#sensor nodes

[futureelectronic1135]

How To Run From a Coin Cell For 10 Years with ROHM and All About Circuits

https://www.futureelectronics.com/m/rohm. In this video, we have a buck converter that is designed to extend battery life from months to years in IoT applications, like sensor nodes and beacons. The converter is ROHM’s BD70522GUL and it leverages ROHM’s proprietary Nano Energy technology. https://youtu.be/u3CFHaBdlZ0

[futureelectronic1527]

How To Run From a Coin Cell For 10 Years with ROHM and All About Circuits

https://www.futureelectronics.com/m/rohm. In this video, we have a buck converter that is designed to extend battery life from months to years in IoT applications, like sensor nodes and beacons. The converter is ROHM’s BD70522GUL and it leverages ROHM’s proprietary Nano Energy technology. https://youtu.be/u3CFHaBdlZ0

[sixeye-sketch]

[futureelectronic1159]

Nexperia Energy Harvesting MPPT Technology Explained

https://www.futureelectronics.com/m/nexperia. Nexperia's Energy Harvesting PMIC uses the advanced Maximum Power Point Tracking (MPPT) algorithm to harvest energy for ultra-low power IoT sensors/nodes. MPPT uses an embedded hill-climbing algorithm to deliver the maximum power to the load. https://youtu.be/yWnLrX9O7qg

[norvisrilanka]

Arduino PLC | MQTT End Device | Industrial IoT device manufacturer | norvi.lk

How Programmable IoT Devices Operate

Having access to the most dependable and effective hardware speeds up the completion of your project. The ability to programme flexibly.

ESP32 Ethernet Device

When using ESP32 Ethernet, the NORVI ENET series is the best option because it has industrial-grade I/O and voltages. Both wireless and cable connectivity to the network are offered by ESP32 Ethernet. 

Industrial Arduino Mega

The NORVI Arita is an enhanced version of the NORVI Series. Five conventional variants with a choice of two potent microprocessors are offered. Arita is built to deliver all of the micro-controller's performance while maintaining reliability. It works with practically all industrial input and output formats. 

Arduino based Industrial Controller

Arduino IDE-programmable

Integrated OLED and customizable buttons for HMI

The ability to programme flexibly

LED signals for simple diagnosis

Applications Using a Programmable MQTT Device and Ultra Low Energy Batteries

Agent One Industrial Controllers are available for low power applications as well; STM32L series microcontroller-controlled devices are employed in ultra low power applications, where the devices must be powered by batteries for an extended period of time. When a device goes to sleep, the Agent One BT family is specifically built with transistor outputs to turn off external sensors.

Wall mount IoT Node

The NORVI SSN range is designed for independent installations in industrial settings with a focus on tracking sensor data or parameters from external devices. The implementations are made simple by the attachments for wall installation and pole mount. 

NORVI Controllers

Our Address :

ICONIC DEVICES PVT LTD

Phone : +94 41 226 1776  Phone : +94 77 111 1776

E-mail : info@icd.lk / support@icd.lk

Web : www.icd.lk

Distributors

USA

Harnesses Motion LLC

1660 Bramble Rd. Tecumseh, MI

49286, United States

Phone : +1 (734) 347-9115

E-mail : rgoldy@harnessedmotion.com

EUROPE

CarTFT.com e.K.

Hauffstraße 7

72762 Reutlingen

Deutschland

Phone : +49 7121 3878264

E-mail : sales@cartft.com MQTT End Device | Arduino PLC | Analog Input | Wireless sensor | ModBus MQTT gateway | Industrial IoT device manufacturer | WiFi Data logger

[drabbletron]

Hotimus Rodimus nnghhhh 🥵😩

|| (I call him that too! )This wasn’t supposed to be angsty in the slightest, but here we are! I love exploring the sadder side of Rodimus, and I don’t really feel like his outlier ability is talked about much. Hope you like! ||

|| EDIT! Fixed the word "fire-retarded" to "fire-retardant". That was my mistake! ty for letting me know! ||

Always Next Time (Fire Hazard): Rodimus x Reader SMUT/ANGST

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

tw: fire mention/flames

Rodimus isn't sure where to put his hands as you're going to town on his valve. Should he place them behind him on the berth, on his thighs, on your head, his own head? Where do they go?! And frag if what you're doing doesn't make him want to clamp his thighs around your little skull! Just crush you into him so you can’t go anywhere. It’s only made worse when you start outright sucking on his node. Oh, that little mouth gets you into so much trouble, and that tongue -- Primus you're going to offline him one of these days! Send him right to the afterspark!

You take notice of his fidgeting, and you know he needs something to occupy him. Not that your head game isn't amazing, but he looks like he's going crazy. He's panting and his venting is ragged enough you worry his fans can't cool him down enough to avoid a soft reboot. You don't even stop to think of your options and just put your hands up above your head, palms up as though you expect something in them. Rodimus blindly takes the hint and puts his hands in yours, whining when you place them on the back of your head and nod with a muffled "Mh-hm!"

“Are you sure?”

Theres no way you trust him enough to do that. He could hurt you! But at the same time, it's such a sign that you feel comfortable with him enough to put your safety in his hands. He'll just have to be careful is all -- and then you begin nodding vigorously and sucking hard on his node.

Electric waves course over his sensor net and he doesn't think twice before he's pressing against you to shove you deeper into him, and when you moan deeply against his valve lips he starts frantically rutting against you. The mesh is pillow-soft and slick from his lubricants, the taste is surrounding, and you feel like you're flying. If you're going to die this is exactly how you want to go out, face-deep in your captain's pussy.

He lets himself have whatever you're willing to give him and he's sure this is going to be one of the hardest overloads of his life. In moments he's retracting the rest of his modesty paneling and his spike shoots up into the air. It's slick with lubricants and prefluids, a pretty, glittering pink like what comes out of his valve, and he takes one servo reluctantly from where it cups you and he fists his spike.

Rodimus' grip is like iron over his cable and he pinches the tip enough that it borders on pain. The two sensations of pleasure from fragging your face and the harsh jerking on his spike put stars in his vision. Then room is hot, too hot, and he immediately knows what's going to happen next.

His optics shoot open and he's all but throwing you away from him as flames burst and run up his frame. You hit the ground hard, head connecting with the floor to leave you a bit dazed, and the light of his fire almost blinds you. the heat is so intense you can almost feel yourself loosing eyebrows. And, just as quickly as it came, the white-hot light is gone and you're being cradled in something soft. Blankets perhaps.

“What the hell was that?!” It’s all you can say as you feel yourself leave the ground. Something crazy is hardly out of the ordinary on this ship, but that was freakish if you had to be honest.

"I am so sorry! That doesn't usually happen! Are you alright?"

Your head is a bit sore, and you know it's going to leave a hefty knot tomorrow as Rodimus shifts you to examine you for injuries. You can feel the tension of anxiety that hangs like a storm all around him, and you know you need to be the calm one right now, if only for his sake. He was the source of the fire and he sounds so terrified right now.

"I'll be fine. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just, lost it for a moment there."

"So you set yourself on fire?"

"Not intentionally! It's just -- you were so good and everything was so intense, I just -- I am so sorry..."

All the gusto falls right out of him the more he looks at you.

"It's ok, Rod. I just didn't know you could do that."

You move to pat his arm, but quickly pull away when you feel the sudden sting of a burn.

Rodimus carefully sets you on the berth near the head and takes a place far from you at the foot. His spike retracts back behind his panels and he fixes his modesty plating to cover his valve, both dripping with transfluid, showing that despite the fiery event, he finished. Probably finished and caused the flare if you had to guess. His face tells a different story: he turns from you to look ahead at the wall, brow plate furrowed, derma drawn tight that his intake is a serious line, a scar over his usually carefree demeanor.

"Rod, baby... Are you okay? I'm not hurt, I promise. Just talk to me. It'll be okay."

Serious and laced with hurt, his tone is tight and flat, "I almost hurt you. Could've burned you -- killed you."

The heat wasn't hot enough to linger, being siphoned out of the room and replaced by the chill of the window looking out into the stars. Still, you'd give anything to take away that icy edge to his voice. It's not his fault this happened. No one could've predicted this, and you doubt he would set you up to get hurt. He'd never do something like that. You know him.

"Rodimus, it's okay. I'm not hurt. I know you didn't do it on purpose."

You stand and make your way to him, keeping the blanket over your shoulders so you can touch him. And touch him you do, leaning into his arm careful to avoid the pipes on his forearm and chancing resting your bare palm on his wheel.

He can hardly look at you, especially when you so willingly come to him after what just happened. He couldn't control himself when he needed to the most, so convinced that because you were okay with him being in charge of your safety, he could do the same. He let you down, but most of all he lied to himself. Told himself he could do it when he really wasn't sure. Let himself be overconfident, overzealous, overly excited to the point his outlier ability flared up. He's basically a walking fire hazard, and maybe you'd be better off with someone who wasn't so uncontrollable.

He feels your soft little hand on his wheel, one of the few places able to be touched since it's fire-retardant, and he looks at you. Your eyes soft like starlight, face gentle like the moon, and he can't see a trace of fear or doubt in you, like you accepted him and forgave everything all at once. If he were human, he's sure he'd cry. Instead, he breaks quietly and his face is suddenly so tired. He reaches for you, making sure the blanket stays like a barrier between your flesh and his plating because he's still not certain he won't burn you.

His servos are warm to the touch through the fabric as he pulls you into him, and he looks so sad.

"I'm so sorry."

"It'll be okay. You didn't mean it," you run a hand up and press it to his cheek. It's not as hot as the rest of him, and he leans into your palm. "We'll just be more careful next time, yeah?"

He nods, optics closing when you bring him into a barely there kiss.

"There's always next time."

[tinydefector]

Delightful distraction energyfluid Au

Soundwave x human

Word count: 1k

Warnings; smut, tiny/giant, oral, human fleshlight?, cum play.

Soundwave masterlist

The continuation of the energy fluid request I got here's the Soundwave one so I do hope you enjoy it.

______________

powerful digits never cease in meticulous tasks even as Soundwave cradles his lover against his midsection, optics and sensors split to focus on work while also monitoring each steady respiration and rhythmic beat pulsing through their relaxed form. 

When small fingers trace patterns across his plating it makes him pause for a moment, the familiar touches exploring curiously, dimming his visor and shuttering optics in content focus upon his partner's want. A low electromagnetic thrum resonates approval through his frame as talons release datapads, instead curling carefully around the organic's form in welcome of their caresses. They hum lowly as their fingers tease against his interface panel as if trying to gain access to his aray. 

His interface panel presses gently against inquisitive fingers, his powerful engine humming quietly. Hydraulics release locking clips with a soft hiss, folding armour slowly aside as his pressurised spike. Their eyesvlicker up to him with mischief as they look around to make sure no one else is around. “Getting bolder Sounds” they tease out in a husky tone trying to keep their voice quiet. 

Soundwave's visor shows as ‘shh’ emoji, which makes them nearly cackle at the humour of the silent bot. They smile up at him as their hands slowly wrap around his spike, lips pressing kisses along the length as they work him slowly. Trying to keep quiet.

At the intimate contact, Soundwave vents a restrained exhalation, visor darkening, his digits pause their typing as his other servo cups around them eagerly pressing them closer, talons carefully curling yet avoiding constriction that risks harm. 

Their lips eagerly work the tip of his spike slowly taking him into their mouth as they bob their head, their hands work his Length as they slowly rub their body against his spike. At his lover's mouth enclosing his pressurised spike, Soundwave ventilations stall, restraint, the sole barrier preventing unchecked vocalisations from resonating through his frame.   

Held gently yet firmly against his abdominal plating, they willingly grind against him. Soundwave eager thrusts against their smaller form, evoking fresh jolts through sensory network, electricity dancing across hidden circuits and nodes as hisother servo clenches onto the bench. His partner gives so freely to him, such a small creature so eager to please him. 

The Decepticon's powerful engines strains to maintain silence. Talons stroke delicate caresses across their hidden skin, talons tugging and pulling at their clothing until he finally had enough. talons peeling away fabrics with practised yet tantalising leisure. Plating radiates temperature to match delicate organic softness now pressing against his spike.

Their warm flesh presses against the heated metal and silicone of his spike. wrapping their arms around him as Soundwave slowly lifts and lowers their body grinding his spike against them as their tongue teases the head. Soundwave rumbles deeply in satisfaction, finally feeling their soft body pressed against his spike, 

Powerful servos guide their willing form in rhythmic movement slowly rolling his hips to meet theirs as his helm tilts back in pleasure. Soft breathless whines leave them as they let Soundwave use them as hisown personal fuck toy. Transfluid slowly leaks from his spike and they eagerly lap it up, lips pressed to the tip as they suck. He grinds harder against them and another low muffled moan leaves him. 

 their eager mouth lavishes each pearl of transfluid, drinking it down as quickly as they can. Each motion pulls pleasure from him, sensors ablaze with ecstasy. His tired and overworked system crumbles as his overload hits. Control slips, pleasure takes over his systems.

"Fuck... Soundwave " they whine out as they buck against his spike. Body pressed flush against it. "God tastes so good" they mumble out before their lips are sealed back around the tip trying to drink up every little drop that leaves Soundwave. 

The praise has him doubling over the desk, clenching them in his servo as transfluid spills from him. Gushing out from around their mouth and coating their body, his powerful frame stiffening as overloaded protocols flood sensory networks with white-hot rapture. 

Transfluid spurts forth in thick pulses beyond containment, meeting their welcoming mouth in endless waves dripping down their naked form as he continues to rut against the slinkees of their coated skin. They eager buck against his sensitive spike, driving bliss against tingling circuits, and over-stimulated nodes. 

 Their name becomes a soft prayer upon a  vented breath. frame convulsing Offline optics take a moment  before the glow to his visor returns. They giggle as his transfluid slowly coats their body dripping down the floor and seat as he continues grinding against them as he comes down from the high of overload, their lips eagerly lap up the sweet taste of the bright pink fluid as it runs from Soundwave's spike. 

Visor glows dimmed as other emojis pops up on his visor. 

😘🫵🛏🍆

They nearly burst out laughing, seeing the collection of emojis. Their fulfilled laughter vibrates through his frame melting his spark His pressurising spike grinds gentle yet thorough against flushed skin now glistening with transfluid's sheer abundance. Lips lapping eagerly at each escaped pearl stealing renewed jolts of ravishing circuits leave him helpless but to adore. “how about you let me enjoy cleaning up, then you can have round two in bed. Because I want to enjoy my treat” the offer to him which earns them a thumbs up emoji. Their mouth eagerly collected as much transfluid as they could, enjoying the sweet and bitter taste of the energy drink. “Mmm gonna get me addicted to this Soundwave” they state which earns them His digits trailing down their backs,  coating his fingers in transfluid And bringing it to their mouth. They slowly suck his digits, trying their best to not leave a drop left. 

“Your making me have bad habits” 

His visor Lights up again. Tilting his head down to watch them as a sting of saliva stretches Between his digits. A deep purr of delight rumbles from his chassis as the emoji flickers across his face. 

😈

___________

Taglist @angelxcvxc

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Wheeljack x reader: Caught

Dom Wheeljack and sub reader, Wheeljack masturbates into your shirt, reader has a vagina, gender neutral and racially ambiguous, reader walks in on Wheeljack, fingering, size kink

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t hold your dirty shirt up to his olfactory sensors and huff in your human pheromones but Wheeljack couldn’t help himself. It was just a simple little piece of clothing you had left behind from staying over and now Wheeljack planned on desecrating it. You looked so cute sleeping on your little cot next to him when you stayed the night. All bundled up and wearing the exact shirt he was holding up to his faceplate.

You had smelt so different this time, so good. Ovulating? Isn’t that a thing humans did? Whatever it was you smelt intoxicating and Wheeljack had to try to recharge with a dripping spike pressed against his modesty plate. If Wheeljack could smell you that means every mech in the base could get a huff of your pheromones. That worried him. Was someone else rubbing one out to the thought of you? Soft little human pussy so decadently wet and needy at the sight of a Cybertronian spike. Your folds being pushed to the limit as you take something so big inch by inch. Wheeljack couldn’t help but grab his spike tightly in annoyance. You were his whether your current relation was platonic or not. No one else should be thinking about having you spread open and crying out for them.

What have you done to him?

Wheeljack wrapped your shirt around his spike imagining he was fucking your torso right under your shirt. He wanted to ruin your body so badly. Rub his spike over you and splatter his overload all over your willing form. He imagined surprising you during one of your hangouts and just jutting his spike up your shirt. Your soft skin and squishy body rubbing and stimulating his spike as you gasp out in surprise.

He quickened his pace fucking his spike up into your used shirt. His cooling fans hummed and whirled excitedly at his fantasies. He could just pick you up and rub your little cunt along his spike. Have you so wet just from grinding against him then maybe he could barely pop the tip of his spike inside if you. Wheeljack groaned your name imagining how plush your sweet little pussy must feel. Do you think he could reshape your body for his spike? Maybe if he fucks you enough he could perfectly form your hole into the shape of his spike? Primus, Wheeljack hoped so.

Frag, he was getting close. You’ve absolutely ruined him and you have no idea. You don’t even know how desperate he is to be slotted inside of you, run his servos over your body, and use you like a fleshlight. Humans have a sort of anterior node as well. He could rub at it making you cry out for him until you cum on just his digits. He wouldn’t be able to stop at one though. After seeing your cute expression and how you hump his fingers, Wheeljack knew that if he had you like that he’d be insatiable.

“Almost, sweet spark,” Wheeljack groaned as he fucked your dirty shirt. Your name fell out of his vocal box like a prayer. He was so close just chanting your name in pleasure as he imagined all the positions he’d-

“Wheeljack?”

Your sweet voice startled Wheeljack right into his orgasm. Thick globs of transfluid dirtying your already used shirt as he came with the fabric wrapped firmly around his spike. He felt horror, relief, and above all guilt. You were his closest friend and here he was caught in the act of masturbating to your thought with your shirt as his fetish item.

“S-shit!” Wheeljack’s shaky vocalizer managed to squeak out.

You clenched your legs watching how tightly he gripped your shirt to his spike: he was practically strangling his metal cock with the fabric.

“Do you,” you felt your heartbeat quicken and your body heat up. “Do you want me to clean you up?”

Wheeljack thought his circuits were fried when you spoke. He shakily turned his helm to face you as you stood in front of the closed door to his habsuite. How long have you been there?

“Can I help?” You asked pressing your thighs together.

“W-what?” Wheeljack managed to push out through his dermas.

“Can I help clean you off?” You asked again as you licked your lips and eyed up his spike.

Wheeljack cursed under his breath. Were you watching him this whole time? Did you just stand there and ogle at your closest friend fucking your shirt and now were you asking what he thought you were asking?

“Frag,” Wheeljack groaned as another small spurt of transfluid shot onto your now further dirtied shirt. “Sweet spark, please.”

You eagerly trotted up to your mech as he removed your shirt from his spike. You licked your lips at the sight of wet strings of transfluid being stretched out from where he lifted the soiled garment. You tepidly grabbed his spike in both hands earning a low hiss from Wheeljack.

“How long-“

“The whole time.”

How did he not notice you?

“Fuck,” you moaned as you rubbed up his metal shaft. “You’re so fucking big.”

Wheeljack cupped behind you and ushered you closer to his spike. “C’mon doll,” he said over his cooling fans. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

You shoved your face against his spike as you mouthed over the metal phallus. The bitter and sour taste of his cum made you whine. He had made this mess thinking about you, all of this transfluid was for you. You eagerly licked and sucked at the massive cable trying to slurp down all of his release. Your small hands traced over his biolights as you licked up his length. Your mouth was so much warmer, so much softer than Wheeljack ever imagined.

“Need to get you out of your little coverings,” Wheeljack moaned as you sucked at his sensitive cock.

“Yes,” you panted as you pulled away from your meal. You swiftly pulled your clothes off of your body like they stung your skin. “Fuck, Wheeljack I’ve wanted this for so long!”

“How long?” Wheeljack asked as he lifted you into his lap. Your legs were spread on either side of his spike as it still stood proudly and erect.

“Since we first met,” you admitted breathlessly.

Wheeljack couldn’t help how tightly he held your hips. You’ve been interested in him this entire time. All those nights of needy masturbation on his end could have been put to an end by simply asking to have your little body in his berth.

“You’re soaked,” Wheeljack groaned as if he couldn’t believe it himself. Your soft little human valve was absolutely drenched. He traced a digit through your folds exploring the squishy texture of your most intimate parts. “Did you really just stand there and watch?”

“Yeah,” you admitted feeling embarrassed. You felt like an entire pervert having watched Wheeljack rub one out into your shirt but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I never imagined this is how I’d finally get to fuck you,” Wheeljack chuckled embarrassed.

“Please,” you panted as he rubbed circles over your clit. “Oh Wheeljack please fuck me!”

“Oh I will,” he chuckled as he rubbed up your torso with his other servo. “But I don’t think I can fit in here just yet.” You whined out as he pushed the tip of his metal finger into your sopping hole. He had to hold your hips in a tight grasp to keep you from mindlessly humping his servo.

“Frag,” Wheeljack couldn’t help sinking an entire digit into you. You squirmed and whined out in something between pleasure and pain. “Don’t think I can fit inside you proper without some training.” You could barely move in his grip as he fucked his finger into your hole. He practically held you like a doll as your greedy cunt swallowed up his digit.

“Wheeljack please!” You moaned out throwing your head back against his chasis. “Just use me! Please just use my holes!”

“Oh I will,” Wheeljack laughed. “Trust me I’ll make good use out of this little valve.” You whined when you heard how your pussy squelched around his finger. “You’re taking it so good,” Wheeljack moaned as he frantically fucked his finger up into you. “Can’t imagine how you’ll feel when I finally get to spike you down.”

“Wheeljack!” You cried humping his finger as he prodded and pushed around your insides. The room was filled with slick wet sounds mixed with a mixture of yours and Wheeljack’s pleading and praise. You were like a little angel from Primus himself. He knew that he needed to finish whatever projects he currently had ASAP because once he was finally inside of you he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to pull out.

“C’mon,” Wheeljack groaned as your whines became more frantic and needy. “I got you. You can let go.”

It was like he could command you to cum. You squeezed around his finger like a vice and Wheeljack couldn’t help wondering how tight you’d feel around his spike. Your little whimpers and whines were addicting. The way you humped your hips against his finger like a needy animal made his spark swell with both love and pride.

“There you are,” Wheeljack cooed. “You’re doing so good.”

You choked on a sob as you rode out your high. The way he fucked his finger into you slowed as you rode out your orgasm. “Wheeljack,” you panted shakily. He kept his finger inside of you now just simply stroking your walls like a well loved pet.

“Gotta make up for lost time,” Wheeljack laughed as he pressed a second digit against your hole. “Plus I think you owe me another for just standing there and watching.”

[veryconnoisseurcherryblossom]

Predaking x Reader - Breeding.

(First time writing valveplug ever, please let me know if I got anything wrong/where I can improve. I also cross-posted on Ao3. Thanks!)

--------

“Mnngah… Pr-Predaking…” You moaned helplessly beneath the behemoth that was your Conjunx, your mate. You hear him growl into your audials, but you can barely focus on anything but his large, primary spike thrusting into you, all but piercing your gestational forge. His smaller, secondary spike rubs against your anterior node and belly with each thrust, the combined feeling of both drawing out desperate, whiny gasps.

“M-more, please more…!”

He chuckles above you, a warm ex-vent washing over your back. The room is almost unbearably hot, each vent you take barely doing anything to cool down your frame. In your internal HUD you see a warning about overheating, but you ignore it, turning off the warning system.

“Such a greedy little mate you are… Who am I to deny you?” Predaking begins to pick up speed, his thrusts becoming harder. You gasp and groan into the pillow, your tears soaking the plush cushion. Groans turn into squeals as your royal lover shifts your hips, changing your position ever so slightly, yet the ridges of his spike rub against your valve sensors in such a way that the renewed stimulation brings you closer to crashing, falling into euphoria.

“Predaking! Oh, oh Primus I’m- I’m going to-”

“Overload for me, my queen.”

Your scream reverberates around the cave, your frame shaking as you feel your calipers work feverishly on Predaking’s spike, all but trying to milk him of his transfluid. Not a moment later does he overload, spilling his seed deep inside of you and coating your chassis from his secondary spike. You shake in the berth, tired, sore, but oh so full.

Whimpering as he pulls himself out of you, you hear and feel him hum in approval, satisfied at the sight of your overfilled, puffy valve spilling his transfluid onto your berth. You can feel it leak down your tibulem, burning hot against your overheated frame.

“You will make a fine carrier, my queen.”

You sigh, content as you fall onto your side and roll onto your back. You tiredly bring your arms up, welcoming him for a hug with a near-delirious smile. He obliges without a word, wrapping his monstrously large arms around you and capturing your lips with his own, drawing you into a slow, lazy, loving kiss.

Pulling away, you look at Predaking with a bashful smile.

“One more time…? Just to make sure I’m sparked…” Predaking smirks, a rumbling chuckle emerging from him. His golden optics glow as he lines his spike up against your valve, drawing a mewl out of your vocal components as you feel his claw circle your over-stimmed anterior node.

“What a greedy little mate you are...”

[layeredshirts]

Guys. Vil did Ortho's make up with a regular brush and not an airbrush. I'm light headed thinking about Vil being affectionate with a first year who actually wants to reciprocate it.

Ortho wants to be acknowledged as a real boy and Vil gives that to him every single time. He would caress Ortho's skin because of how unnaturally soft it is. When Ortho looks a little peeved at the thought that a self learning automaton can't have soft skin, Vil clarifies that he meant "for a 16 year old boy. He has soft skin for a 16 year old boy."

When Ortho misses film club meetings, idia tells Vil that he has a bug. Vil's not entirely clueless, he brainstorms with Epel things that he might enjoy while he feels better. They settle on a holographic soup that Ortho delights in downloading.

When he returns, Vil feels around his neck for any remnants of a fever or swelling, his so called "lymph nodes." Ortho finds it all pleasant, even if it is a weird sensation. Despite being built with touch sensors and complex coding to distinguish between touches, most people aren't aware of them. They try not to touch him.

Vil would also fall in love with Ortho's eccentricities. He loves that Ortho is outspoken with his own opinions, especially on the films they create. Vil would tell him that his little synthetic laugh is contagious, and makes him laugh too.

The problem with being created so human, with his own scarily similar humanity, is that he feels grief without the justification. Idia's bad moods can ruin his too, a lack of touch can make him lonely. Being excluded feels just like that.

The small ways that NRC boys, the 3rd years in particular, include Ortho leave me sobbing on the floor. Malleus referring to Ortho as Littler Shroud, using a name that he reserves for living things to address Ortho. Floyd and Jade strong arming Idia into making Ortho feet so he can wear shoes (LOL?) kjasdas post cancelled I can't stop laughing

[futureelectronic1527]

Nexperia Energy Harvesting MPPT Technology Explained

https://www.futureelectronics.com/m/nexperia. Nexperia's Energy Harvesting PMIC uses the advanced Maximum Power Point Tracking (MPPT) algorithm to harvest energy for ultra-low power IoT sensors/nodes. MPPT uses an embedded hill-climbing algorithm to deliver the maximum power to the load. https://youtu.be/yWnLrX9O7qg

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water”

Chapter Six: Shadows on the Balcony

The Bad Batch x Reader

Artificial jungle. Simulated heat. Humidity just this side of unbearable. Wind generators hissed softly in the corners of the chamber, fluttering camouflage netting over raised duracrete structures and pushing foliage like real air would.

This was one of the advanced sim environments — designed to test full squad cohesion, field communication, stealth, and objective retrieval under combat stress.

In the command observation deck above, a half-circle of instructors and squad leaders leaned over the rail or watched through datapads, your own arms crossed as the training scenario for Clone Force 99 loaded.

“Map variant Cresh-four,” announced the Kaminoan technician flatly. “Objective: recover target payload. Hostile AI resistance. Five active zones. Timer begins upon drop.”

You watched the four boys get into position at the sim pad. They didn’t speak.

Hunter tilted his head just slightly — listening.

He always did that.

“Still no squad leader assigned?” asked Mij Gilamar beside you.

“Officially? No,” you answered. “Unofficially? Hunter’s stepped into it more than once.”

Gilamar nodded, clearly observing the boy on the screen. “He reads the terrain like it’s talking to him.”

“That’s because it is,” murmured Kal Skirata from behind. “He’s a sensor net with legs.”

The sim lights blinked green. The clone cadets dropped into the terrain.

Crosshair broke left without speaking, vanishing into the trees with sniper rifle slung low. Wrecker stomped forward like a bulldozer, low and eager, muttering gleefully under his breath.

Tech paused at the first terminal node, already halfway through slicing the enemy defense grid. He didn’t ask. He just did it.

And Hunter… stood still for three full seconds.

He turned his head, nose twitching slightly, fingers flexing, then snapped out a short series of hand signals. No one saw them.

But they worked.

You frowned.

“They’re working in parallel,” you murmured. “But not as a team.”

“Each one’s exceptional,” said Vau. “But they’re four lines heading in different directions. The other squads are braids. These boys are wires — frayed ones.”

“Not wires,” Skirata muttered. “Knives.”

Wrecker crashed through a barricade, scattering enemy droids like toy blocks. One turned to fire and got flattened by a flying crate hurled by the laughing giant.

“Boom!” he howled. “Oh, I like this sim!”

Tech’s voice crackled through the static. “Wrecker, you’ve compromised the noise profile! They’ll triangulate your—”

“Already did,” came Crosshair’s bored voice over the comm. “Took the shot. Six hostiles. All down.”

“You could say thank you,” Tech muttered.

Hunter’s voice cut in. “Payload’s two clicks north. Wrecker, fall back. Crosshair, cover the ridge. Tech — get me surveillance on heat signatures near the extraction zone.”

“Copy,” Tech said, not even hesitating.

They moved like instinct.

But not like a unit.

Wrecker hit obstacles that wouldn’t exist if Tech had warned him. Crosshair was perfect on his own but didn’t relay updates. Hunter gave orders — good ones — but the others didn’t always acknowledge them. There was no feedback loop. No cohesion.

They won.

They retrieved the payload. Cleared hostiles. Exfiltrated under the time limit.

But it wasn’t pretty.

“Well,” Vau said, hands behind his back, “they’re efficient. I’ll give them that.”

“No,” Skirata countered. “They’re effective. Not the same thing.”

Your eyes stayed on the screen as Hunter was the last to exit the sim zone, checking the others before letting the simulation drop. His hand lingered near the wall, like he was still half in the trees.

“They rely too much on instinct,” you said. “No fallback plans. No squad formation. Hunter’s trying to keep it together, but… they don’t know how to be a team. Not yet.”

“You think they will?” Gilamar asked.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “But if they do — if they ever do — none of our squads will be able to touch them.”

Skirata snorted. “That’s a big if.”

The boys had just left the sim chamber.

“Did we pass?” Tech asked, breath slightly fast. “Because the mission objective was completed, and Crosshair’s kill ratio was optimal—”

“You were late to exfil,” Crosshair muttered.

“Because I had to reroute the—”

“Because you talk too much,” Wrecker added with a grin, pulling his helmet off.

Hunter leaned against the wall, towel draped around his neck, silent.

You entered a moment later, arms folded.

“Briefing room. Ten minutes. We’re going to talk about the difference between winning and working together.”

Crosshair rolled his eyes.

Wrecker groaned. “Are there snacks?”

You looked at him. “If you work as a team next time? Maybe.”

Wrecker lit up. “Then I call first crack at the next droid squad.”

Hunter exhaled slowly.

Maybe — just maybe — they’d get there.

⸻

Kamino — Briefing Room D-17

White walls. Metal chairs. A flickering holo-display throwing blue shadows across the dull grey table.

The boys filed in, still in their simulation blacks, tracking mud across the floor that no one even pretended to care about. Wrecker was humming. Crosshair dropped into his seat like it owed him something. Tech didn’t sit — just stood by the console, inspecting the data readout you’d uploaded five minutes ago.

Hunter was last. Always was.

He leaned against the wall at the back, arms crossed, head bowed. Listening.

You waited until they were still. Or, close enough.

You dropped the holopad onto the table.

“Objective completed,” you said. “Target secured. Hostiles neutralized.”

Wrecker fist-pumped. “Boom! Told ya we nailed it.”

“But,” you said flatly, “team cohesion was… let’s say theoretical at best.”

Crosshair huffed.

Wrecker slouched in his chair. “What’s co-hee-shun mean again?”

“It means,” Tech said sharply, “that we operated as four vectors intersecting briefly under shared mission parameters without centralized communication.”

Wrecker blinked at you. “So we… did good?”

“Tech means you all acted like stray blaster bolts,” you said, dropping into the chair opposite. “You hit the target — but you nearly shot each other in the process.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Wrecker raised his hand.

You stared at it. “…What?”

“Permission to say something dumb.”

You sighed. “Granted.”

He grinned. “You looked really cool when you were yelling at Crosshair last time. Like—your vein was doing that thing again.”

You stared at him. Crosshair rolled his eyes. Tech pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hunter… almost smiled.

Almost.

You leaned forward. “Listen to me. You four are better than most squads your age. You’re better than a lot of commandos. But you are not a squad. Not yet.”

Hunter met your eyes. “We’re not them,” he said quietly. “We’re not like Delta. Or Omega. We don’t… slot in.”

“No one’s asking you to slot in,” you replied. “But if you want to survive what’s coming, you’d better learn how to lean on each other. Really lean.”

Wrecker frowned. “We do that. I carry Crosshair’s ammo sometimes!”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Crosshair muttered.

“You also threw a droid leg at me once,” Tech added.

“It was a strategic distraction.”

“Your idea of strategy is throwing things and seeing what explodes.”

“Guys,” you warned.

Hunter uncrossed his arms. “They’re not wrong. We… work. Just not… together.”

“And that’s what we’re going to fix,” you said, rising. “Starting tomorrow. Team drills. Shared targets. Coordinated strikes. No more lone-wolfing it. Not unless I say so.”

Crosshair looked unimpressed.

Tech nodded reluctantly.

Hunter said nothing, just watching you like he always did — like he was weighing your words and the weight of something deeper underneath them.

Wrecker raised his hand again. “Do we get more snacks if we work together?”

You blinked. “Yes. But that wasn’t the point of the—”

“Teamwork!” he yelled, springing up and throwing an arm around a very annoyed Crosshair and a startled Tech. “I love this plan!”

Tech squirmed. “Please refrain from crushing me.”

“You weigh, like, a twig. I could carry all three of you in one hand.”

Hunter finally stepped forward, arms still crossed. “We’ll try.”

You nodded. “That’s all I ask.”

Then Wrecker suddenly grabbed your wrist.

You stiffened slightly — instinct. The others tensed.

But all he did was pull you into the chaos of the group hug, wrapping one arm around you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“She’s one of us,” he said firmly. “Even if she doesn’t throw grenades.”

“I could throw grenades,” you muttered, trying not to smile.

Crosshair scoffed. “You’d probably miss.”

Tech added, “Statistically speaking, your coordination isn’t ideal.”

“I will end you both.”

Hunter chuckled under his breath. “Good luck with that.”

And for a moment — just a moment — it felt like they weren’t four parts of a broken code.

It felt like the beginning of something real.

Something whole.

⸻

Tipoca City – Training Dome 3C

The weather outside the transparisteel dome pounded with relentless rain, as always. But inside, the sim environment was set to urban combat: tight alleys, low visibility, multiple vertical levels. Tactical nightmare. Perfect test bed.

The entire dome was filled with cadets in neat ranks. Delta. Omega. The Nulls — lounging as usual. Dozens of standard units. And off to the side, Clone Force 99. Restless. Unimpressed.

Wrecker was bouncing on his heels. Crosshair leaned against a wall, picking at the sight of his training rifle. Tech was muttering to himself about probability ratios. Hunter was doing that quiet-hover thing again — watching everything. Especially you.

You stepped into the sim ring, adjusting your vambraces.

Flanking you: Kal Skirata, grumbling already; Walon Vau, silent and tense as always; and Mij Gilamar, calm and relaxed like he wasn’t about to enter a live-fire exercise.

The point of this exercise and demonstration was to show the cadets — especially the Bad Batch — that their trainers aren’t just instructors. They’re warriors. And some of them have killed in more wars than these cadets have had meal rations.

“Simulation parameters uploaded,” came the Kaminoan announcer’s voice. “Objective: hostage retrieval and enemy suppression. Teams will engage twenty droid-class AI units, mixed terrain, time limit: seven minutes.”

A snort echoed from the cadet ranks.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Twenty droids,” Crosshair muttered, just loud enough. “Should we bring them bandages, too?”

Wrecker snickered.

“Think she can even lift one?” Tech asked, tilting his head.

“Maybe she’ll try diplomacy,” Crosshair said dryly.

“I like her,” Wrecker defended. “She’s cool!”

“Quiet,” Hunter muttered.

But you heard it all.

Good.

Let them underestimate you.

You dropped into the zone with your team.

No words.

Skirata went high. Gilamar low. Vau ghosted into the side alleys like a shadow.

You took center.

The droids came fast — faster than sim standards, someone had clearly tweaked the AI — and you welcomed it.

Your vibroblade met the first one’s carbine mid-swing. It hit the ground in two pieces.

Your boot crushed its headplate an instant later.

You didn’t slow down.

You slid under the next volley, planted a sonic charge against the wall, and vaulted off the falling rubble to land clean behind a cluster of enemies.

They turned.

Too late.

Flash.

Pop.

Smoke filled the corridor.

Your HUD blinked red, orange, then clear.

Three droids down before the cloud cleared.

Above, you heard Skirata bark a command in Mando’a.

A sniper dropped from the scaffolding — Vau’s shot.

Gilamar moved like liquid across the rubble, twin blades flashing.

You swept into the last hallway, slamming your elbow into a droid’s neck servos and using its collapsing weight to vault over a barricade.

Target in sight.

You raised a pulse blaster, fired twice, and dragged the “hostage” — a weighted dummy — into extraction.

Timer: 5 minutes, 12 seconds.

Not just under time.

Crushed it.

Clone Force 99 was quiet.

Wrecker’s jaw was open.

Crosshair stared at the screen, frowning.

“She was invisible in the smoke,” Tech whispered. “Did you see that targeting pattern? That was intentional chaos. Planned.”

“She moved like Skirata,” Hunter said, quiet and thoughtful.

Wrecker beamed. “Told you she was cool.”

You pulled off your helmet, still breathing steady.

The cadets watched in near silence as you rejoined the others. Skirata just grunted at you approvingly. Gilamar patted your shoulder. Vau didn’t say anything, but his nod was enough.

The Kaminoan tech droid buzzed overhead. “Simulation complete. Performance exceeds baseline instructor metrics. Efficiency rating: 91%.”

You stepped to the edge of the platform.

“All of you think because we train you, we’re past our prime. That we’re just barking voices behind blasters.”

You scanned the cadets — all of them — before letting your eyes settle on your squad.

“We were killing before you were breathing,” you said. “We didn’t inherit our skills. We bled for them. If you want to survive what’s coming, start learning from the ones who already did.”

Hunter held your gaze.

You nodded once.

He nodded back.

Not approval. Not yet.

But respect?

Maybe.

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[onlyyvette]

★ DAY 4 - breeding | grimlock

kinktober 2023 - masterlist.

warnings: top/dom reader + sub/bottom grimlock + cybertronian reader + heat cycles + breeding + robo tits + feral behavior + kind of dub-con since grimmy is in heat + public sex + you guys literally frag in the hallways of the ark + grimlock needs to get dicked down NOW + yes i do enjoy mechpreg sue me

a/n: Idk why but grimlock just awakens something in me; also this would most likely take place in the g1 show but i love using idw grimlock's design and character

Another day that Grimlock was stuck on this stupid planet with it's stupid rocks, and it's stupid fleshlings, and of course, stupid Decepticons. And least, but definitely not last, this cursed heat-cycle from the Slagmaker himself.

Heat-cycles weren't typically too big of a problem for most Cybertronians. They were short periods of time where mechs charge soar to unbelievable heights once every few years, usually satiable by heat-repressants or a good session of marathon sex. Usually the first option was chosen, the second method being better suited for two or more mechs in heat that are able to keep up with each other. Even when none of those options were available, it's only the first day or two that are the worst, the heat enough to make a mech pounce on someone. Still, locking yourself in a habsuite with enough energon is an easy fix. But despite how relatively easy it is to deal with a heat-cycle, Grimlock just couldn't shake his off.

Grimlock first realized his heat was was approaching when he was "sparring" with another mech. In actuality, he was just working off some steam and chose the closest poor shmuck to help him out. When he barreled into his opponent and knocked them flat onto the ground, instead of letting up, he stayed leaning into them, heavily panting as he suddenly felt dizzy and...hot. It was when Grimlock realized the he was panting and damn near about to rut against the mech he abruptly got up and excused himself. Of course, without actually saying excuse me of course.

Grimlock immediately made a beeline to the medbay. He usually enjoyed his heats when he had potential partners, but the desolate planet he was stuck just made him want to completely get rid of that extra charge. He downed all the heat suppressants that Ratchet gave him and went about his merry day before that same sensor-clogging hit him again. But he already took the suppressants! While it made no sense to him why his heat was still persisting despite the medicine was beyond him, but he was quickly beginning to forget about that train of thought when the fog started to cloud over his mind...fuck he was so horny.

Grimlock could feel his array heating up, his spike throbbing as it begged to be released from its confinements and his valve lips drooling, already puffy without even touching them. Maybe he could just release his panel really quick and just sneak a servo under his array and touch his needy valve. Just a little bit though! Just enough to get rid of this annoying charge and...

Before Grimlock even noticed it, he was fingering open his valve, forcing his blunt digits into the dripping wet heat between his thighs. "Mmhhhghh...hahhh..." Grimlock panted heavily, continuing to thrust into his valve, hitting whatever nodes he could find. He whined, thinking about how shameful it was for him to be fucking himself on his digits right in the hallway of the Ark but it was oh-so-hard for him to linger on that though because of the dizzying heat clouding his senses. The dinobot began to slide down the wall he was leaning on for support because of how weak his legs were, yet his servo never left his array.

"Haahh--Ahh! Ghh..." Grimlock's moans became more vocal as he began to reach his high. By now, Grimlock was face down, his aft in the air trembling while his digits continued to pump themselves in and out his sensitive valve. His frame was running so hot and his processor couldn't even begin to worry about how mortifying his predicament was--he just wanted someone to help him out dammit!

✦ ✦✦✦✦✦✦ ✦

You were walking down one of the many hallways in the ark after coming back from a sparring session with another bot. Your frame was aching from the bruises you got but it was a pretty decent excursion. As you were making your way to your habsuite, you caught a whiff of a sweet, tantalizing smell. Instead of making your mouth water, it made your array feel tight. For some odd, unknown reason, you decided to follow the smell, heavy pedes picking up with speed as you went.

Before you could see what was happening, you could hear the sound of rasping moans and slight squelching sounds. Who in their right mind would be self servicing out in the open like that? Despite the question filling your mind, you turned the corner and were met with one of the most beautiful images your optics had ever laid eyes on.

There was Grimlock, powerful and fearless leader of the dinobots, writhing on the floor as he shoved four of his digits into his sopping valve, aft swaying as he let out pathetic mewls and low growls. Suddenly, his EM field enveloped you, pulsing messages of want/need/please/pleasepleaseplease-- The poor mech was a mess. The moment you saw him, you could feel your spike immediately pressurize with a thunk against your spike panel. You couldn't help it! What else were you supposed to do when one of the most attractive Cybertronians you had ever met was in heat, desperate for spike.

The moment Grimlock noticed your presence, he slowed down his digits pushing into his valve and spread his legs wider, a more inviting position. When he made a low whining sound and swayed his hips again, your patient broke and your spike released itself.

As soon as your spike pressurized, Grimlock took the opportunity to lift himself off the floor swiftly and tackle you to the ground so he was sitting on top of you. Now you were no small bot, you were nearly Grimlock's size but you were so caught up in admiring your superior's frame that he caught you off balance. In all honesty, even if you did know what he was going to do, you still would have let him. "Fffrag...frag me..." The arousal was practically dripping from the dinobot's words. He rolled his hips into you, rubbing his bare valve on the underside of your spike, wordlessly begging you to fuck him and a sad attempt to stop himself from just dropping down onto your length.

You groaned as the nodes on your spike brushed against Grimlock's plush, wet valve. You still couldn't fully believe the sight before your optics. Maybe that was the reason why you felt frozen in place while the dinobot helplessly rubbed his valve raw on your spike. Surprisingly, even in his heat-addled mind, Grimlock still wanted his partner to be okay with his advances. Finally though, you lifted him up with your servos on his waist, positioning him right above your spike.

It all went too quick when Grimlock lifted up his huge, crimson thighs and lowered himself onto your thick spike. "Graahh-- HaaAH! Ah! Mnghhh!" Grimlock threw his head back and immediately began bouncing on your spike. His greedy valve clung to your spike with every miniscule movement, as if it didn't want your length to exit his valve for a moment. "Hahh, Grimlock! Fuck..." You gripped his hips even tighter and took control, thrusting into the mech's warm valve, releasing howls of pleasure from said mech. He didn't even realize it, but by now, Grimlock's chestplates parted, revealing the soft protometal hidden within. His tits were large and heavy, a beautiful matte black color to them. He wasn't producing any energon, but it's not like that was going to stop you.

You immediately latched onto one of Grimlock's nozzles with your mouth, nipping it softly. The moment you did that, Grimlock fucking whimpered, holding onto your helm and pushing his refineries into your face. As you suckled on his tit, you could finally feel his heat affecting your own thoughts. All you could think about at that moment was fucking him hard and filling him up with your transfluid, sparking him up and repeating the process all over again. You let out a small growl at the thought of breeding the mech and bit down on his nozzle hard, causing the poor mech to spit out staticky moans. "I'm gonna fill you up... fill you with-- ah!-- m-my sparklings... make sure you know they're mine." You didn't even realize hat you were speaking but Grimlock clearly did, since he reacted to your possessive words with a loud keen.

The moment you finally his his ceiling node, he keened, practically hugging your helm as he overloaded hard. You weren't done with him though. You pushed him to the ground and flipped him over onto his stomach and lifted his aft up. It wasn't easy to manhandle such a big mech, but his dizzied state from his heat made it easier. When it finally hit Grimlock that he was empty, he whined and wiggled his hips a bit but you held him in place and pushed into him once more.

"Guuhh, uuhnGGH! F-fragg, HaAHH!" Grimlock let out sinful groans as your spike kept filling him up. You really were he perfect mech for him. With every thrust, you spike rammed into his ceiling node, threatening to force open his gestation seal and fucking a sparkling into him. And he would love every fucking moment of it. With every drag of your spike against his walls, he let out howls of pleasure that you were sure everyone in the Ark could hear. But by this point, you couldn't care less; you were too busy fucking the mech under you to have any shame at the moment. All you knew was that something inside of you was screaming at you to fill the dinobot up with your spike and transfluid and make sure it stayed in there. By now, Grimlock had overloaded twice, his hazy mind unsure of exactly when his second overload had hit him, yet his charge never left his frame. Still, all he wanted was for you to already overload in him, spill your transfluid into his needy hole and make him beg for even more.

When you finally overloaded into Grimlock's hungry valve, you barely even registered it, not slowing down a beat as your transfluid flooded the mech's valve. He immediately felt your transfluid hit the edges of his tank as you filled him up over and over again. When did he even open his gestation seal again? Not like i mattered anyway, because you were still pounding his valve like your life depended on it. A distant part of his mind wished that you had a knot, mod or natural. Oh how he wished you had a fat knot to shove into his tight hole and keep you inside of him so none of your transfluid would spill...

At last, you finally slowed down a bit, pushing your spike in and out of Grimlock's valve at a much steadier pace. You could feel your transfluid and his lubricants flowing past his puffy valve lips and you truly believed that Grimlock was satisfied. He had been railed so hard he nearly saw Primus himself and was absolutely stuffed full with all your transfluid. As you eventually came to a stop and began, reluctantly, withdrawing your spike from his wet heat, Grimlock let out a low whine. "N-no...don't pull out...I want more. Please." He sounded so needy and pathetic and with the way that he kept rubbing his aft back on your crotch made you unable to reject him. If Grimlock was fully aware of his pitiful behavior, he would have wanted to snuff out your spark and anyone else who could have heard the two of you. But for now, all he he knew was that you began to push your spike into him once more and he was going to be fucked full again. Probably not for the last time.

[cupidsworstcrime]

Azryth Belen (Alien Boyfriend/A.B.) info

@theclockonthewall come get your food , i fleshed him out for you

🪐 Species Name: K'thari

Homeworld: Virex-9, a temperate, bioluminescent jungle planet orbiting a binary star.

Average Lifespan: 300 Earth years

Language: Primarily pheromone- and light-based communication, supplemented with vocal tones. (Clicks & Chirps)

🧬 Biology

Skin: Silken and cool to the touch, A.B.’s skin contains chromatophores that shift color slightly in response to emotions. When aroused or flustered, patches along his jaw, throat, and chest glow faintly with soft pink or violet hues—like a mood ring that can’t shut up.

Eyes: Large, dark, almost glassy. They lack pupils and reflect more light than they absorb, which makes direct eye contact in dim rooms a little surreal. His vision spectrum includes UV and infrared, so he can literally see your body heat and hormonal shifts—something that confuses him deeply when he notices you "blushing down there" and doesn’t know how to ask politely.

Tongue: Long, ridged, and hyper-flexible. It evolved for both grooming and nutrient extraction in symbiotic fruit-harvesting. Its texture is somewhere between soft coral and a heated silk ribbon—absolutely not designed with oral sex in mind, but he's trying, okay?

Mouth/Breath: Strong, almost suction-like tongue base. His breath carries trace amounts of calming pheromones, which were meant to pacify prey species (or keep his nestmates chill). You don’t know this at first—you just feel inexplicably fuzzy and relaxed when he’s between your legs. He doesn’t realize this is not normal for humans until much later.

Genitals: Internal until aroused. K’thari reproductive biology is less visual than human's and more scent/pheromone-driven. Their mating involves entwining scent glands and mutual stimulation, making A.B. deeply confused at the visual intensity of human sex. (“Your reproductive anatomy is… outside. That feels very… unsafe?”)

💬 Cultural Notes

Sexual Norms: The K'thari don't have a direct equivalent to oral sex. Intimacy is shown through shared breath, grooming, and entwining sensory limbs. So when you say, “I want you to eat me out,” he panics slightly because he thinks you’re asking to be devoured. (He does ask twice to make sure.)

Consent Rituals: Touch among K’thari is highly formal. Touching someone's face or core body is an intimate ritual, usually accompanied by pheromone-exchange or light display. So the first time you put his hand between your thighs, he short-circuits and locks up for a solid thirty seconds, every patch of his skin flashing confused yellow and excited pink.

Language Barriers: Since K’thari communication is based on pheromones and subtle skin pulses, A.B. struggles with sarcasm, idioms, and metaphors. You say, “Jaws killing me,” mid-blowjob, and he stops you immediately, horrified.

❤️ Relationship Impact

Emotional Clumsiness: He is not used to verbal affection. His version of a love confession is standing guard at your bedroom door all night or meticulously cataloguing your scent markers to recreate them when you're apart.

Learning Curve: You have to teach him human intimacy step by step, using comparisons he can understand. “My clit is like the focus point on your scent node.” “Okay, so it’s like a cluster of pleasure sensors? I can work with that.”

Devotion: Once he learns how to please you, he treats it like a sacred rite. He doesn’t just eat you out—he worships. It’s reverent. Focused. He uses your moans as calibration, adjusting pressure and angle with single-minded devotion. When you praise him, his skin lights up like a bioluminescent night field.

[drabbletron]

Need to eat swerve's valve like I'm on death row and he's my last meal.

|| Ask and ye shall receive!! (I love getting asks like these!) ||

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

Would Not, Should Not in A Bar: Swerve x Reader SMUT

"We really shouldn't be doing this," he squeaks but he doesn’t push your head away from his valve. In fact, he does the opposite and cups your head to eat him deeper still. That soft tongue is all he can think about sometimes. The way you lave it over his nodes or when you shove it deep in his mouth as you ride him restlessly has his processor spinning in his helm. It's such a contrast to the way you eat him now.

Tenderly and oh so very slowly you kiss and lick up and down the folds of his valve, mesh warm and engorged with hot energon. You worship it every chance you get because how can you not? He's so cute when he tends to his bar, and even cuter still when he's at your passionate mercy. Every sigh comes straight from heaven, you’re convinced. His biolights pulse in time with the churning calipers inside his channel and you slip in a finger or two to tease that familiar ache.

"C’mon, I need to open soon! What if someone sees?" Swerve isn’t sure he could take the embarrassment of someone seeing him like this, all spread open on an upside-down bucket leaning against the back of the bar with you face-deep between his thighs. It must look so lewd, and the idea of being stumbled upon has him suddenly shy and he bucks his hips to hopefully hurry you along.

At his insistence you do hurry, but only enough to have him teetering on the edge of overload. He can only take so much, and he knows you'll only stop once he's a puddle of pleasure slumped over on the floor of his bar. You did it before, just last week. He gets it though. He could taste you for hours and not get tired. You’re his favorite midnight snack!

When you press his thighs further apart, he tries to relax into it. Once he let's go does his charge overtake his frame. His sensor net is on fire, and he can't help the pathetic whines that fall from his vocalizer. He prays no one is outside the bar door, but at the same time this is HIS bar! He can do what he wants in here and if he wants to let you to gorge yourself on his valve and smear transfluid all over your face then he damn well will (within reason of course)!

 By the time he's overloaded, you're a mess to behold. You stand up and his limp servos reach for a rag to wipe you down with. He's carefully dabbing your cheeks and your chin as you bring him in to kiss him square on the intake. When you pull away you can't help admiring the haze in his visor.

"When you get back to the hab tonight, I want you to pop your panels again. I’m not done lovin’ you." Your command is snared by a lovestruck processor that can’t help obeying, and he nods dumbly.

"Good," you shove your fingers deep into his valve and quickly abuse his ceiling node enough to start another flow of lubricant. Then you pull your fingers free and lick them clean right before his optics, keeping eye contact the entire time.

"I’ll be waiting."