#are you really indecent if all indecent bits are covered up by goop????

[tired-demonspawn]

a nightly stroll in the woods :)

a take on @oxblooddraws's feral belos au :) i did say i'd draw it when i got the time

[2frosty4you]

Hi hon! This is a bit of a weird request so I understand if you don’t wanna do it…

Mercs with an underage reader who looks older than she really is so she gets hit on by older men alot? which clearly makes her uncomfortable.. Maybe this happens while shes out shopping and the catcaller is stupid enough to do to it while ____ is around, how would he react?

If you do end up taking this request thank you, I really appreciate it🫶

Mercs reacting to underage reader being catcalled [Drabble, Platonic]

| All mercs x fem!reader Platonic | 597 words | Masterlist | Ask/Request |

tw: murder, its tf2 so its the norm

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Scout: 

Having grown up with only a mother as a parent he always was protective of the women close to him in his life.

Now with you being like a sister to him and the daughter his mother never had, he has to be stopped from pulling out his scattergun in the mall at this cat-caller and just unloading every bullet he has into his head.

Soldier:

Jumping over tables, chairs and people to get to this sickening cat-caller. You either have to attempt to get soldier off of the man or just let soldier scream and punch the cat-caller while shouting about America and War.

Either the catcalled is let off with a few bone breaks or let off in a casket

Pyro:

Through pyrovision all they see is your face turning to comfort and a large monster made of gray goo in the place of the cat-caller, they mutter something through the mask.

Pyro doesn't want to engage at first but if the cat-caller says anything more they are jumping at him with their fire-axe.

Bashing in the skull of the cat-caller, only seeing this gray goop dissipate then they turn and skip back to you all giddy and happy.

Heavy:

Stands behind you, his shadow fully covering you as his presence itself makes the cat-caller almost piss himself. Being protective of all the women in his life, he is standing there like a bear ready to mutilate that man.

He grabs the guy's head head to say something to the cat-caller.

Which you cannot hear but makes that man go running from the hills and the Russian to come back and usher you to the deli.

Demoman:

If he isn’t piss drunk he is more calm, moving you away from the cat-caller and changing the subject to something more your to interests.

But if demo is drunk? Well, there is a bomb in the cat-caller's car, a bomb in his pockets, a bomb in his shoe, a bomb in his hat. There is not one place a bomb won’t be. And I mean it.

Engineer:

Being a Southern gentleman he talks to the cat-caller in his calm Texan accent, buttering him up making the man feel guilty acting like you are his kid.

Then when the man is more less on edge he unsheathes his gunslinger, and threatens to rearrange his body into a way which will make him never be able to talk to women again.

He puts on the glove and walks back to you, offering to buy you ice-cream or any sweet treat.

Medic: 

What cat-caller? What the guy in his fridge? ohhh yeahhhhh. 

Yeah that cat-caller ain't lasting long if medic is around, he tracks him down and dismembers him, selling off his organs to buy you something special.

Sniper:

Sniper doesn’t say anything in the moment.

He stays quiet, moving you to walk away from the cat-caller.

But late at night, while the cat-caller is going home drunk in the dark of the night. He tracks him down and plants a bullet deep in-between his eyes.

Spy: 

That cat-caller has a target on his back now.

Spy may seem indifferent while the two of you walk past the cat-caller, but inside he has thinking of all the ways he could ruin that man’s life. Already prepared to unleash hell on him.

He stalks him, unearths private files, indecent photos of him, tax fraud, any criminal record he has, all accounts of his verbal assault and more to ensure he never can get a job or live a life ever again.

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[lovehugsandcandy]

Another n*fw drabble (a long-ish drabble) for @brightpinkpeppercorn (Mar, you originally questioned if you remembered people being on knees and I am taking that as a personal affront and am going to rectify that immediately because CHALLENGE ACCEPTED). Unedited. Likely bad. But tempting the loyal is a dirty game.

At first, she thought it was the pipes, shuddering with the stress of multiple people sharing the same bathroom. As she listened closer, she realized it was the door. Someone was knocking, now pounding, door shaking slightly.

“WHAT?” She worked the conditioner through her hair. She was only on step three of the intricate nine step process of her shower ritual and she would be damned if she was going to stop now. “I can’t hear you.”

More indiscriminate yelling. Ellie hummed. Maybe they would go away. Or drop dead.

She waited but it seemed to be getting louder. This was really disturbing the sanctity of her shower time.

“What!?!” She pulled back the curtain, leaning her head out. “Just open the door, I can’t hear you.”

“Why the hell didn’t you lock it?” Colt stuck his head in. “And Jesus, are you going to be much longer? I’ve been working all day.”

“Why don’t you use the shower downstairs?”

“Shit water pressure.” Colt opened the door wider, steam billowing out past his head. “Are you going to be much longer?”

“Yes.”

“What the fuck. Ellie, come on.” He stepped closer, his bare feet landing on the bath mat as Ellie blinked water from her eyes. He was covered in grease, t-shirt and basketball shorts marked by thick lines that continued onto his muscular forearms. Ellie swallowed. The bathroom attached to Logan’s loft was tiny and she realized how close Colt was to her, how the only thing separating them was a flimsy shower curtain. She was sure the shadowed outline of her naked body was visible through the shower curtain.

“Could you leave?” She hoped her blush was masked, attributed to the heat of the shower and not the dirty thoughts in her mind.

“Could you hurry up?”

“This is my bathroom!”

“Oh, is your name on the sign outside?” He stepped closer, challenge clear, eyes trained on her face. He was inches from the shower curtain; if Ellie just opened her fist, her hand would brush his chest and the shower curtain would fall, and they would be in an even more indecent position.

“You’ve been back for like a month, I don’t think you own this place.”

“You definitely don’t!” 

“I’m staying up here!”

“Yeah, with the my replacement, great.” He threw his hands in the air; the line of grease on his cheekbone was driving her insane. She just wanted to wipe it off, reveal the flawless face underneath. “Can you just hurry up?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and raised her chin so she could look him full in the face. “Make me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Make. Me.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when he pulled the shower curtain open and stepped in, fully clothed, water sluicing down his hair, soaking his clothes, as he backed Ellie into the wall. His eyes were glued to her face but she could see it was a struggle to not look down, not to scope out where soap was lathered on over bare skin.

He leaned in closer. “What did you say?” Ellie had to pull her eyes from where the water was darkening his grey t-shirt, line of color traveling lower and lower as the water rained down.

“Make-” She had to swallow as he leaned in closer, so close that the water dripping from his chin was falling on her, scorching droplets on her breasts. “Jesus Christ, just kiss me.”

The words were barely out when his lips met hers hungrily; she was being kissed with the force of an invading army, her body the battleground where tempers and heat and fire met. The fire was starting now, low in her stomach.

His hands slid into her hair to pull her impossibly closer, but he pulled back with a confused look on his face. “What is this?” His hands were white with conditioner, goop sticking in between his fingers as he stared.

“Logan’s conditioner?” There was a pause as he raised an eyebrow at her. “What?” she continued, shrugging. “He has really nice hair.” Colt’s eyebrow went higher as she smirked. “Maybe even better than yours.”

“Nothing of his is better than mine.”

“His hair?”

Colt’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll show you something I can do better than him.”

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat as she choked on air, the glint in his eyes making it crystal clear what activity he was referencing. His hands traced down, made slick by the conditioner and the soap on her skin, running circles around her nipples, her stomach, and a teasing touch lower that made her moan. He moved closer, pinning her against the wall as his lips attacked her neck, chasing the water as it fell, fingers gripping her hips to hold her in place. The shower was pounding behind him, steam rising and bathing the room in a hazy curtain, but she could barely hear it over the pounding in her ears.

She tried to step backwards as his teeth grazed a nipple but there was nowhere to go, the wall behind her and his insistent hands, now stroking her inner thighs, caging her in. He dropped to his knees and she keened, her hand flying to his hair, fingers fumbling over the wet strands before she was able to hold on and steady herself.

She couldn’t breathe, soft kisses across her stomach taking air from her lungs, gasping for oxygen as his lips trailed lower, teeth and tongue teasingly tracing her curves, lower and lower as her world narrowed to their points of connection: his hands gripping her waist, his lips over her hipbone, his tongue tickling her upper thigh. As soon as he found her clit, she realized she wasn’t steady at all, her head dropping back onto the tile behind her.

She had to throw her hand in front of her mouth, biting hard on the back to muffle the noises dripping from her mouth. His tongue was moving, swirling, insatiably pulling sparks and flames from her core as her body involuntarily shook. The attention paid to her body was maddening. All she could feel was pleasure, eyes affixed to the ceiling as her hand clutched his hair. She didn’t even notice when he slid two fingers inside of her, the yelp audible even though her hand and over the water. He moved his fingers and his tongue as if he had something to prove, as if he was intent on showing her just who could bring her to the peak.

She tried to watch, to look down and see where her hand was clasped in his hair, to see his face as he knelt between her legs, but she couldn’t do it, head again falling back against the tiles with an thud. The pleasure was making her lose control of her body, toes curling, plaintive gasps flying from her mouth to the ceiling as if she were praying for the shaking of her muscles and quivering in her core to carry her away.

It only took another minute, maybe two, of his tongue and his fingers moving in a maddening pattern, inside her, over her skin, through her folds, everywhere, all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. And she definitely couldn’t hold off her orgasm, pulled from her by his clever fingers and clever tongue touching every single spot that made her weak, that made her wet, that made her pull his hair and hold him right there as her eyes squeezed shut.

“Coooolt,” she moaned long, low, unsteady voice matching the quake of her body as her vision went white and the world was pleasure and warmth, everything else falling away. She came back slowly, barely registering the flow of water over her as her eyes focused on the form in front of her.

He was soaked, hair plastered to his head and clothes clinging to his body, corded muscles of his chest and arms clearly visible beneath his wet shirt. He threw it over his head and away, somewhere in the bathroom, lost to the heat between them, and his pants quickly followed, hitting the bathroom floor with a splash.

Ellie didn’t have a chance to appreciate the body laid bare in front of her before careful hands turned her, nudging her forward and down, hard line of his cock sliding against the back of her thighs, her ass, an grind that made her core twitch again. She balanced her hands on the edge of the tub as he lined up behind her; even though she was ready, the noise that escaped her mouth shocked her, low and needy and downright pornographic, a guttural groan as he filled her in one smooth stroke.

“Oooh….I like that noise.” Colt’s whisper was low in her ear.

“Then….oh….then you should keep it up.”

He pivoted his hips again and Ellie had to place her palms against the wall, pushing back as he filled her again and again, each thrust deeper than the last. She curled her fingers, nails scraping against the tiles, and bit her lip, trying to stop the curses from pouring out of her mouth.

It was useless, however, when his hand snaked around to find her clit again, moving in time with his thrusts as she keened. “Holy shit.”

“I love it when you swear.” He was basically holding her up, strong arms keeping her from sliding forward on the slick tub beneath them.

“Colt…”

“I love it even more when you say my name.”

His next stoke was dead on its target, sending flares of pleasure up her spine and making her legs shake. “Fuck, Colt!”

His arms tightened around her waist as he continued hitting the same spot, moving his thumb and his cock in a steady tempo that had her biting her lip. She would have covered her mouth, desperate to keep the noises and curses quiet, desperate for no one else to hear and interrupt, but she couldn’t move her hands from the wall. She was balanced between the tile and his body, barely standing on legs that shivered and shook with every precise thrust.

She could taste blood, the teeth in her lip cutting through the surface, but that wasn’t even enough to keep her quiet. Instead, the words and noises fell out, echoing on the shower walls. “Fuck, Colt, fuck, please please please.” She was so close. “I need- I need-”

She was almost dizzy, world spinning with the heat and the movement and his movements, drawing pleasure from her, higher and higher.

“Oh my God.” Her voice was a wheeze. “I’m so close, please…”

“You don’t need to beg.” His reply was huffed through gritted teeth as his fingers increased their speed, circling her clit, driving any sanity from her body.

“Oh my God, Colt!” It was a shout, too loud, but she was beyond caring as she came again. She could feel the tension in her muscles snapping, shaking as they let go, her cunt tightening around Colt so she could feel every single movement of his cock inside her.

“Ellie, you feel so good when you come around me.” His thrusts were unsteady behind her. “Ellie, Ellie, baby.” He pushed inside her one last time, hard, hands pulling her hips flush against his as he twitched inside her, following her over the edge.

She couldn’t move, was frozen, hands still pushing against the wall, Colt draped over her back.

“Holy shit.” He stepped back, separating their bodies and carefully helping Ellie stand. “Holy shit.”

She was about to reply when she could just hear footsteps over the water falling from above.

“Why is the bathroom door open? Ellie?”

Colt jumped in front of her, shielding her body from view. It was almost sweet, protective, or it would have been if she weren’t certain that the move was less about preserving her modesty and more about making sure Logan never saw the parts of her body that Colt covetously claimed as his own.

“Shhh…” She put a finger to her lips, peering around. Logan hadn’t seen them yet but it was close. She could just make out his head peeking trough the door.

“Whose clothes are these? Wait….”

She had to throw her hand in front of Colt’s mouth to stop the laugh.

Logan continued, “Seriously guys? In my bathroom?”

“Oh my God, do you think you own the fucking place too?” Colt’s yell could definitely be heard through Ellie’s fingers. She winced.

Logan groaned. “Can you just…oh my God. I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” His footsteps edged away from the door. “Can we all be decent in 15 minutes?”

She smirked at Colt, waiting for Logan to leave before speaking again. “I don’t think you can be decent in 15. I don’t think you’re ever decent.”

“Not with you.”

She reached out a hand to feel the water, flashing her most devious look. “Hmmm….still warm.”

“It’s be a shame to waste it.” He slotted his hips against hers and she could feel his cock starting to stiffen again.

She bit her lip. “I mean, we have 15 minutes to finish washing this grease off.”

“I think I’m gonna need longer than that to get clean.” 

“Then maybe we should get started.” She groaned as his hips moved in a slow circle against hers, a familiar heat starting anew. 

He leaned closer, lips sliding up her jaw, and she could just make out the heated whisper, hissed through the teeth affixed to her earlobe. “Make. Me.”

[suh-eng]

Chapter 1. His name is Pierrot

“You never think about us! Sometimes I just don’t know why I married you, Iero!”

“God damn it, I’m working like a dog every day to earn us a living, and I only get rebukes in return!”

“Exactly! You think about your work more than you think about us!”

“Don’t you start on that!”

“Don’t you shut me out! When was the last time you talked to your son? Do you even know what’s going on in his life? What if he started smoking because of lack of his father’s attention?”

“I already have started,” Frank nearly blurted out, taking a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket when the door slammed behind his back, but he stopped himself. He loved his parents. Man, he really did, but these everyday scenes became unbearable. The morning used to start with them venting everything that they accumulated overnight on each other, and in the evening they were coming clean with everything they haven’t said in the morning. And it always was coming down to one thing: around 11 PM mom was shutting herself down in the bedroom on the second floor and crying her eyes out, and dad was lying on the small sofa in the living room with and sighing, and they both were thinking over the things that they’re going to tell each other the next day. And when there was nothing left to say, they were sniping at Frank. He loved them. Man, he really loved them, but he was looking forward to their divorce.

Frank took a first drag and looked around. He has been living in this city for two weeks now and he hasn’t seen anything further the street his house was on yet, but he already totally hated it. Because he never wanted to leave his homeland, his beloved and dearest New Jersey, where he was familiar with every alley and every trash can. Because he couldn’t give a toss about this damn Atlanta with its noise, sour looks of the passers-by and the new school. Because his parents were too selfish and they ruined his life, they took him away from the land he loved just because some kind of a family therapist claimed that the change of the scenery can help to establish happy domesticity. But nothing was established. Loud scenes, broken dishes, eyes red from crying, a miserable son.

Frank threw the cigarette butt away, got on the board and headed towards the Westlake High School, which should have become his second home for a whole year.

For the first time he found himself further than thirty feet away from the house. Passing down the streets of the new city, he couldn’t help but compare it to his home and curse the state of Georgia for the umpteenth time. He already didn’t like it there. The streets were too clean, people too dull, and the building of the school, at where he had arrived in ten minutes, too different from the one he’s used to.

Westlake High School was one of the best schools in Atlanta, that’s why they sent Frank here. But looking at all those boys in the snapback caps, girls in miniskirts and the boom box right in the middle of the schoolyard that was ready explode from the powerful hip-hop, it wasn’t easy to believe that all of Atlanta’s prodigies study here. Nervously pulling up the strap of his bag, Frank pressed his skateboard to his hip and headed to the entrance under the curious stares. He had to show up at the principal’s office before classes start.

The second he walked through the door of the new school, he heard the loud pop, shrieking girls and hollow noise of laughter and whistling from the outside. He then looked behind and saw two swearing high-school girls, from head to toe covered in something yellow and sticky, fly into the school at a crazy speed. Making the same loud and indecent noise, they hid behind the door of the ladies’ room, slamming it very hard, and people from the outside were still laughing. “They’re all psychos here,” thought Frank, and nervously looking around, he went right down the hall in search of the principal’s office.

Apparently, the school of psychos was run by the short man, not young, but not old yet, wearing terracotta suit. He met Frank while sitting in his leather chair and looking through papers, with glasses on the bridge of his nose and black scruffy hair. When he saw someone came in, he politely put everything away and smiled graciously, suggesting him to take a sit with a gesture.

“So, Mr. Iero, you come from New Jersey, right?” he said quite friendly, opening Frank’s file.

“Yes, sir,” Frank answered with the same politeness.

“Do you like it here?”

“Yes, sir,” totally lied Frank.

“You have a really good school record. Simply excellent,” said the principal, smile growing wider.

“Yes. I want to apply to a medical college.”

“Great! We need students like you.”

With the same wide smile the principal reached into his bureau and drew a pile of papers and a lot of colorful files out of it. Frank swallowed and glanced at the principal’s table. The nameplate read that this weird funny man’s name was Mr. Goldman.

“Here! Found it!” cheerfully proclaimed Mr. Goldman, picking a sheet of paper from the pile. “Your schedule, Mr. Iero. Try not to get lost in the classrooms,” he giggled joyously.

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope, Mr. Iero, we are not going to have any problems,” the principal’s face instantly became serious, he propped his glasses on his nose with a finger, and now there wasn’t a trace of the funny man wearing a funny suit. “Our school has a Charter that should be upheld by every student. You are no exclusion. You seem to me a pleasant enough young man, please, don’t ruin this impression.”

Frank was getting a little anxious.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Mr. Goldman took on the guise of the funniest and merriest person Frank has ever seen back, and his glasses dropped on the bridge of his nose again. “I’m very glad we had an understanding. You can go, the classes are starting soon. Goodbye, Mr. Iero.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

Frank rose to his feet and walked out of the principal’s office. He liked this man. He was quite funny and kind, but strict and serious when it is required. It was three minutes before the bell.

However, Frank managed to find the classroom only four and a half minutes later, and that’s why when he shyly knocked in the door and walked in on stiff feet, thirty five pairs of eyes were staring at him. And the thirty sixth pair that belonged to the teacher who wasn’t very happy about him.

“Do you really think that getting late for the very first lesson here is the best way to establish yourself, Mr. EE-ero?” her voice was gritty, with an unpleasant tone of disgust.

“Actually, it’s EYE-ero,” Frank corrected her timidly, but the teacher ruthlessly cut him off, while he was mid-sentence.

“And anyway, Mr. EE-ero, why are you late?”

God alone knows how much effort Frank put to fight the temptation to take his board from the bag and punch that arrogant hag.

“It took me some time to find the classroom,” he hissed between gritted teeth and squeezing fists in the sleeves of his sweatshirt.

Everyone chuckled.

“Well, then I will give you a map. Sit down.”

“Thank you very much!” almost said Frank, but he held back.

In the class, there were a lot of empty seats, but the looks of other students were making it very clear that Frank wasn’t very welcome. That’s why he had to sit on the single lonely chair in the back of the class right next to the wall. “Fucking jerks,” Frank thought, when he looked at satisfied faces of his new classmates, and the memories of his old friends, so kind and funny, that have been left in New Jersey slipped into his head, making his heart squeeze from the unbearable sadness. He shouldn’t have sat there on this chair, alone, at the back of the class! He should have been taking notes after Dr. Byde, sitting behind his old painted desk, and then, after the lessons, he should’ve been riding to the skateboard park racing the dearest people he had. But all nostalgic thoughts had to be interrupted because the teacher began explaining the topic, and Frank diligently began writing down every word because he needed the highest scores in order to go to the university.

That’s how two first lessons went by. Frank scribbled, memorized, and tried his best ignoring the fact that his classmates were constantly staring at him. He was very angry and he wanted to run back to his dusty New Jersey so bad, that honestly, he couldn’t help but begin thinking everyone here in Westlake High was completely insane, and when a bright-orange ball flew in through the window and shattered the glass, he became convinced they all were psychos here.

Four lessons later, Frank felt his stomach has stuck to his back, and although he was still disoriented in that huge school, he went looking for the cafeteria. It was quite crowded here, that is why after standing a few long minutes in the line he finally bought a tiny sandwich and a juice pack and headed towards the little empty table near the window. And the second he landed his butt on the chair, a piece of oatmeal goop flew just above him, a couple inches away from his head. A piece of cereal. Like, the flying cereal, you know. Someone shouted behind him, and an impressive piece of the cereal smashed into the wall with a loud squish and then slowly dripped into an ugly puddle.  “Psychos, fucking psychos!” thought Frank, grabbing his lunch and running away from the cafeteria with, you know, the flying oatmeal!

Barely sitting through the last two lessons, which he wanted to escape so much, Frank was so happy going outside and taking a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. He really wanted to go home.

Once the tip of his cigarette was lit, he heard a bit gruff voice of a girl from behind.

“You got a light?”

Frank turned around and saw his new classmate standing in front of him. She was a diminutive brunette with her hair dyed black, and she wore a really short skirt.

“Yeah, here,” he handed her a lighter and took a first drag.

“Thanks, Frank,” she said, returning a lighter and sweetly taking a puff too.

Frank looked at her again. Alexa, Frank thought that’s her name was, was quite a nice girl, as nice as a girl in big heavy military boots with a cigarette in her hand can be.

“You are Alexa, right?” asked Frank to break the silence.

“Yeah,” the girl shook her head. “What you think? Do you like it here?”

“No,” Frank said honestly. “You all are psychos here. I want to go home.”

Alexa shook the ashes off to the ground.

“And where are you from?”

“I’m from New Jersey.”

“And why psychos?” she laughed meekly, making a sly face.

Suddenly, Iero became overwhelmed by a wave of confused resentment.

“Because this morning I saw two yellow sticky girls running into the restroom, because a big orange ball broke a window in the hall, because I was nearly killed by an oatmeal missile, that’s why!” he told off, throwing a cigarette into the puddle and putting his hands in his pockets.

This time, Alexa glinted excitedly with a loud laughter, clutching her stomach and leaving Frank confused, well, because the flying oatmeal is so fucking hilarious!

“That’s just a normal reaction for all newcomers,” she said, wiping the tears of laughter. “This is terribly funny,” she laughed again.

“Really? And how often do you throw oatmeal at each other?”

A gaggle of boys passed by, and Frank felt a weight of the hostile gazes and grins with his whole body.

“No, not really,” said Alexa. “And it’s not us. It’s Pierrot.”

“Pierrot?”  Frank repeated, baffled.

“Yes, Pierrot,” the girl said softly. “Wacky Pierrot.”

“Who in the hell’s that?”

Alexa smiled again, a hint of hostility showed on her young face.

“Well, he’s the real freak. That was his job with the broken window, and a bomb with the yellow paint too, and that’s him who is throwing the oatmeal. He’s crazy. And we call him Pierrot because he reminds of a wacky pale-faced doll. I’m sure you’ll meet him. He’s in our year.”

“Now we’re going to meet some weird Pantaloon’s puppet,” Frank said, looking tired, than he turned around and headed home, where another load of scenes and homework have been waiting for him.

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