oh my 👁️anon... I haven't been playing Deltarune at all!! I want to wait for the whole game to be out because I have the memory of a goldfish and episodic videogames don't go hand in hand with my brain
I'm hearing incredible things about it though!!! I'm super excited for it!
kinda wondering what's ur hc on tf141 with a s/o loves consent noncon
mdni. gn!reader
Soap is enthusiastic but he’s too much of a git to take it seriously. When he falls into character, pretending to be an intruder, he overexaggerates body language and words, falling into hysterics before you’re both laughing and unable to continue.
Price doesn’t understand why you don’t want to just fuck.
Ghost is prone to getting too far into character which actually scares you into using the safe word a lot. He tries, but some of that is just training.
Kyle is perfection, funneling his need for control into the role, using it to bring you pleasure. He gets off on the domination. Helps expel some pent-up energy.
For the anon that wanted some fluff and a little hurt/comfort, where reader crashes the car and is more worried about the vehicle rather than themselves, and our boys only care about reader's health and safety. Have some softness (and a little humor.)
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
John Price
John glances between you and the car and back again.
It’s unbelievable. Fucking bonkers. The car is completely smashed. Sandwiched. Hardly anything left to it. The fact that you’ve seemingly walked out of the car unharmed is a bloody miracle.
“It’s a shame. Was such a good car,” you sigh, wistfully.
John’s hand drops from his face. “You’re worried about the car?”
You shrug. “Of course. We’ve had it for years.”
With a heavy sigh, John drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to him. As your arms wrap around John’s middle, he breathes you in, savoring your warmth and smell. Just hours ago, you could have been gone. Crushed. Broken and unresponsive.
“Hardly care about an old car, love,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. “Just glad you’re safe.”
“John,” you laugh. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”
“You’re goddamn infuriating,” he murmurs, going in for a kiss. “Thinking I care more about some fucking car.”
John claims another kiss. Another. You’re alive and that is all that matters.
“Bloody hell!” comes a low, masculine voice. “Get a fucking room!”
You pull away abruptly, tugging on John’s hand, leading him away from the burly tow truck driver.
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
“You’re back early.” Kyle emerges from under the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he sits up. He checks his watch. “You’ve been gone all of five minutes.”
That’s right Kyle. Only five.
Five minutes it all it took. That’s how the saying goes, isn’t it? Most accidents happen within five minutes from home. Or is it five miles? Fifteen? Doesn’t matter.
What matters is the god-awful bumper to bumper scrape on the side of Kyle’s new car. A gift from his rich uncle because he’s the favorite. That car is special to him, and you fucked it up. Bad.
“We don’t need it,” you say, lamely.
Kyle’s surprise at your unexpected arrival morphs into confusion. “You decided we don’t need what?”
Shit.
“That,” and you wave your hand in the air, “part you gave me. I mean, is it really that necessary?” You end on an awkward giggle.
Kyle’s confusion dissolves like smoke. “The part I gave you? Told you to take it to John at the hardware store. That part?”
You lick your lips. “Yes?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” you reply automatically.
It’s too sharp, too high of a crack. Kyle stares at you intently. Nothing gets past him.
“I won’t be mad,” he says, his voice calm and cool. “Talk to me. Something happen?”
Your stomach drops, twisting hard. Not like you can cover this up. It’s his car. You can’t drop it off at the shop and pretend that everything is fine.
“I might have scraped the side of your car,” you admit.
“Might?”
You feel them then, the tears. Hot and salty.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey. Hey.” Kyle tosses the towel aside and comes to you, encircling you in his arms. “Are you okay? No bumps or bruises?”
“No,” you sob. “Just my pride.”
John "Soap" MacTavish
“Oh shit.”
Symbols ignite on the dash. Some hold their glow while others flash violently in warning. There’s a consistent hiss you can’t locate, and the radio continues to blare “You Spin Me ‘Round” by Dead or Alive.
“Fucking Jesus,” comes Johnny’s voice to your left.
He’s bent forward slightly, one arm out. It’s pressed against your chest like you’ll fly out of your seat and through the cracked windshield.
“The car,” you breathe. “The car. Oh my God.” Johnny’s hand shifts to your face, grasping your head before moving downwards, checking you over for injuries. “And the cow! Did I hit it? Do you think it’s okay?”
Spawning next to Johnny’s window is the hairy cow in question. It moos, and you both jump. A few more appear behind it, and beyond that, a broken wooden fence where more Highland Cows gather, staring at the accident.
You sigh with relief, and then groan. “Goddamnit. How are we getting to your parent’s house? This is—I fucked this up.”
Johnny turns in your direction. “Ma will understand.” He reaches for you again, cradling your face. “It’s just a car. You’re more important.”
Simon "Ghost" Riley
“Slow down, dove. You’re talking too fast.”
“I hit a tree! I ran into a fucking tree!”
Simon closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I heard that. Not the last bit.”
Your words fire like a semi-automatic. Simon can hardly keep up.
“There was a kid and I wasn’t going to hit a fucking child with a two-ton car so I swerved—”
“Love,” sighs Simon, grabbing his keys and boots, ready to walk out the door.
“—then there was this llama wearing a pink party hat and a raccoon so I assume there was a birthday party or something because why would there be a fucking llama in the middle of the suburbs—”
Simon pauses with his hand on the front door, opened mouthed. “A what?”
“—and where did the racoon come from and why was it chasing the llama and why—”
“Did you hit your head?”
You go silent for a beat. “Did I—” and then, “are you even listening to me, Simon? The car is totaled.”
Simon rests his head against the wood door, eyes shut as he steadies his breathing. “I don’t care about the car.”
Simon chuckles, a twinge pulling at the corner of his mouth. You’re acting a brat, running your mouth, which means you’re perfectly fine, as least mentally. “Sure you’re not bleeding?” he asks, opening the front door. “No scratches?” And then, because Simon finds it amusing, “Impalements?”
“Very funny,” you snort.
“Love you,” smiles Simon, bolting the door. “Be there in ten.”
“Love you, too,” you sigh. “And stay on the phone, please. The racoon might come back.”
valiants, babe 🩷 Guess who graduated and now is a licensed Teacher 🎓🎓🎓
THIS GUY 🔥🔥🦖🦖🦖🦖🦖
The last 4 years your art really helped me to pass my exams and finish my unlimited amount lesson plans 🫶🫶 Thank you for creating and sharing them 😋🩷
😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I am.. deliriously happy my love... thank YOU for taking me along your hard-earned journey of FOUR YEARS, and for sparing me your invaluable attention throughout... 🩷🩷🩷 here's a little teacher 141 in celebration:
