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vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 6 months

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How to Plant Snapdragons (pt. 6)

Task Force141 + König + Keegan x Female Criminal!Reader (except Captain Price, because he'll be like a father to the bunch, and König and Keegan won't appear until later on in the story)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: For the first time in your life, you were thankful you had an ankle monitor

You are currently reading Chapter 6. Here is Chapter 5 and the Masterlist!

CONTENT WARNING: Strong Language and Violence, Implied Sexual Content (?) WORD COUNT: 2.6k

“Tie him up,” Price ordered. “Bravo 0-6 to Shadow 0-1, we’ve got the package. I repeat, we’ve got the package.”

“Copy, Bravo-6, the Shadows are still holding down the militia. But better move fast,” Graves demanded through the comms, his voice a bit stifled.

You got up from the man, putting your gun away, and stood beside Ghost, glancing up at him. “What’s on your mind, Lt.?”

“I’m wondering what else ya can do,” he responded in a low voice but kept his eyes focused on the Brazilian.

Gaz and Soap dragged Fabricio up to his feet, trying to remove himself from the soldiers’ death grips, a string of curses in Portuguese and English leaving his mouth.

You chuckled as the sergeants pulled out ropes from the pockets of their vests and bound his wrists on the nearest house’s window railings. “Why don’t you find out, sweetheart?” you questioned, playfully nudging his side.

Upon contact, you felt him stiffen and you quickly withdrew your arm. "Sorry."

He remained silent for a good second and turned to you. "Why not just tell me?"

You looked at him, surprised that he didn’t comment on the nickname you gave him. You smiled. "Eeey, Lt. Ya like to be called sweetheart?"

He frowned. "No, I—"

"Eeey, no need to be shy, buttercup, sweet cheeks, stud muffin—"

"Don't—"

At this point, the rest of Task Force 141 were looking at you two, invested in what kind of cringe name you would give the ever so cool and stoic Ghost. Even Fabricio kept his mouth shut, wondering if you were a mad woman who escaped the Mental Ward and sneaked in with these guys.

"Don't stop the music!" You exclaimed, suddenly pumping your fist in the air and shuffling your feet, before whipping around to Ghost just as he was about to step away. "Where are you escaping, my Pookie, bebegurl, acoochie coochie coo—"

"Enough," he grumbled.

You nodded immediately. "Copy that."

The Sergeants exchanged looks and the Captain sighed, shaking his head.

“Que diabos você quer de mim?!” Fabricio yelled, taking the opportunity to talk, his eyes darting around your figure and the Task Force veiled by the night. Only a flicker of light and your voices could inform him that there were five of you.

“What rubbish is he saying now?” Soap asked, turning to you.

You sauntered towards the target and crossed your arms. “He says, what the hell do we want from him.” Then, you leaned down, leveling your face to his. “Você conhece o inglês?”

(Do you know English?)

His eyes averted for a split second, seemingly thinking, before he shook his head furiously. “Não.”

(No.)

You huffed and glanced over your shoulder to look at the 141. “He knows English, you guys can talk to him instead.” You turned your head back to the Brazilian, who had a frown on his face, knowing you had already seen through his lie. “Say a single word in Portuguese or lie again, you’ll wish you had never messed with these guys.”

Maybe, you were really from the Mental Hospital made in the depths of Hell, because you looked like you added crack instead of salt on an egg at breakfast just now and switched to a seemingly normal soldier who just happened to know Portuguese.

If Bipolarity has four stages, you'd be on twelve.

“I have never messed with any of you!” He shouted, clenching his fist and tugging on the ropes as if he could escape it. “You are the ones who—ugh!”

Soap grabbed his neck and squeezed it tight, his veins raising on his skin. It got you arching your brows, smiling wide, and stepping to the side to let him do his thing, while Fabricio wheezed. What a lucky guy he was to have a beautiful necklace.

“Where is Hassan Zyani?” Johnny questioned, lowering his voice making it sound like a snarl. It made you want to be in the lucky guy’s place, meow, and bark at him if he wanted to.

You were so thankful you had borrowed a mask from the Lieutenant, otherwise, these people would already be dragging you to the mental ward for smiling like a maniac, ready to be a pet for Soap.

Who wouldn’t?

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” claimed Fabricio, his eyes darting from left to right, seemingly looking for something.

You glanced at the other three and it appeared they had noticed the Brazilian had looked around by the way they had also batted their gaze in different directions. Perceiving that as permission to let you and Soap to the rest of the interrogation as one of Price’s tests again, you drew out your knife.

Soap pulled his hand away and stepped aside, eyeing the knife on your hand, before your face covered with mask and night vision.

“It’s no use to lie, sir.” You approached him, holding his hand. “We already know your deals with Hassan. Now, where is he?” you asked and slowly started to drive the tip of your knife on his under the nail of his thumb.

He screamed in pain, his loud voice echoing along the series of gunshots in the air.

These noises were some things you were already used to or rather, they haunted you wherever you went, like a phantom you couldn’t chase away.

Yet it never ceased to be exhilarating.

“I, I don’t—” another scream cut off his words as you lifted his nail from his finger, letting it fall on the ground. Warm blood stained your glove, seeping through the fabric that kept your hand clean.

Just as you were about to do the same to his index finger, he exclaimed, “He’s in Mexico!”

“Where in Mexico?” Soap questioned, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I—” Fabricio stopped as you pointed the knife to his eye and you could see the big yet dry gulp he had, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “Las . . . Las Almas, Mexico. That’s where I last heard he was going!”

“Las Almas, eh?” Price averted his eyes for a second, appearing to be thinking of something before he stared at the man. “What’s he doing there?”

You slowly planted the tip of the knife under his eye, a warning for him to speak only the truth to the Captain.

“I heard he was making a deal with a person called El Sin Nombre.” Fabricio’s eyes then shifted to you, a bit glossy as tears formed, making you smile. “Please, that’s all I know!”

You kept the knife's blade on his cheek as you turned to face the Captain, quietly waiting for the order he was going to bark. He motioned a hand, swiping his neck which got Fabricio to yell curses at you in his mother tongue, struggling to escape his binds to no avail. With one slash through his throat, his insults that swam to your ears died in the breeze of Rio’s summer night.

You stepped away from the corpse, wiping the knife on your pants, and sheathed it back. You looked from yourself to find Soap, staring at you. You tilted your head in question. “Something the matter, sir?”

“Ah,” Johnny turned away, “nothing.”

It neither looked nor sounded nothing.

“Bravo 0-6 to Shadow 0-1, we’re done unpacking the package,” Price announced, beckoning for the four of you to follow him in an alleyway as he started to jog. You and the guys followed his lead, hugging your assault rifle tight to your chest. The Captain and Gaz were in front of you, while Soap and Ghost were on your rear.

“Copy, Bravo 0-6, that was fast,” Graves immediately replied, amazement evident in his voice.

“She did the unpacking, Shadow-1,” Priced told him, his voice cool, and sounded like a bit of a proud parent when their child achieved something, even if it was small.

You threw your bag on one of the couches and looked around the place, while the guys scattered around, the Sergeant Duo and the Captain yelling at one another when they found alcohol on the shelves.

You and the 141 were currently in one of Graves' facilities, but this one could be called more of a mansion than a facility. You had heard that this one in Salvador was often only used when he and the Shadows would go on a short vacation after missions. And damn, you had always forgotten the prick was rich.

He had let you and the 141 occupy adjoining rooms with a living room, a kitchen, and a dining place. He might as well call this a suite.

You felt your muscles tremble and the wounds, you realized you had when you got on the chopper, ached.

Not bothering to tell anyone you'd be heading to the bathroom, you got your wallet of personal hygiene, sluggishly dragging your feet towards the bathroom. You slipped off your gear, mask, shoes, and shirt. Then, looked down at the monitor—the bane, the pain, the curse of your life.

You slipped off the first half of your pants, freeing one of your legs—Good—and started fighting for your life, pulling the pants past the monitor with one good arm. You even had to sit down on the cold-ass floor but to no avail.

You rolled down on the floor and kicked the air, breathing heavily through your nose, and got back up again to continue your struggle.

"Look at these goddamn pants and monitor having a relationship stronger than most relationships of kids these days," you grumbled, smacking the monitor as if it would break it down to the point your mind became too occupied with your grumbles and constant motivational speeches to realize the voice outside the door and the sound as Soap entered.

And Johnny was too busy to care about the weirdass pose you were making on the floor as his blue eyes raked over every inch of your skin. His brain took note of the curves of your body, the shades of your skin, your toned muscles, and the wounds you had gotten that he wanted to kiss better and caress each part of you gently to make you relax.

Because you looked angry and his instinct was to cover the growing tent on his pants as he locked the door behind him.

"Wait, shite, wrong, wrong—" your foot slammed on the door before he could make his escape, trapping him.

He couldn't help but glance at your leg, eyes traveling to your thighs and to your clothed cunt, making him run his tongue over his lips. Then he continued up to the flat of your stomach where he'd see the outline of his cock if he was pounding you against the bathroom wall, pretty legs over his shoulders, chest bouncing at every movement, and moaning his name.

Oh, you could feel the desire in his gaze right now and you could see the way his tongue moved across his lips and the attempt to hide his hard-on. And you couldn't help but pursed your lips for a moment, bringing your foot down to the cold tile as heat gathered between your thighs.

The sooner he left, the sooner you could take care of it. But you need his help right now. "Take off my pants."

The lingering blush on his cheeks spread to his ears and neck. "What? No, no, I—"

"It's stuck on the monitor."

"It's stuck . . . ?" He looked down on your leg and almost slapped himself upon not noticing that your pants were indeed stuck on the monitor, and couldn't help but cackle, remembering your position earlier. "That's why yer on the floor!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm Scottish."

"No shit, Scotlock."

"That's even worse. Alright, stand still. I'll grab a bathrobe." He patted your head and picked up your vest, shirt, mask, and shoes from the floor, putting them on the sink's side. Then, he proceeded to get a bathrobe and slipped it on you, even fastening the ties for you.

“Now then.” He reached down and scooped you in his arm, making your lips part and heart leap in surprise. He set you down next to the sink and gave your thigh a small pat. “I’ll get scissors.”

He turned away and opened the door. “Let’s keep this open, okay?"

"Okay," you replied in a small voice and brought your good hand to your face. "God, he's bad for my heart."

But for the first time, you were thankful you had an ankle monitor.

"Did he just come out of here?" Gaz's voice echoed and popped out behind the wall, raising a brow at you. A chuckle left his lips and he approached you. "Ah, no wonder."

"Don't laugh," you whined, waving your leg and whacking him with your pants like a whip.

His laughter only got louder and you pulled a face. He grinned and pinched your cheek. Then, he frowned as he saw blood soaking the white bathrobe. "What the hell, you're bleeding!"

You looked down at your thigh and clicked your tongue. "Damn, it's on the—"

"Got the scissors," Soap announced and his brows flew as he saw his fellow soldier. You noticed that Ghost was behind him, holding a first aid kit. "Hey, Gaz. By the way, I told the Lt. 'bout your wounds." He gestured a thumb over his shoulder.

"He said you have cuts that are large enough to need stitches," Ghost claimed, raking his light brown eyes over your frame. He could see your hand and thigh bleeding.

"Ah, I was planning on taking care of it later," you said as Soap began cutting the pants and finally pulled it off your ankle monitor. He set it aside and inspected the monitor if he accidentally damaged it.

His eyes narrowed as he placed the kit down next to you. "Later won't cut it, sweetheart." He slipped off his gloves and washed his hands clean on the sink, before patting it dry on the towel hanging on the wall. He extended his hand. "Let me see your hand first."

You put the back of your hand over his, showing him your palm. A cut across greeted his sight, blood running out and making him sigh. "Not so deep to need stitches, this one, but we need to bandage it up." He opened the tap and guided your hand under the running water. "Gaz, put pressure on her thigh. It's bleeding too much."

You winced at the sudden sting as the water hit your wound and the Sergeants had begun to press clean towels on your bleeding cuts, but it was nothing you couldn't take. Soon, after cleaning the wound, he applied down ointment and bandaged it up.

"Alright, your . . . thigh." He looked you straight in the eyes. "May I?"

For someone who had strangled you with his godly thighs, he sure was a gentleman. But more than that, you had noticed that as you had grown closer to the Sergeants, it seemed the more you grew distant from the Lieutenant. He had avoided your touches, even a simple nudge.

You nodded. "Of course, sir."

Gaz removed his hand away from your thigh and Ghost carefully lifted it to look at the wound. His rough, scarred, calloused hand felt warm against your skin.

"We'll have to stitch this one," he claimed and gently set your leg down.

"Are you good at it, sir?" You questioned as he rummaged through his kit. He pulled out a kind of needle you were so familiar with—a curved one.

"Very," he said confidently, putting a thread through the eye of the needle, and disinfected it with alcohol. "Go hold onto something. This might hurt."

"Want to hold my hand, Bonnie?" Soap offered, taking your good hand in his grasp.

"Please," you replied, squeezing it.

"Come closer," Ghost demanded and you inched yourself closer to the edge. "Lift your leg a bit for me."

Ah, another one that was bad for your heart.

The next chapter is Here!

Also on AO3!

Taglist: @yyiikes, @the-faceless-bride, @sae1kie, @sarahedwards16, @kenma-izhu, @kkaaaagt

Note: Sorry for the short chap. I got sick for almost 5 days. I was planning on adding more in this chapter but yeah, that happened. Also, please let me know if I got the translations wrong. I was also planning on making a Halloween Special, but idk when or if I'll post it since Halloween is ending lmao

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midnightexpressproductions · 9 months

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Demo (TBA)

Content warnings (This IF has situations and themes that might be distressing to others): mentions of death, depictions of bodily harm, body horror, gore, anxiety/panic attacks, stressful scenes, claustrophobia, violence, car crashes, amaxophobia, astraphobia, use of weapons (guns, knives, etc.), explicit language, and sexual content though this is optional.

Dark smoke curls all around you, the black ash clogging up your nose and choking your throat. The sound of sirens is muffled in your ears. The base of your skull feels like it's split in two, a sharp pain blooming on the back of your head. Your eyesight is blurry but you can just make out the body writhing around on the ground.

You're hurt and blood seeps out of your wounds. You should be dead. You shouldn't be able to move, but here you are struggling to breathe. The acrid air in your lungs burns. Your vision tinges red. You can't help but watch as the body across the street from you sits up, rotten eyes fixed on your own.

It's jaw unhinges as it lets out an unearthly scream. It's hungry– no not hungry, ravenous– filthy drool dripping down it's chin. In a flash it descends upon you.

Starving.

Yearning for something to eat.

Desperate.

Yearning for food.

Famished.

Yearning to tear your flesh apart.

------------------------------------------------------------------

In your senior year of high school, you remain the sole survivor of a brutal car crash that kills your father. Grief stricken, your mother decides that it's time for a fresh start. You soon find yourself shipped away to the other side of the country in bustling New York City; a completely different world from your previous rural Louisiana town.

A fish out of water, you're content with staying in the comfort of your own bedroom, living out your life in complete solitude. However, fate has other plans and after four years of isolation, you are forced to leave your room and venture into the outside world.

You just had to pick the day when everything goes to shit, didn't you?

The dead have begun to rise, violent and angry and desperately ravenous for human flesh. Finding yourself separated from your mom, you team up with an unlikely group of survivors as you begin your journey across a ruined New York in hopes of safe haven.

Who knows what might happen when the dead wake?

Play as male, female or non binary; you have the chance to set your own pronouns.

Play as straight, gay, lesbian, bi/pansexual, demi/asexual or aromantic.

Customize your MC's personality and appearance.

Choose from five RO's (plus a sixth RO who you'll meet at the end of the game) to romance or befriend. Or betray.

Build up your stats.

Make alliances or enemies with rival gangs.

Steal a cop car.

Adopt some dogs.

Your choices matter. You and other characters from the main cast can die.

Javier Delgado | he/him | 23 | ISTJ-T | Puerto Rican American

Javier has short, dark brown hair that curls just slightly around the edges. His down turned eyes are light brown and speckled with green. His golden tawny skin is lightly smattered with freckles across his cheeks. Javier is 5'10" and he has a thin, lanky build which makes him seem much taller than he really is. A pair of plastic-rimmed, light green glasses sit on his hooked nose. He says that they're just for reading but in truth, his eyesight just really sucks. His thick eyebrows are almost constantly furrowed, causing people to think that he’s always upset. Javier favors more muted, earthy toned colors in what he wears. He's not particularly fashionable however, wearing whatever is clean and comfortable.

Carmen Bautista | she/her | 23 | ESFJ-A | Filipina/Brazilian American

Carmen has long, wavy hair that stops just below her shoulder blades. Her hair is dark brown turning into a blonde ombre the further down it goes. She normally keeps it pulled back into a low bun or a French braid. Her wide eyes are almond shaped and dark brown. Carmen’s olive skin is completely flawless. Her full lips seem to be set in a perpetual smile, showing off the deep set dimples on her cheeks. She is 5'9" and has a plump, hourglass figure. She can normally be found wearing jewelry. However, Carmen doesn't wear rings, saying that she prefers to keep her hands free of any obstructions. She does have her nails painted a bubblegum pink though. Carmen favors pastel colors and soft clothing that she can easily move around in.

Max Friedman | she/they | 22 | ISTP-A | Jewish American

Max has wildly curly, dark copper hair that reaches just below their ears which is choppy since they cut it themself. Their eyes are a pale stormy gray and droopy, giving them a sleepy appearance. However, paired with her thin lips that seem to be constantly set into a scowl, it only highlights Max's less than friendly demeanor. Max has pale skin with warm undertones. She's covered from head to toe in freckles. They have a small cut on the right side of their upper lip. Their nose is slightly crooked, having broken it from a skateboarding accident. She's the shortest out of the group (not including Gwen), standing at 5'2" and she has a lithe build though the baggy clothes she wears make it seem that Max is skinnier than she really is. They carry around a skateboard wherever they go.

Eun-Woo Park | he/him | 20 | ESTP-T | South Korean

Eun-Woo has short, pencil-straight black hair that's been styled into an undercut, his bangs left longer than the rest. Thick eyelashes rim his monolid eyes. The irises are a brown so dark that they're almost black. Eun-Woo's milk white skin is spotted with moles, the most notable being the two that sit underneath his left eye. His hands are covered with old calluses and jagged scars mar his knuckles. Eun-Woo stands at 5'7" and has a sinewy, toned build. His ears are double pierced and he has a helix piercing on his right ear. Eun-Woo's nails are painted black. He likes wearing black clothing however, he always wears a red SSG Landers cap along with a NY Yankees letterman jacket.

Derek Campbell | he/they | 24 | ISFP-A | African American/Caucasian

Derek has dark brown, shoulder length dreads. The ends are dyed a light honey brown though he's constantly changing the color. He normally keeps his dreads tied back in a loose ponytail or bun. Their full lips seem to always be set in a sweet smile. Their dark brown eyes are round and wide set, emphasizing their friendly demeanor. Light stubble softens their sharp jaw. Derek has light brown skin, having two scars on his face: one that runs down the corner of his left eyebrow and the other running across the bridge of his nose. He's the tallest of the whole group, standing at 6'5" and his chubby, thick-set build seems imposing at first. They're really just a big marshmallow though. Derek seems to favor more athletic wear, though they'll wear whatever feels comfortable to them. They like bright colors, especially pink and yellow.

Elijah/Elizabeth Watts | he/him or she/her | 26 | ENTJ-A | African American

Eli has dark umber skin with cool undertones. Jagged, old scars crisscross all over their body. They have a full sleeve tattoo of a snake surrounded by lotus flowers on their left arm. F!Eli has long, tightly coiled black hair which she normally keeps tied back into a low ponytail or a braided bun. M!Eli has short, tightly coiled black hair that's cut into a fade, his coils either left free or tied back into cornrows. Even if they're not upset, Eli's eyes seem to be constantly narrowed, the warm honey brown irises standing out against their dark skin. Their full lips hide a gap-toothed smile. Both M!Eli and F!Eli stand at 6'0". They have a toned, muscular build. They wear no makeup or jewelry, other than the dog tags that they keep hidden underneath their clothes.

Gwen Nguyen | she/her | 10 | Vietnamese American

Gwen has warm toned, honey skin and wide, black eyes. Her chubby cheeks are dusted red, only further highlighting her innocent appearance. However, the sneaky rude gestures and hidden eye rolls show that she's much more cheeky than she looks. Gwen likes to wear anything soft and pastel colored. She always has her favorite pink bear plushie with her. Gwen is also deaf, so she wears a pair of sparkly hearing aids. Other than using sign language, she also communicates with a small whiteboard that she keeps tucked away in a pastel yellow backpack.

Pa and Ma Hazel:

Pa is a 10 year old German shepherd and Ma Hazel is an 11 year old cocker spaniel. Pa is short coated and his fur is a dark sable color with his underside being a honey brown. His muzzle is also lightly streaked through with gray. Ma Hazel is medium coated and her fur is a brown roan. Her muzzle is also slightly graying and her nose is spotted. In lieu of collars, Pa wears a forest green bandana around his neck. Ma Hazel doesn't wear a collar at all.

#if wip #if game #interactive fiction #when the dead wake #upcoming if

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