#just let me touch

[shady-the-simp]

i want him to breed me while he whines, my ovaries are quivering

[hinamie]

I'm always pushing you away from me / but you come back with gravity / and when I call, you come home

[theeroticlover]

You are mine !!!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You keep telling yourself that Namari.

[makkarisbelova]

EVERYBODY MOVED ON I, I STAYED THERE DUST COLLECTED ON MY PINNED-UP HAIR THEY EXPECTED ME TO FIND SOMEWHERE SOME PERSPECTIVE BUT I SAT AND STARED RIGHT WHERE YOU LEEEEEFT MEEEEE YOU LEFT ME NO, YOU LEFT ME NO, YOU LEFT ME NO CHOICE BUT TO STAY HERE FOREVER

[keferon]

Part 2 of Jazz and Prowl in space!

Gonna start calling it Odds of Survival.

Prowl loves entrusting his life to reckless strangers.

———————————————————————

Prowl pulled the release to the airlock and the music was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Bursting forward, Jazz launched outwards riding the pop of escaping air. The first quintesson had its eye socket repurposed as an ankle bracelet before the second measure even began.

Ah.

Prowl probably should have specified he wanted to try speeding past rather than confront their opponents directly.

Jazz's improvised footwear writhed sluggishly before the mech twisted his ped inside its brain case, finishing it off and turning to face the next nearest opponent.

Odds of survival 26%

The white and blue mech launched himself upwards as the nearest quintesson went for a dive bomb. It's teeth breaking on impact with the sky bridge. Jazz twisted in midair.

They fell in slow motion, back arching against a starlit backdrop. An upside down visor met blue optics. Jazz nodded his head to the side, flicking one horn up and one horn down.

Did he just wink? (#^%)

The falling mech unsheathed a blade from his wrist, driving it through the sputtering quintesson.

Oh Primus has he been flirting the entire time?

Jazz spun, slicing into the next quint to close the distance.

I can not. I can not assume that was intentional. It has to be a cultural miscommunication.

The last two quintessons pounced. Swinging hard, Jazz caught one's jaws with a forearm while he kicked the downed another in the side of the head. The third was attempting to bite into his back but the teeth couldn't get a full purchase on the rounded compact plating.

Odds of survival 22%.

Prowl snapped out of his social etiquette downward spiral. Sprinting from the safety of the airlock door, he knelt behind a large section of external piping, lining up his shots.

Tacnet spun to work.

It was designed to calculate hundreds of possible variations of large scale engagements, including the number of soldiers, type of weaponry available and could even determine the approximate number of ammunitions that would be left over, provided Prowl had enough data at his disposal.

Calculating the marksmanship needed to dispatch three hostiles at medium range while distracted by a highly competent ally?

Odds of Survival 32%

Laughable.

Three shots burst through the thin atmosphere.

Quintesson wreckers were built thick skulled and stubborn. Luckily they came with easily identifiable gaps in their organic construction.

The Quints fell from Jazz, each with a smoking hole where and eye used to be. Jazz looked at Prowl, then the smoking quintessons and back up to Prowl before doing finger guns again.

Speaking of thick skulled and stubborn.

Prowl put on his best Commanders Scowl and pointed in the direction they needed to be currently running in.

Doorwing sensors hiked as he picked up on movement from behind. The incoming hostiles was palpable even in the moons thin atmosphere. Quintessons rarely favored stealth.

Prowl began running.

Jazz kept pace, half turned around to keep track of the incoming troop. Prowl kept his optics locked forward, not remotely willing to risk tripping on the torn apart path.

Tacnet locked on to a large silvery pillow that'd been exposed to the atmosphere.

Expanding LLX Lithium battery. Explosion on contact 90%

Prowl shouted a warning but the air was too thin to carry beyond his own audials.

Jazz will step on the lithium battery in 1.5 clicks (88%) and will be critically injured in at least one leg (76%).

Prowl grabbed Jazz's servo and yanked.

Music erupted in the moment of connection.

Vibrations ran up his arm and across his frame. Inside his audials, Prowl could make out the song Jazz had begun in the airlock. Looking at his visor, mouth agape, only one thought could form in Prowls mind.

How fragging loud is he playing that music?!?

Jazz perked up, and pulled Prowl around in an arc. Multiple sharp impacts thudded into the ground behind him. Prowl turned and almost wished he hadn’t.

Three heavily armored Quintesson bombers equipped with bio-mechanical ballista.

The javelin like spikes were as long as Prowls arm and designed to pin targets in place while the slow moving blimp-like body of the bomber got into position to blow them all to the Pit.

Prowl tugged Jazz in the direction of their objective, refusing to let go in case he tried to launch himself at the bombers. Prowl wasn't sure how Jazz would manage to do so, but Prowl felt an overwhelming nagging sensation in his tanks that he'd fragging try.

Jazz was evidently fine with this arrangement.

As the music pulsed between their palms, Jazz leapt at a diagonal, pulling Prowl along for the ride. The low gravity was so damn floaty. It continually forced Prowl to readjust his footing so he wasn't frantically treading air every time his peds left the ground.

Jazz was evidently fine with that too.

Another round of ammunitions impacted where the two of them had been running.

Their egress began to take on a pattern Prowl was quick to pick up on. It took the bombers 8 clicks to reload, launching at the same time, half a click after musical flair in Jazz's song. At the moment of the flair, the mech would launch them in a nearly unpredictable pattern. After the first two times of nearly getting his arm dislocated, Prowl began catching onto these moments and moved his momentum in sync with Jazz.

They'd started dancing.

The Tactician had an iron fisted focus on matching Jazz’s frankly eradicate lead. The longer the duet continued, the more data he had to work with. Prowl steadily progressed from Reacting to Anticipating. Feeling a core deep satisfaction that came from sinking into mastering a new skill.

By the time they’d escaped the bombers range, they’d made it too the base of the first hurdle.

Their reprieve would only be brief. The bombers would catch up in approximately 50 clicks (88%), giving the mechs a small window of precious semi-safety in which they needed to scale the wall before them.

Prowl craned his helm back at the barrier.

He would not be able to scale it on his own in time (95%).

Could Jazz? (65%)

While carrying him? (19%)

Jazz rapidly tapped his side.

The alien was crouched low, impossible legs bent with potential energy. He tapped his own back, gesturing for Prowl to grab on already.

Prowl threw himself over the mechs broad back. His digits frantically searched for a hand hold, flinching away from nearly digging into fragile vents.

I can’t-

Jazz leapt.

“You’re really grab-able - Isn’t that kinda stupid?”

Stupid stupid stupid.

Prowl skated off of Jazz’s rounded compact plating, that he specifically SAID was supposed to make him hard to hold on to.

He landed hard on his aft, denta clanking together painfully.

47 clicks remaining.

Jazz hit the ground beside him before Prowl had fully gotten back up. Now facing him, Jazz grabbed Prowl by both wrists and pulled him chassis to chassis. Jazz positioned his arms to link Prowls servos behind his helm, then set his own servos tightly onto Prowls waist.

Jazz nodded once, like he was satisfied with what he’d just done.

Prowl made a facial expression that a psychiatrist would find concerning.

42 Clicks.

Jazz nodded again, like expected Prowl to respond in any coherent manner, and lifted.

Prowls legs swung forward on instinct. Following the motion, Jazz wrapped them around his waist. Through the screaming haze of his processor, Prowl had the presence of mind to lock his ankles together as he realized Jazz’s true intentions, and manually aborted the logic cascade that had nearly crashed over him.

Package secured, Jazz let go and started their ascension.

Legs bent at an impossible angle to slam multi segmented peds flat against the metal walls. Despite Prowl’s body blocking most of his view, the alien mech was unfettered by the lack of vision. Jazz hardly bothered with proper hand holds, instead opting for incredibly strong magnetic grip built into his servos.

The magnetic backwash splashed over Prowls doors wings, forcing him to temporarily offline them or risk crippling vertigo. The structure they were scaling shook violently like something large had just irrevocably broken.

This is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine.

At 35 click’s remaining, Prowl centered himself enough to search for their pursuers.

Damn it!

The bombers were a fraction faster than he initially calculated. Six clicks before we’re in range (87%). Luckily, Jazz was more than a fraction faster than initially calculated as well. At this rate, they’d reach the top simultaneously.

No reason not to be proactive.

Prowl found that if he tightly cupped one servo around the back of Jazz’s helm, he had just enough leverage to bring out a side arm. After all, the bombers were already in range of him.

Steadying his elbow over the other mechs shoulder, Prowl took aim.

Five clicks.

The bombers flew in V formation.

Four clicks.

Too heavily armored for a standard sidearm to pierce.

Three clicks.

The lead bomber opened up its front in preparation for combat.

Got you.

Prowl threaded the gap, his shot skirting over the ballista in favor of impacting the bombers prodigious cargo. He watched something spark inside a split second before it succumbed to total annihilation.

The shockwave felt like a single soft papft of a breeze in the starlit air.

Jazz hefted them over the top of the wall, not dropping Prowl in favor of sprinting with him at full speed across the top of the hurdle.

One of his arms curled around to support Prowls back, allowing the Praxian to release his death grip on their helm. Prowl leaned back into the hold, allowing Jazz freedom to see again.

Jazz turned his helm around 180 degrees-

Did not know he could do that did not know he could do that.

- to look at the fire works behind them.

Jazz whistled appreciatively at the sight. He turned back to Prowl, visor locked onto his face as they carried him across the roof.

Reverberating music, nearly crashing, numbed doorwings, and a deeply satisfying kill all followed by a display of casual body horror was making Prowl just a little bit delirious. As a result, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making, just that Jazz was inordinately fascinated with it.

Without looking away, Jazz leapt off the end of the roof.

Prowl watched as Jazz glanced over his shoulder and back to him.

Do a double take.

And then crush Prowl to his chassis.

Jazz’s visor was over bright, both horns snapped completely forward and from somewhere inside his chassis, Prowl could feel some internal component spinning into overdrive, sounding for all the world like teeny tiny screaming.

Why are we still falling.

Prowl turned as far as possible in Jazz’s iron grip.

The sky bridge was collapsing.

Odds of Survival 4%

———————————————————————

Jazz, everytime Prowl one-shots an enemy: I need to get his number.

If you’re curious, the song Jazz is playing can be whatever you like. Personally I kept switching between listening to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss and “I Feel Love” 12” version by Donna Summer while writing.

- SSTP

OH GOD AHAHJFKFK THIS IS SO FUCKING GREAT HELP

And the concept of music playing between them??? I'm s o l d. "I was made for lovin' you baby" is basically JP OST for me at this point ehehhmgmgm

Jazz: Hookay I need to transport the machinery from the point A to point B. Focus! Let's go!

Prowl: One of those tiktok videos where you can see some Reddit post and hear AI narrating it while Minecraft parkour is playing on the background. Except it's gay panic instead of reddit post and internal screaming instead of narration and even more gay panic instead of minecraft. ......and everything is overheating probably lmao

Also can you really call it a JP fic if their odds of survival never dropped lower than 10% according to Prowls brain? Ahahjgkgk all amazing JP fics have to do this. It's inevitable and I love it so much~~

[egophiliac]

LEON

LEON YOUR EYEBALLS

[that1notetaker]

In which Lucifer starts getting comfortable, forgets social boundaries, and Alastor kind of does so too. Nifty takes 1 interaction and makes it a whole plot.

[i-live-in-my-bookshelf]

Michael slutty waist Fassbender

[cherrirui-official]

I hope u guys don't mind me posting these au doodles while I work on things ahaha

I also gave JD slightly longer hair in these doodles as a funny haha but I don't think it's funny anymore he looks genuinely good with his hair like that ahahaha I hope you're not mad at me for changing his au design a bit

[fawn-tongues]

Safe Bet

[imissthestarswhenicry]

ummmm. put that thing away??!

[rottiens]

i believe the first time you let (virgin) kakashi play with your pussy, it comes accompanied in an unusual way of talking on his part. it's almost like he takes notes to himself, almost like he doesn't talk to you. the tired gaze is set between your sticky thighs, watching carefully how your folds stretch as he puts his finger in and pulls it out, you exhale. 

"oh, here?" he slowly bends it and pushes, you cry out. "too much?" 

he doesn't even look at you as you gaze at him in raw adoration. you don't even know what expression he has because he refused to take off his mask. 

"you're squeezing so tight." his eyebrows draw together for a second before returning to his usual expression. with the thumb of his free hand he squeezes and strokes the bundle of nerves. "so wet." kakashi pushes deep, faster this time and your legs tremble, you call out to him and he ignores you with a hoarse throaty purr. "here. i like that sound." 

wet clicks fill the office. kakashi fucks your pussy with one finger and then adds another with perspicacity, careful of every step he makes next. 

"I think it's gonna cum for me." your looks become one, unbreakable as he massages you like someone with experience and makes you wet his knuckles, juices dripping down his fingers and wetting his gloves. you scream his name clinging to that intangible, rushing to hold on to his thick white strands pulling him further into you. 

kakashi do it, he's guided by your fingers leading him further in; to take a glimpse of how you open up for him, how you tremble, how you squeeze. "does it always get so swollen?" he asks, and you know once again he's not talking to you. he leans in and the tip of his nose brushes the lovely sore nub back and forth almost as if he's teasing, then he takes a deep, shameless inhale, and you forget to breathe. "cute. you can cum now, I have to try again to see your reaction one more time."

[wormenjoyer]

nobody will ever convince me the act of getting purely cosmetic surgeries- especially life threatening ones, is more empowering than coming to terms with your body. you don’t have to love your body. you don’t even have to like it. getting cosmetic procedures will only make you hate all the other things you don’t like about yourself even more. your body was not made to be “attractive”. and let me clarify, none of this blame is to be based on women in the big picture. yes- women have undeniably contributed to the normalization of these invasive and dangerous surgeries, this wouldn’t even be an issue if men didn’t think the entire existence of a woman is to cater to them.

[fumifooms]

Dad always said I was like him

Meijack and Chilchuck Tims Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui

^ 1: Moony moonless sky, Fatima Aamer Bilal / 2: Bug like an angel, Mitski / 3: Woodtangle, Mary Ruefle / 4: The Third Hour of the Night, Frank Bidart / 5 & 6: FROM THE MAKERS OF "TWO-MOM ENERGY DRINK," IT'S "LET YOUR FATHER DIE ENERGY DRINK,", Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan / 7: Batman: Year Three (1989) / 8 & 9 : FROM THE MAKERS OF […], Daniel Lavery & Cecilia Corrigan / 10: Wilt, CJ the X / 11: How Do We Forgive Our Fathers, Dick Lourie / 12: Milk and honey, Rupi Kaur / 13: And My Father's Love Was Nothing Next To God's Will, Amatullah Bourdon / 14: Moony moonless sky, Fatima Aamer Bilal / 15: Someday I’ll Love Ocean Vuong, Ocean Vuong / 16: untitled, Joan Tierney v 17: Drunk, The Living Tombstone / 18: unknown

When your father tried his best to provide for you but he worked all the time and even when he was home he was either tired or stressed and he’s always liked to get drunk to relax and cheer up. When you know he values work ethics and respectability so you grew up to be capable and quiet. And when he says you’re like him you’re sort of puzzled, does he really know you so little, or does he know himself so little? But you like the feeling of your father ruffling your hair so you accept it, and still you stand next to your mother just as silent and just as stoic as her during family gatherings. He leaves again and again and when your mother leaves him nothing changes, really. You wonder if it’s more telling that you know him better than he seems to himself or that you don’t know him as much as you wish you did, or that you don’t think about him all that much these days. Out of sight, out of mind. And he’s never really been there, even when he was there, after all.

[natalievoncatte]

Even in the vast softness of Caitlyn’s bed

(their bed)

Vi felt the jolt. It was either that or the soft, pained exhalation that woke her, but it didn’t really matter. She snapped awake with the sudden alertness she’d been taught by Vander and had honed in Stillwater. Even though she came around in an instant, she still expected to feel a cold concrete floor beneath her aching side and smell the charnel stink of sweat, desperation, and blood. Waking up to soft linens and the clean, fresh smell of sheets washed in lavender water, and *Cait* felt fresh and new every time.

“…no…” Cait mewled. “…no… stop… Jinx… Cupcake! Cupcake she calls me-“

Vi hesitated, unsure whether to wake her. She’d seen plenty of people cry out in their sleep and knew that eight times in ten it was better to let them ride it out instead of waking them in the middle of something that might make them lash out or hurt themselves.

When Cait let out a blood-curdling scream, Vi lept wxross the bed and pressed a hand to her cheek, finding a cold sweat sheening her skin.

“Cait, wake up.”

Caitlyn’s eyes (*eye*, a bitter voice added) snapped open and she looked around, jerking up from the bed, her chest heaving as she drew in ragged, pained breaths.

Vi pulled her into an embrace, wrapping Caitlyn up in her arms and bending her body as much as she could to form a shield around her while Caitlyn desperately hugged her back and buried her face in Vi’s neck.

Sometimes they said more this way than they did by talking. Vi sat up and gently rubbed the back of Cait’s neck with her fingertips and pressed light kisses to the crown of her head, for no other reason than she loved her and she was free to show it.

Finally Cait said, “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Cait didn’t answer, instead resting her head on Vi’s shoulder while her finger aimlessly traced the tattoo on Vi’s arm, sort of half-humming on exhalation. Vi had learned that Cait wasn’t being rude when she didn’t answer her and that these little things she did to soothe herself were just as important. That Vi could savor Cait’s touches forever was incidental. Vi hadn’t touched her enough and would make up for it for the rest of her life.

“Do you remember the… the tea party.”

Vi swallowed hard. That night had been one of the most painful of her life, when all her sins had marched out of the darkness to revenge themselves on her tenfold. It was the terror she felt when she saw Cait’s eyes that shattered her, but the worst, the worst…

(I paid your girlfriend a visit…)

It hurt to even summon the thought, like touching the edges of a barely healed wound, feeling the scab lift and pull at the raw flesh beneath.

For a moment Vi knew that Jinx was going to lift that lid and Caitlyn’s severed rotting head would be sitting there staring at her with blank eyes and she cringed in horror and fear, a shiver ripping through her.

Cait knew; Vi didn’t have to say yes.

“Did you ever wonder how she knew you called me cupcake?”

Vi shook her head. “I thought she must have heard me. On the bridge maybe or…”

“She might have, but she delighted in making me tell her. I was helpless, terrified. She spent hours hurting me, but she kept saying she wouldn’t kill me because she was waiting for you. She said you’d do it.”

“Did you believe her?”

“No, never.”

Vi let out a long, slow sigh in relief.

“I hurt you. I hit you, but you would never hurt me.”

“We talked about that, Cait.”

“I know.”

There was a brief silence in the dark. First light was beginning to peek through the curtains and soon it would be time to get up. Most nights Vi hated waking now. She wanted nothing more than to spend then rest of her life in soft sunlit moments with Cait, making love under the warming sunlight as often as not.

Cait’s hand worked between them and traced over the scar on Vi’s belly, in the same spot where Cait’s rifle butt had smashed the air from her lungs and left her begging, sent her spiraling into a booze-fueled nightmare of longing where the pain of a fist to her face was the only thing that kept her awake long enough to keep looking for someone to kill her in the ring before the drinking did.

They held each other a little tighter.

“No one is going to get you now,” Vi promised.

“You’re not my keeper, Vi. You mean more to me than what you can do for me.”

“I meant you can hold your own. You took me out, remember? Do you know how many people can say that?”

“You let me win because I’m me.”

Vi shook her head. “Not until I was already face up on the ground. You took down Ambessa.”

“I had help.”

“You’ll have help if someone comes at you again. My help.”

“I told you, Vi, you…”

“No. It’s not because I owe you something, it’s because I love you.”

Vi hadn’t said the words yet, despite all this time, but it shocked neither of them.

“We protect each other, then.”

Vi nodded in agreement. She could see Cait’s eye growing lidded and the tension slit out of her body as Vi lay down with her. She was asleep in a few minutes, snoring lightly against Vi’s neck.

Vi vowed to stay awake, Cait was too soft.