ImagineDreamWrite’s Masterlist

Assassin’s Creed:

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Call of Duty:

Drabbles

2 years ago  Notes (1304)

Anonymous asked:

for matchmaking Monday, Gaz or Simon or Johnny think John needs to start dating again, they set him up with one of their girlfriends/wives friends —can you make reader have some kind of disability like you did with Unburdened?

People You Meet

A/N: Reader has mutism and speaks in sign language/writing on a board if I use these with reader “ ” they are meant to be taken as sign language and not spoken word

The no smoking sign at the back of the reception venue had stacked on another irritant that got under the captain’s skin. If it weren’t for Kate Laswell and his men, he wouldn’t be here putting up with the inability to smoke cigars on the venue grounds.

“A wedding is a celebration, Cap. Even you must like weddings, the free booze, the food-” Kyle began speaking and was swiftly cut off by Johnny’s eager horniness

“Scamming on single bridesmaids.” Johnny cut Gaz off, speaking over him as a few of those bridesmaids walked past the 141. The sight of them made Johnny turn his head, trying to get a crack at the pretty women walking by.

“I’m divorced, Gaz. I’ve made enough mistakes-” John reached for his pocket, the cigars that should be in there were missing, and his mood dampened again.

“Got room for another wedding in you, Cap? Another attempt at marriage maybe?” Gaz grinned at the leader of the 141 before he looked around the venue, as if to find someone specific. Gaz’s date, and his fiancée, hadn’t paid any mind to his staring, if anything she had almost aided him.

“Who the fuck are you looking for sergeant?” Simon asked gruffly, drawing the youngest soldier in their unit’s attention back to him.

“A friend-” Gaz ignored Simon, largely, and his grin widened when he caught sight of who he was looking for. The small group of soldiers had been puzzled by Sergeant Garrick’s distracted state, until a woman slipped through the crowds and joined him.

“Thought you’d show up late again,” Gaz pulled her into a side hug, his fiancée doing much of the same, “Cap, Soap, Ghost this is Y/N.”

John watched as you waved, smiling cordially but you hadn’t spoken. You were studying them just as they were studying you, though your attention was divided between Gaz and his fiancée, and them. Gaz had looped an arm around your shoulders to secure you to his side as he made the introductions.

But what had really drawn their curiosity was the way your fingers moved as you communicated in sign language. You hadn’t spoken, you hadn’t made any kind of noise that would be taken as verbal welcoming. Rather you communicated through the standard ASL.

“Y/N is mute, she’s been mute since she was 5. She communicates through sign language,” Kyle explained, signing like you had, though slower, “and she has a board to write on.”

You finished signing and rest your hands by your sides again, silence between the men and you was tampering on the lines of awkward. There was no real clues given by Gaz as to why he wanted you to meet them, not really until he had furthered his explanation.

“Y/N is related to the bride,” Gaz had been practicing his British Sign Language, trying to master the communication, “and is my fiancée’s sister. We met a few years ago, and she is part of my family.”

“It’s really nice to meet you all,” your fingers moved quickly, forming the letters and words you were trying to communicate, “Gaz has told me a lot about you.”

“Aye, had he mentioned how devilishly handsome some of us are?” Johnny cocked a grin, charming and flirtatious as he naturally was.

“Johnny,” you signed his name, your head tilted slightly to the side, “flirts with anything that has legs and a heartbeat.”

“-flirts with anything that has legs and a heartbeat.” Kyle delivered the message as you signed, even though both John and Ghost knew sign language.

“I dinnae-” he protested, crossing his arms over his chest, taking offence to the very idea regardless of it being true. “Gaz’been spreading lies.”

“Ghost,” you looked at the silent and masked man, only giving him a quick look over, “deadly and mysterious.”

“Oi! I get manwhore and ghost gets mysterious?” Johnny harrumphed, rolling his eyes at the implications that Ghost was somehow on a higher scale than him.

“Captain Price,” when you looked over at him, John felt alike a battering ram had slammed right into his gut, rattling any kind of protective guard that kept him emotionally isolated, “brave, daring, capable-”

“-smart.” Gaz finished for you, relaying everything you signed as you signed it, until you were done.

“What the fuck, Kyle? That’s all I get?” Johnny was still mildly miffed about the designation he had gotten, irritated that Kyle had seemingly ruined any chance to flirt with you before he had it.

“Johnny likes to make things explode,” you signed the words, emphasizing the explosion aspect of your speech, much to the amusement of Gaz and John.

“Gaz we should take our seats,” his fiancée addresses him a tap on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to her.

“You’re seated with Y/N, Cap. Over here.” Gaz states before he starts moving toward the table you’re assigned to sit at, with Ghost and Johnny following behind.

You find your seat in between Gaz and John, your name scrawled across the placard—with the addition of honorary bridesmaid added beside it. You reach for your chair and find that John has already started pulling it out for you. You smile at him and raise your hand to your chin, keeping your fingers and hand flat before you move it forward and slightly downward.

Once you take your seat you reach for the already filled glasses of water and pull it before you. You don’t get to take a sip, not before Johnny breaks the silence at the table.

“You know the bride?” His question draws your attention and you raise your head to look at him from across the table.

“The bride and I have been friends since we’ve been ten.” You communicate in sign language, and as you do Ghost translates instead of Gaz. “The groom is a soldier of yours?”

“Good soldier,” John answers you now, stealing any opportunity from Johnny who tries to flag down one of the waiters for a drink, despite there being a bar, “smart and tactical.”

You don’t think to ask more than that, and they don’t give any more on the soldier marrying your friend. But your connections to the lot of them are indelible, through Gaz’s relationship with your sister, his fiancée, and through the bride that’s marrying one of their soldiers.

As the night progresses, you feel more comfortable around the soldiers that Gaz wanted you to meet. Their sense of humour makes you laugh, and you hang onto every word they say when they tell you about some of the things they get up to on base. But it’s John that you can’t stop looking at, can’t stop drawing your attention toward the pretty captain with heart stopping blue eyes.

By the time the dancing arrives, Johnny asks you to one or two because he has to show the rest of them up. You like being around him, he seems easy to be around with a boyish charm that’ll never leave. One dance turns into two, and potentially three, if John hadn’t interrupted.

“Gaz set this up.” The whispered admission draws a silent laugh from you, as John seems annoyed but not surprised.

“I know.” You mouth the words, silently confirming what he initially thought. “Gaz likes to meddle.”

The hand on your back tightens as John dances with you, his eyes moving across the room before they settle back on you. His blue eyes search your face before the corner of his lips twitch but he remains quiet. He is a good dancing partner, he takes the lead and whisks you around the dance floor to the music, before he escorts you back to the table when it’s over.

After you take your seats again, the table is suspiciously empty, another ploy by Gaz no doubt. Regardless of the emptiness at the table, there’s no lingering awkwardness between you and John. It feels oddly comfortable, and any silence there could be is filled as he begins telling you some unclassified stories about the three soldiers that had been here minutes ago.

By the end of the night, his hand is on your thigh with a promise to take you for coffee for a proper date.

20 minutes ago  Notes (2)

Monday is for Price & Gaz

Also M is for Matchmaking Monday — reader gets set up on a date

16 hours ago  Notes (3)

Pretty Little Thing

Part 2: The First Meeting

The expectation that you would be in the agency for weeks without finding a match had left you with the understanding that you could enjoy your time in the facility. While other omega’s were regularly getting matches or gifts from potential alpha’s who were interested, you were waiting in the wings. So, to speak. 

There was an omega who had applied for the program, only a week after 18, and had already been given a series of meetings and gifts with alpha’s who wanted her attention. She had been showered with applications to meet, with alpha’s from across the United States who wanted an omega through the agency. You had come to hear that she was only here for a week before she had accepted the offer and courtship of an alpha, and then she was gone. 

You had relented to enjoy the time you had in the house, getting to know other omega’s who wanted to seek a more institutional route of mating. There was an ongoing epidemic of violence against omega’s, both male and female, at the hands of alpha’s that had started this international joint effort. The same international effort to make omega’s safe with alpha’s who would treat them right, would be the same international matchmaking service that would give you the best chance.

Keep reading

18 hours ago  Notes (80)

Pretty Little Thing is in progress

There’s no theme for asks today, if you have any headcanons or asks, the box is open!

23 hours ago  Notes (1)

Anonymous asked:

I remember you had an idea for a death/life pairing but with cevans, maybe you could turn that into COD?

imaginedreamwrite:

Life, Continued

Your knees sink into the soft mossy grass, your hands clutching the roughened chin of a doe. You stare into those eyes as your heart plummets and your stomach twists into knots. These beautiful doe eyes are fading with life, the precious gift that was once given to such a beautiful creature.

The earth around the doe turns to ash, plants withering and fading, shrinking into brittle pieces of fauna that mock you. You swallow heavily again, the soft lusciousness of your dress is a stark contrast to the death that surrounds this animal, you flummox the nature of something so cruel.

“Death and life,” the voice, thick and heavy encroaches upon the circlet of flowers that were once vibrant, now fading, “are synonymous with each other.”

You bow your head and press your forehead against the doe’s, your eyes closing as its breath becomes shallow. The delicate diadem upon your head feels heavier than it ever has been, with the gold leaflets that resemble the rejuvenation of spring, feel like a curse.

“Please don’t do this,” you raise your head and look upon the creature standing on the edge of the forest, the other half of this delicate balance, “Simon please-”

You’re interwoven with each other, always and continuously entwined in this back and forth.

You are life, bring hope and beauty to the world. The seasons or spring and summer are your peaks, the natural flourishing of your place here.

Simon is death, he brings an end to everything he knows has reached its time limit. He strips the world of what needs to fade, even at the peril of your love for what he strips. He is winter and fall, turning nature to ash.

“I have to.” He encroaches upon you, ducking low beneath the branches, still filled with green leaves and beautiful petals. In weeks time they will begin to fade, in weeks time you and your living spring touch will become second to Simon’s.

“Please don’t-” the doe’s breath shudders and you draw your attention back to the creature, the animal and its baby that will both be gone.

“It’s time.” He crouches near you and rests a hand upon your own.

You rest your right hand against the skirt of your dress, fingers touching and feeling the flower details that are woven into the layers. The outline of the petal, the stem in the middle that bears the nectar for the bees to make honey, it’s all there. The deep forest green of the skirt matches the bodice that bears the image of ivy and vines, the flowers that the creatures love so much.

Simon crouches near you, the reflection of his curse of death is synonymous with your touch of life. You cannot have one without the other and yet it pains you.

It pains you to see the deep and dark black of the jacket he wears, the fine silk lining that is a reminder of his strength. The blood red buttons that descend the front of the waistcoat are a symbol of what he must do. There’s a chain attached to a pocket watch that’s slipped in the front pocket, another reminder that he must do this.

Time is up.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to the doe and the faun that linger nearby, “I wish you could have experienced the fall and winter.”

Simon’s hand squeezes yours for only a few seconds before he lets go and stands up. As he rises to his feet, the doe and faun stop breathing, the light within their eyes fades. He stands there, watching you as you run your hand over their soft fur.

They’re gone, but the spirit within them rises. The rain bounds around its mother, nestling its head against hers. The doe walked toward Simon, its white tail raised as it moved with slow purpose. He extended his hand, black and gold rings on his fingers glint in the fading sun, and rested it upon the head of the doe. He lets it lightly, his eyes are solely on you.

You rise your feet, the body laying there against the broken and dry fauna, the crumpling green the signal of an end. You feel the loss as if it is the first time you had ever experienced him taking life but you know it’s not.

It will never end.

“You and I are bound together.” His voice is husky and rough but no less gentle, he takes no pleasure in this—not when it hurts you.

But you know that this is not just about an animal, not just about a final goodbye to this beautiful doe.

Your time is also coming.

You will soon join the fall and winter court that he reigns over, leaving behind your home of spring and summer. You will be there as his eternal companion and bride, his wife that will never be loosed from him.

“One week,” he reminds you, ushering the doe to the edge of the natural circlet of trees and shrubs. Once the doe has crossed the other side he approaches you and rests a hand over your heart. “You have one week before you are mine again for the seasons.”

The doe and faun look back at you, their bodies may lay empty but their spirits are there with Simon. You watch them, heart aching for the life that is lost, but there is a glimmer of hopefulness.

Simon, if nothing else, is careful and respectful as death.

1 day ago  Notes (44)

Anonymous asked:

I remember you had an idea for a death/life pairing but with cevans, maybe you could turn that into COD?

Life, Continued

Your knees sink into the soft mossy grass, your hands clutching the roughened chin of a doe. You stare into those eyes as your heart plummets and your stomach twists into knots. These beautiful doe eyes are fading with life, the precious gift that was once given to such a beautiful creature.

The earth around the doe turns to ash, plants withering and fading, shrinking into brittle pieces of fauna that mock you. You swallow heavily again, the soft lusciousness of your dress is a stark contrast to the death that surrounds this animal, you flummox the nature of something so cruel.

“Death and life,” the voice, thick and heavy encroaches upon the circlet of flowers that were once vibrant, now fading, “are synonymous with each other.”

You bow your head and press your forehead against the doe’s, your eyes closing as its breath becomes shallow. The delicate diadem upon your head feels heavier than it ever has been, with the gold leaflets that resemble the rejuvenation of spring, feel like a curse.

“Please don’t do this,” you raise your head and look upon the creature standing on the edge of the forest, the other half of this delicate balance, “Simon please-”

You’re interwoven with each other, always and continuously entwined in this back and forth.

You are life, bring hope and beauty to the world. The seasons or spring and summer are your peaks, the natural flourishing of your place here.

Simon is death, he brings an end to everything he knows has reached its time limit. He strips the world of what needs to fade, even at the peril of your love for what he strips. He is winter and fall, turning nature to ash.

“I have to.” He encroaches upon you, ducking low beneath the branches, still filled with green leaves and beautiful petals. In weeks time they will begin to fade, in weeks time you and your living spring touch will become second to Simon’s.

“Please don’t-” the doe’s breath shudders and you draw your attention back to the creature, the animal and its baby that will both be gone.

“It’s time.” He crouches near you and rests a hand upon your own.

You rest your right hand against the skirt of your dress, fingers touching and feeling the flower details that are woven into the layers. The outline of the petal, the stem in the middle that bears the nectar for the bees to make honey, it’s all there. The deep forest green of the skirt matches the bodice that bears the image of ivy and vines, the flowers that the creatures love so much.

Simon crouches near you, the reflection of his curse of death is synonymous with your touch of life. You cannot have one without the other and yet it pains you.

It pains you to see the deep and dark black of the jacket he wears, the fine silk lining that is a reminder of his strength. The blood red buttons that descend the front of the waistcoat are a symbol of what he must do. There’s a chain attached to a pocket watch that’s slipped in the front pocket, another reminder that he must do this.

Time is up.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper to the doe and the faun that linger nearby, “I wish you could have experienced the fall and winter.”

Simon’s hand squeezes yours for only a few seconds before he lets go and stands up. As he rises to his feet, the doe and faun stop breathing, the light within their eyes fades. He stands there, watching you as you run your hand over their soft fur.

They’re gone, but the spirit within them rises. The rain bounds around its mother, nestling its head against hers. The doe walked toward Simon, its white tail raised as it moved with slow purpose. He extended his hand, black and gold rings on his fingers glint in the fading sun, and rested it upon the head of the doe. He lets it lightly, his eyes are solely on you.

You rise your feet, the body laying there against the broken and dry fauna, the crumpling green the signal of an end. You feel the loss as if it is the first time you had ever experienced him taking life but you know it’s not.

It will never end.

“You and I are bound together.” His voice is husky and rough but no less gentle, he takes no pleasure in this—not when it hurts you.

But you know that this is not just about an animal, not just about a final goodbye to this beautiful doe.

Your time is also coming.

You will soon join the fall and winter court that he reigns over, leaving behind your home of spring and summer. You will be there as his eternal companion and bride, his wife that will never be loosed from him.

“One week,” he reminds you, ushering the doe to the edge of the natural circlet of trees and shrubs. Once the doe has crossed the other side he approaches you and rests a hand over your heart. “You have one week before you are mine again for the seasons.”

The doe and faun look back at you, their bodies may lay empty but their spirits are there with Simon. You watch them, heart aching for the life that is lost, but there is a glimmer of hopefulness.

Simon, if nothing else, is careful and respectful as death.

1 day ago  Notes (44)

onebigfangirlworld asked:

Saccharine Saturday: bookish omega reading to Kyle on his day off

He wouldn’t tell you even if you asked but your voice fills his mind in the darkest and loneliest hours of his deployment.

He replays the memories of you singing in the morning after you stole his shirt, when you’re making him slightly burnt pancakes. When you stand at the stove with your hair held out of your face, and your favourite song playing through the speakers.

He loves your voice.

He wouldn’t tell you but there’s weight of your head in his lap while you hold a book above your head, reading to him on his days off, is his favourite. He could go out drinking with his mates, he could go to the pub for the game and come home with his team’s win, but this was his favourite.

He loves when you read to him.

Gaz had a ring, he had a ring for months. Was it crazy to admit that he had looked at rings after your fourth date? That he called his mum and told her about this omega who he was crazy about? That his sisters had teased him already about you being their future sister?

You read the words on the pages, the spine of this old book cracked and a little frayed but you loved it. Gaz loved it, it’s why he asked you to read it on his day off.

It was comfortable and perfect, this first day off after deployment. He could’ve done a million other things but his first choice was you, his first day had to be spent with you. His omega was wearing his shirt, his omega was wrapped in his scent while reading to Gaz while he ran his fingers over your hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do anything else?” You paused mid-chapter, trying to reassure yourself that this decision to stay here instead of going out was the one he wanted. “We could do-”

“No, sweetheart.” He leaned back against the couch, admiring you in his shirt as you rest your head on his thigh. “This is exactly where I want to be. Keep reading.”

Gaz’s bookshelves were full of your books, he had books in his office and in his bedroom. But they were yours, and he would never think of getting rid of them.

1 day ago  Notes (17)

Anonymous asked:

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2E7Vhf7/

If BBB and König and his pretty best friend are all in the same universe then…

Imagine Simon paying for reader’s nails purely to irritate König ( but this is before they get married )

“You like my nails?” König’s ears prick at your question and he looks your way, observing the sleek design and the colour you picked. “They’re nice right?”

“I like them,” three words is the response but it’s more of what he doesn’t say that tells you how much he likes them. How he’s going to picture those nails wrapped around his dick or those nails scratching into his back when you’re pinned beneath him.

“I like the shape,” he grabs one of your hands and tilts it down to study them, the colour and shape that he absolutely loves, “they look good schatz-”

“And they were free.” That catches his attention and König raises his head, eyebrows furrowing in question.

“What?” Now he questions you, confused by your simple statement. “How were they free?”

“I said they were free, Simon paid for them.” You can feel the crackling of tension that sparks between you, König’s voice deepening in husk.

“Repeat yourself, liebling.” He asks you to clarify, because he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I said Simon paid for them.” His hand tightened against yours as he observed your nails and then lifted his head.

“What the fuck did he pay your nails for? Simon Riley-”

“He was just being nice, he was being-”

“Simon Riley is not nice,” König corrects you, his mood dampening. “What the fuck did he pay your nails for?”

“He was looking out for me, and his fiancée-”

“Okay and what was his motive?” König is protective of you, the world knows that, everyone around him knows that. “Why was he paying for my girls nails?”

“He paid for his fiancée’s nails too-” you tried to hide the laugh that starts to bubble when König grows more irritated by your news.

“He has a fiancée of his own, he needs to leave mine the fuck alone-” König started grabbing his phone, reaching for the device that was only inches from him. “-Simon Riley is not kind.”

“König really-”

“At least tell me can I pay for your girls nails and I might MIGHT not kill him.” He was already moving away from you, his fingers angrily entering the number of your female best friend’s lover. “I’m calling him.”

“König stop!” You called after him, laughing as you trailed after him while he lifted the phone to his ear. “He was being nice!”

You know that Simon’s fiancée is likely receiving the same treatment, since the two of you decided to prank the grumpy men you’re attached to.

The next wine night you have with Simon’s ballerina, will be very interesting.

1 day ago  Notes (11)

Got a request to revamp an old pairing I was planning. Who would better fit the role of death?

Ghost

König

Soap

See Results
1 day ago  Notes (1)

Pretty Little Thing Headcanon

John will make sure their baby knows the best classical rock/dad rock right out of the womb. He plays it often when he’s at home building baby furniture

Gaz dedicates certain hours during the day when he will talk to their baby to bond as much as possible

Simon is worried about being the good father he didn’t have so he takes every prenatal parenting class he has

Johnny makes sure to buy the MacTavish clan tartan for their baby, and fills the nursery with Scottish landscape photography

1 day ago  Notes (20)