reacting to distant sounds. One of them seemed to look directly toward your position.

You choked on a breath and pressed yourself closer to the tree.

The walker lingered there for a moment, its ruined face angled in your direction, and a familiar surge of fear swept through you. You could practically feel your body preparing to run again.

Then the walker simply turned away.

No lunge.

No sudden burst of movement.

No reaction at all.

It resumed shuffling forward alongside the rest of the herd as though you weren’t standing there.

You stared after it.

Several seconds passed.

Then several more.

Nothing changed.

The herd continued onward, paying no more attention to you than it did to the trees or the grass around it.

Slowly, confusion began to push its way through the panic.

You remained where you were, watching the walkers disappear farther into the distance while your thoughts raced to catch up with what your eyes were seeing. The longer you stood there, the harder it became to ignore the growing inconsistency.

Walkers didn’t behave like this.

You knew that better than most people. You’d spent years watching the show. You knew what attracted them, what distracted them, and what happened when a living person made the mistake of drawing their attention.

A person running across an open field while shouting would have been impossible for them to ignore.

Yet that was exactly what they seemed to be doing.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moment you’d arrived. At the time, sheer terror had overwhelmed everything else. You had seen walkers and immediately focused on escaping them.

Now, with a little distance from that initial panic, details you hadn’t noticed before began to resurface.

The walkers had looked at you, you were certain of that.

Multiple had turned their heads in your direction.

But none of them had changed course, none of them had sped up.

None of them displayed the slightest indication that they viewed you as prey.

For a long minute, you remained exactly where you were.

Your back rested against the tree trunk while the herd continued its slow progress across the countryside, utterly indifferent to your existence. The walkers drifted through the tall grass in loose clusters, occasionally bumping into one another before correcting course and continuing onward. From a distance, they almost looked peaceful.

The illusion vanished the moment you focused on the details.

Sunken faces.

Rotting flesh.

Torn clothing stained with months of dirt and decay.

They were still walkers. Still monsters. Still the same creatures that had spent over a decade terrorizing television audiences and devouring unfortunate survivors.

The fact that they weren’t trying to eat you did little to make the sight less disturbing.

You scrubbed a hand over your face and immediately regretted it when you realized how much sweat had accumulated there. The sun felt relentless. Combined with the panic attack, the sprint across half a field, and the general trauma of being ripped out of reality and dropped into a television series, you felt absolutely miserable.

Your throat was dry.

Your legs ached.

Your entire body felt one minor inconvenience away from simply lying down in the grass and giving up.

The thought was alarmingly tempting.

Unfortunately, dying of dehydration in a field would be a particularly embarrassing way to end your story.

Assuming this was a story.

The uncertainty surrounding your situation continues to gnaw at you. Every now and then, your brain attempted to convince itself that none of this was real. Perhaps you were unconscious somewhere. Maybe this was just an extraordinarily vivid dream.

Then the hot wind would brush against your skin or your aching muscles would remind you of their existence, and the fantasy would crumble.

Dreams weren’t usually this uncomfortable.

Your gaze drifted back toward the herd.

They had moved farther away during your rest.

Not much, just enough that you could feel the distance growing.

You should leave.

The thought returned for what felt like the hundredth time.

You should head in the opposite direction and put as much space between yourself and the undead as possible. Every piece of common sense you possessed agreed with that assessment.

The problem was that common sense wasn’t offering any alternatives.

You were stranded in the middle of rural Georgia with no supplies, no shelter, and no real idea where you were.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

You had a general idea.

You knew you were somewhere in The Walking Dead universe. Unfortunately, that information was significantly less useful than it sounded. Georgia contained a lot of land. Knowing you were somewhere within it didn’t magically provide directions.

You could wander for days without finding another person.

And if you did find another person…

You grimaced.

Not everyone would be as kind as the main cast.

One of the first lessons The Walking Dead taught its audience was that other survivors were often more dangerous than the walkers. Given the choice between encountering a random stranger and encountering a random walker, you weren’t entirely sure which option was supposed to be more reassuring.

With a groan, you tilted your head back against the tree.

“Okay,” you muttered. “Let’s think.”

The request was immediately complicated by the fact that panic continued to occupy approximately ninety percent of your brain.

Still, you tried.

The walkers ignored you.

That much appeared undeniable.

You had screamed, run, stumbled, and generally behaved like the worlds least competent survivor. Under normal circumstances, a herd should have torn you apart long ago.

Instead, they had barely acknowledged your existence.

The implications of that were bizarre enough to deserve their own breakdown later.

For now, the important part was that the walkers didn’t seem dangerous to you.

At least not directly.

The thought lingered for longer than it should.

Slowly, a deeply questionable idea began to form.

The more you considered the possibility, the worse it sounded…

Which, unfortunately, didn’t make it any less practical.

“No.”

You shook your head fervently, almost in an attempt to shake the thought away.

Absolutely not, that was insane! The sort of decision made by horror movie extras moments before their untimely deaths!

But…

The walkers ignored you. Better yet, everyone else feared them.

Large herds acted like moving exclusion zones. Survivors avoided them whenever possible. Nobody willingly approached hundreds of walkers— not unless they had a death wish.

Which meant the herd offered something surprisingly valuable.

Privacy.

Protection.

A giant warning sign visible from miles away.

You briefly imagined approaching another survivor alone. The image was not encouraging.

For all you knew, they could rob you, kill you, or do something that was far worse.

The herd, on the other hand, was predictable.

Terrifying, rotting, horrifying…

But predictable.

You knew exactly where they would be, how they would behave, and for reasons beyond your comprehension, they wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.

It was still an unbelievably terrible idea.

You swallowed thickly before pushing yourself away from the tree.

Every muscle immediately complained— you ignored them.

The herd continued their funeral procession through the field.

You stared at the sea of rotting corpses stretching across the landscape and wondered if you had finally lost your mind.

That honestly felt like the most reasonable explanation.

Then, with all the enthusiasm of someone volunteering for their own execution, you started after them.

You kept your distance at first, staying far enough back that you could convince yourself you weren’t actually walking alongside a herd of the undead. The distinction was largely meaningless, but your rapidly deteriorating sanity appreciated the effort.

Walking after the herd, one single thought bounced around your head:

This was the stupidest thing you had ever done.

The moment the cold water hit your skin, a deep, shuddering sigh left your lips. As the stream ran through your matted hair, it began to warm up slightly, but you were honestly too exhausted to care about the temperature.

Too wrapped up in the blissful sanctuary of the running water, you had absolutely no idea you had suddenly acquired an audience. And they were standing in a state of absolute shock and giddy amusement.

“Jesus Christ,” Soap muttered under his breath, his eyes instantly glued to your form. He was completely enamoured, watching the way the water glistened down the plump, smooth curve of your ass.

Gaz walked over to see what the hell Soap was staring at so intently. The second he rounded the corner, he froze, jaw dropping so fast he practically drooled.

“Mate, why the fuck are you—oh.” Gaz’s train of thought was instantly derailed, his brain short-circuiting entirely.

You began lathering shampoo into your hair, your back still completely turned to your pervy teammates, utterly oblivious to the commotion you’d caused. Your hands tangled in your long locks, pulling them up and giving them a full, glorious display of your toned back. Your spine arched slightly as you began to hum a mindless tune to yourself, working the suds into your scalp.

Taking their sergeants' sudden silence as an open invitation—and getting thoroughly pissed off that their orders were being ignored—Captain Price and Lieutenant Ghost stormed over.

“Are you lot fucking deaf?” Simon growled out, his voice a low, threatening rumble. But the words died in his throat. 

He went wide-eyed beneath his skull mask, shutting up instantly as he took in your naked form.

A slow, knowing smirk crept onto Price’s face. He thoroughly enjoyed the view, but he enjoyed how easily undone his hardened men were at the mere sight of you even more.

“What’s wrong, lads? Never seen a woman before, is that it?” Price teased, though his own eyes lingered. The three younger men stood entirely unfazed by the jab, unable to look away.

“I just… I didn’t realize our wee sergeant was quite so much of a lady under all that gear,” Soap choked out, his Scottish accent thick with awe.

To be fair, you weren't exactly the overtly feminine type in the field. Matching the masculine, rugged energy of the unit was a survival trait, and living and working alongside hardened military veterans most of the time didn't leave much room for glamour. 

But all that brutal training and combat experience had sculpted your body to absolute perfection.

Yet, there was something undeniably, breathtakingly feminine about you in that exact moment. 

The way your chin lifted toward the showerhead, leaning your head back into the spray; the way your long hair was tussled with white soap suds; the way your soft, supple curves were on full display, glistening and wet under the dim light.

It wasn’t until you finally turned around to rinse that you saw the group of men ogling you like a bunch of spellbound schoolboys. 

You didn't scream or cover up. Instead, you simply rolled your eyes, reached over the partition, and grabbed your towel.

‘Those fucking idiots.’

Their faces burned a deep crimson from a potent mix of embarrassment and sudden adrenaline. They had just been caught red-handed looking in on their teammate, and they were fully expecting a high-decibel meltdown.

Instead, you casually wrapped the towel around your wet hair, stepped out of the stall, and walked right up to them. They stood entirely paralysed, practically terrified to even breathe, as you looked every single one of them dead in the eye with a sharp, deviant glint in your gaze.

“What?” you asked, looking down at your bare body before locking eyes with them again. 

“I may look and act like one of the guys on a run, but I’m very much still a woman.”

You flashed them a teasing, wicked smile, walking right past the frozen line of soldiers while shaking your head. 

As your hips swayed deliberately down the narrow corridor toward one of the bedrooms, walking painstakingly slow, each step further adding to the aching bulge in their pants. You could feel all four pairs of eyes burning holes into your skin with an intense, suffocating heat.

Stopping just at the threshold of the doorway, you trailed off. “Well…”

You slowly turned around, a dark, playful look washing over your face as you looked back at the hallway. 

“Are you lot just going to stand there, or do you actually want to come get a closer look? Your call.”

You didn't even have to wait for an answer. The words had barely left your lips before all four men practically tripped over their own boots, breaking their paralysis in a desperate, chaotic scramble to make their way into your room.

Hey, nothing like a little boost in team morale, right?

-

-

-

-

-

🂱

It’s warm. The warm press of a leg that’s not yours against one that is. You wish you didn’t crave the touch - you wish you didn’t crave any touch, but here you are.

“Sergeant!” Simon barks at you.

Right. The mission. You need to get your shit together.

“On it, LT.” You somehow get out, your head floating somewhere it shouldn’t on a mission this high stakes.

You head towards the East Wing of the decrepit - probably hazardous - building the task force was sent to this time. Yellow, peeling wallpaper surrounded you, leading towards a maze of office rooms and weirdly assorted furniture. it smelled of…eggs? Not the time to be hungry girl.

Eggs?

Your com cuts through its near constant static to Simon’s heavy breathing. You thought the base was abandoned? Did he find someone? Did someone find him?

“There’s a leak,” his gruff voice cuts through. A leak? Like…gas? “Location, now.”

You blink.

“East Wing, weird office, approximately 50 ft from the Log Room.”

You blink again.

Warmth.

“I need you to follow my every step until we get into that room.” You feel his breath cover your neck before the words fully register. Oh, okay. You feel his gloved hands slide around your waist after you’ve stared ahead a moment too long.

Right - the mission.

You force your feet to follow the path to the Log Room - you know this by heart, you studied it for weeks.

Left. Right. Left. Step over the cords. Left. Right. Left. Right. Simons’ hands clench tighter around your waist as footsteps register. Left. Right. Footsteps?

“Get in th’ room and go left.” Simons practically breathes into your ear.

The dust hits you first, the permanent mildew stains second. You kick away piles of old computer papers and years of dust bunnies to comfortably squeeze into the corner Simon guided you to. You take a moment to catalogue the potential danger you two are in - the footsteps are continuing to surround you, but they’re obviously still a floor above. You may have time to do this.

You take a look at Simon just as he turns to check if you’d made it. You nod. He signs ‘I’ll watch’. You nod. And inhale.

Focus.

“Okay,” you whisper inaudible to yourself. You grab the tools needed - stored safely on your Tac-Vest. “Time to do the fun part.”

What you were hired for - the best hacker on this side of the harbor. Price sought you out after one of your last schemes made national media - a rookie mistake - but one that gave you the most phenomenal job a girl could dream of. Of course, you had to be trained and ripped apart to prove yourself to the team (in your mind), but over these last 3 years you’ve done nothing but work your ass off to prove it over and over again.

So yeah - this is slight work. Could be better if you couldn’t feel Simon Riley’s fucking stare on you.

You pop the cover off of the control panel and get to work. Ghost’s slightly shuffling outside the door, no doubt getting impatient. He knows your rhythm by now though, so it can’t be too bad.

Huh. These wires look fairly fresh compared to the ancient computers collecting dust to your left. You warily continue accessing the board. Maybe they replaced these recently? But why? You finally get through enough layers of dust to access the chip you were after. After you remove it you notice a piece that’s definitely not supposed to be there, a sticker almost? You quickly peel it off and find…another chip.

Oh. They were protecting something.

You feel your feet dragging before you hear the alarm screeching in your ears. Ghost’s hand is wrapped firmly around the back of your gear, pulling you in a direction you can’t exactly decipher at the moment.

The closet - get to you trip slightly over those fucking cords the closet. East Wing, 30ft from Log Room. Are you saying this aloud? You hope so.

You hear a door whish open and your body being placed upright in possibly the smallest space you’ve ever stepped foot in.

Warmth.

“Oh.” You whisper.

Ghost has silently positioned the faux wall/door back into position before you’ve realized the proximity of his body to yours. His front pressed to yours, his body providing heat you haven’t felt so close in many, many years. Embarrassingly enough, the heat has made your brain register safety in a situation it certainly shouldn’t. The slack in your knees goes unnoticed entirely due to Ghosts body essentially holding you up.

“Hi.” You breathe. What a mistake. Your eyes begin to shut as the dust bunnies in the room make their way to your nose, a sneeze on the tip of your tongue, shi-

Ghosts hand wraps itself around your mouth, the sneeze hardly audible over his thick gloves. Shit. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the smirk on his face combined with the mortification of screwing up the mission bleeds onto your cheeks, flushing them an undoubtedly rosy shade.

The footsteps fall harder, getting closer until they’re directly outside of the makeshift closet you’d shove yourselves into. They lead right to the door, until they continue their path to the Log Room. Whew.

Simon’s thigh somehow finds itself nudged between yours in the chaos. Your eyes widen as you involuntarily squeeze him into yourself. You pulse. His grin deepens.

“Hi, bunny.” He breathes into your mouth.

🂱

You hear the pop of the cap before it’s placed on the wood table in front of you.

“4 beers and a Daniel’s with a fresh coke for bunny.” Gaz boasts broadly as he approaches the booth. You’d found yourselves at Malone’s, as always on a mission like today’s. It was somehow a huge success, Gaz and Soap clearing the North Towers as you and Ghost left the East Wing as quickly as you could - much to your chagrin.

“Proud of ya, team,” Price grins. “This one’s been a long time coming. Couldn’t be happier. Now drink you brutes.”

The four men hoot and holler while you giggle slightly into your whiskey. It had been a good one - you could say that. You’ve definitely seen worse.

You know he’s looking before you can even register to turn your head. Simon Riley and his damn staring problem.

“What’s y’r problem Ghostie?” You hiccup. You and Soap may have pre-gamed quite a bit before heading out.

“What’s tha’ bunny?” Ghost grins. Him and his stupid grin.

“You stare.” You grit out.

“Oh, do I?” He’s loving this, the bastard. You sigh. Maybe sulking is your best answer.

“Yes, you do. What’d I do t’ ya?” You pout slightly. He raises his hand to wipe your hair out of your eyes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He whispers as he leans in close. Your breath hitches as you glance down at his lips through the mask. You always wondered how they’d taste on nights like these. Beer? Or the cherries he steals out of your Jack and Coke?

“Maybe both,” he laughs against your lips. Well, maybe not against, but with how little you’ve been touched in these last few years he damn well may have been. He heard that?

“Ukraine. August ‘23.”

The mission you’d completely bombed. Literally. The metal fragments are still buried deep into your naval - the explosion still echoing in your memory when night creeps into your room. That had been a rough one for the team.

You didn’t know the place was mined - it was your fourth, fifth mission? You were used to sitting at a desk, reviewing the many ways to bypass servers and firewalls tough enough to take down multiple CIA’s. The months of training holds nothing to common sense - see a giant ‘ant pile’? Don’t step on it. The fuck. You’ll never get rid of Kyle’s screams over the coms that nights. Your consciousness was like a frequency, in the atmosphere, then out. You could only remember slight waves of nausea and blurry grunts of pain. It was the first time you truly thought you were going to die.

You groan slightly, the shame reinventing itself into every crevice of your being. Your therapist would cringe.

“Thought I was g’nna lose ya, Bunny,” he says.

His stare lowers to your form, dressed in what you’d consider ‘risky’. The small amount of skin you’re comfortable showing, still more than the team has ever been allowed to see.

“Gotta stare at ya. Make sure y’r not g’nna vanish. Plus when it’s a view like this, how could I not?”

Oh. Oh. Your Lieutenant is flirting - you think. You also think that maybe you’re not as drunk as you should be to not remember this sentence every night forever more. You pulse.

“Oh.” You mumble, casting your gaze towards his hands. They’d saved you so many times, on so many missions. You wished they’d break the invisible walls you’d built around yourself. You wished they’d touch you.

Warmth.

Ghosts palm slides around your knee, respectfully, of course. Until it’s not. Your breath catches - whys he sliding up? That’s a little high, you haven’t felt that since 8th (?) grade, Seth Matthew’s in History - what a crazy time right? Your plans to distract yourself don’t work in the slightest as the warmth you’d been chasing for the last 3 years rushes over your body, cheeks, hands, cunt faster than you can process.

You let a whimper escape, involuntarily. Damn.

“I’ll do whatever y’ wan me to, Bunny.” He sighs. “Just please - let me stare as long as I’d like.”

a/n: part 2???