#servo motion controller

[seimitsu-factory-automation]

Sanmotion C S100 is a motion controller which can control maximum 8 axes. Sanmotion C S100 is available in two types High-performance for controlling robots and Standard type that specialize in point-to-point positioning. Sanmotion C S100 is equipped with a high-speed EtherCAT interface. Sanmotion C S100 is used in many applications like assembly equipment, Automatic coating machine, Tray loaders and many more.

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[bitstream24]

A Comprehensible Guide to Servo Motor Sizing

Discover the importance of proper servo motor sizing for optimal motion control performance. Learn how to calculate torque, inertia, and select the right motor to reduce energy costs, improve efficiency, and prevent oversizing.

[t1188]

VFD and Two-Axes Plotter Training Kit Manufacturer in Pune India.

Discover Hytech Didactic, manufacturer of VFD and Plotter Training Kit with interpolated motion control in Pune. Perfect for VFD training kits, two-axes plotter training kits, and servo interpolation training.

[quirksphere]

Precision and Performance with Servo Drives Enhance the precision and performance of your machinery with advanced servo drives. Discover their benefits in motion control applications and how they can improve your operations. Servo drives offer high accuracy and efficiency, making them ideal for applications requiring precise control of motion and positioning.

[pddparthi]

Unveiling Precision: A Guide to Electrohydraulic Servo Valve Technology

Introduction: In the realm of industrial automation and high-performance machinery, electrohydraulic servo valves (EHSVs) reign supreme. These marvels of engineering bridge the gap between electrical control signals and the potent world of hydraulics. By translating subtle electrical commands into precise hydraulic fluid motion, EHSVs empower motion control systems with unmatched accuracy and…

[keferon]

Odds of Survival Part 3

Unstoppable forces meets immovable objects.

Or Prowl finds new reasons to be concerned.

———————————————————————

While Prowl had destroyed the bombers attacking their end of the bridge, the other side had no such saving grace.

The opposite end of the sky bridge had broken off from the Commerce Tower and was now swinging downwards, creating a miles long ramp to obliteration.

There was a 4% chance Prowl could technically survive the impact. However he’d almost certainly be reduced to a sputtering spark trapped in a compacted pile of scrap that had once been his frame. Without instantaneous medical intervention, he would most certainly perish even in the event of the 4% survival chance occurring.

4% halved to 2% when Tacnet registered Jazz magnetizing his hands to Prowls frame.

Tacnet spun wildly and without traction. Whatever actions Prowl could have taken to mitigate the incoming damage was removed by Jazz’s inescapable hold. Every possible strategy terminated instantly in a flurry of error messages as Tacnet tried to factor for the impossible.

Physically, Prowls servos moved on their own, driven by some core deep coding for self preservation that had him frantically clawing at Jazz’s back for either a hand hold or escape as Tacnet spat out a single coherent plan:

(Brace For Impact)

The Praxian briefly wondered if he’d crash before they crashed.

The mechs jolted as Jazz made contact with the bridge turned ramp. A fountain of sparks spraying from his pedes as Jazz hit the bridge upright and began skating down the buckling surface.

Jazz wasn’t just passively sliding along either. Prowl felt powerful legs tense and thrusters make quick adjustments to narrowly avoid lethal splinters of braking pipes and metal sheets.

Odds of Survival 5%

Odds of Survival 6%

Prowl watched the impossible as Tacnet slowly ticked upwards. Through some stroke of insanity, Jazz was controlling their descent. Analyzing the white mechs motions, Prowl concluded they were practiced. Unbelievably, Jazz somehow had previous experience with similar circumstances.

On what Fragging planet does somebody regularly go careening down incredibly steep slopes at high speeds with only their own athleticism to keep them alive?!

Skill alone wasn’t enough however, because Jazz was slowly loosing control. As the sky bridge swung inexorably downwards, their ramp was steadily becoming steeper. Prowl could feel one of Jazz’s legs beginning to involuntarily shudder under the continued strain. The obstacles kept coming faster and faster, the visored mech barely keeping pace.

If he dropped me, Jazz has a 23% chance at saving himself.

Prowl caught sight of a chunk of bridge breaking outwards that spanned the total width of it. No getting around it. The jagged edge lifted just high enough to bisect him just below the wings. Prowl turned away.

Jazz leapt.

The deafening vibrations of metal on metal grinding suddenly stopped. An instrumental segment filled the gap.

Gravity ended their short reprieve.

This time when they collided with bridge, Prowl felt Jazz land wrong and then suddenly the sky was whipping past his optics.

Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, moon, bridge.

Tacnet greedily took in their current velocity, rate of rotation, and angle of the sky bridges decent to inform Prowl that Jazz and his combined weight would land on his helm.

Thank you Tacnet, I hate you.

Jazz shifted and Prowls vision went white.

Despite Tacnets certainty to the contrary, Prowl was not unconscious or dead.

ERROR, moon, ERROR. Stars, moon, bridge. Stars, ERROR, bridge, rubble. Stars, moon, bridge, rubble.

They were flipping through the air again.

Jazz landed on his feet this time but couldn’t stop their rolling. Prowl felt fast painful scrapes against his servos and peds.

Stars, bridge, rubble. Stars, bridge, rubble.

Tacnet took in their velocity and rotation again. Calculating their distance to the wreckage at the end of their fall.

Impact Survival 74%

Impact location Doorwings 87%

At least his doorwings were already offlined.

By then, the two mechs were no longer bouncing, but rolling fully across the remains of the bridge. Prowl locked himself around Jazz and braced for impact.

Collision was instant and deafening.

Prowls sense of balance was rubber banding. The instant stop after what felt like vorns of spinning out of control was just as disorientating as the fall itself.

In a lapse of memory, he onlined his doorwings.

Prowl remembered why he left them offline a click too late and sucked in a vent.

Except. They were functioning. The edges stung and the tip’s were badly chipped but both sensors were fully operational.

Blunt helm trauma. He must be having a severe processor malfunction. Prowl unlocked protesting joints and looked over his shoulders at his doorwings.

They were only lightly damaged, fully functional, and only a servos width from the pile of rubble he was being held above.

A black and white arm extended past his wings, buried wrist deep in the wreckage.

Jazz still had a death grip around his waist, visor pressed into Prowls shoulder.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried. If he put his vocalizer against his audial, the sound should carry. The music played out its final notes, leaving the silence of the moon in its wake.

“Jazz?” Prowl tried a little harder, pulling at the servo still magnetized to his back, unhooking his peds to kneel on the rubble. They had fallen into the 90 degree crook of the second cylindrical extension. The bridge had come to rest at last, kicking up enough moon dust to obscure their survival from any searching quintessons. For now.

Jazz slurred something in his native language, before repeating in common, “Gimme a click. I’m gonna throw up real quick.”

Prowl flared his wings, scanning the area. It was a relatively short drop to the moons surface. Once there, Prowl could transform and carry the both of them at speed to the outpost. Clearly, Jazz had no trouble holding onto him.

Speaking of, Jazz finally, slowly began to uncurl from Prowls frame.

He looked terrible. His visor had splintered crack’s across one side, the isolated fragments independently flickering. One horn was stuck pinned against his helm, sparking where shrapnel was jammed into the gap. He was visibly wobbling, and even with an em field Prowl could tell he was badly disoriented.

Jazz stared at Prowl for a while, before looking to his hand still buried in rubble. He tried pulling it free gently and when that didn’t work, got a completely ruined and mostly toe-less ped braced next to it and yanked

Jazz’s hand came free. At the same time something important looking snapped and fell out of his shoulder. The limb going limp.

Prowl didn’t have the bandwidth to process that at the moment.

Instead, he plucked up the chunk of shoulder into sub space. Tacking that onto the growing list of injuries they’d both needed tending to.

Cautiously, Prowl reached up to gingerly touch the back of his helm, fully expecting to feel exposed and crushed circuitry. Instead, he felt several dents, aligned in parallel. Very tender, but most certainly not as damaged as it should have been.

How?

Tacnet answered by mapping the contours of the dents, drawing Prowls optics to the back of Jazz’s obliterated servo.

The remains of the sky bridge shuttered.

Odds of Survival 45%

Prowl got Jazz’s attention and began pulling him towards the ledge they’d need to descend. Effectively deaf, probably blind, down an arm and forced to walk on two severely injured peds, Prowl only felt some relief when he finally wrangled Jazz to rest on top of his alt form.

Watching him struggle down the ledge was utterly disturbing to watch. Jazz limped along as if he was completely desensitized to pain, behaving as if he was more annoyed by his injuries than agonized.

Package secured, Prowl gunned it for the outpost. Even injured, he trusted Jazz to stay magnetized to his frame with whatever he had left to hold on with.

Out of the dust cloud, Prowl was intimately aware of how exposed they’d be. Confident he wouldn’t loose Jazz, Prowl focused entirely on plotting the most efficient route to the outpost.

The moment it came into view, Prowl pushed his engine past the redline as he registered sniper shots firing just past and above them.

Pursuing quintesson wreckers 78%.

Sure enough, a dead wrecker crashed into the moon dirt a short distance to their left.

Prowl managed a drifting slide past the out post gates, losing exactly enough momentum to match the speed of a running mech, then transformed back to root mode in the same maneuver. An exceedingly useful technique when chasing criminals and a damn effective way to shoulder someone on your roof through a door in the most efficient manner possible.

[Bluestreak, I’ve made it inside the outpost. I have an injured mech with me.]

[Heya Prowl! I saw you tearing it up out there with your backpack buddy! I’ve got a few more stragglers to take care of but you’re welcome to use the medic case I’ve got with me in here. I’ll ping the door for you.]

The primary medkit should be in the outpost storage closet. That is unless Bluestreak pulled it into his snipers nest to tend to his own injuries (22%). Or because Bluestreak pulled it there to force Prowl to bring his “backpack buddy” within conversational distance (92%).

He felt a tap at his shoulder, “Are we safe here?” Jazz yelled in the thin atmosphere. Visor flickering worse than before and visibly making an effort to stay balanced upright on eviscerated peds.

Priorities.

Prowl ignored his annoyance. He hit the trigger to pressurize the airlock and pulled Jazz’s good arm over his shoulders to stabilize the other mech. He had easily a dozen lines of questioning queued up in the backlog of his processor, every single one tagged with Jazz as the subject line. As much as Prowl itched to piece together the puzzle of why he was “Like that.” It’d have to wait until they were both in more stable condition. At least now his vents could actually do something to start cooling his overstressed processor.

“For now. We are somewhat safe.”

Prowl muttered quietly in addition, “Against all odds.”

———————————————————————

Bluestreak, seeing Prowl with some very obvious hand prints and very specific paint scratches: “What in the pit did he do to you?”

Bluestreak, seeing Jazz walk in after him with a broken arm, busted horn and an utterly torn up paint job across his back: “What in the pit did YOU do to him?!”

Either one or two parts left, next up Jazz pov.

-SSTP

OH HELL SSTP LET ME HOLD YOUR HAND REALQUICK THIS IS A FIVE STAR MEAL FOR MY SOUL FKKDJFG I JUST. I NEVER FUCKING GET TIRED OF THE WAY YOU WRITE I know I'm probably repeating myself at this point BUT IT'S JUST WHAT MY TRUTH LOOKS LIKE OKAY. EVERY TIME I SEE AN ASK FROM YOU AND START READING IT I GO "Oh M A N the author cooked so hard they should've made Ratatouille 2 about this way of placing words."

[rabotimagines]

"Toping you when they usually bottom" GN BOT Reader x Jazz, Prowl, Thundercracker, Soundwave

Summary: First time the bots top you when you usually top them.

Warnings: None.

Genere/Theme: Smut 🔞 MDNI

G1 characters: Jazz, Prowl, Thundercracker, Soundwave.

Notes: Reader bottoms for the first time. Bot reader so valve/spike used.

Pronouns: You, your, yours.

Jazz is a true no leaning switch himself. He expertly folds to fit his partners likes and wants. Jazz isn't too fixated on topping or bottoming, really. He just wants to have fun and share the moments with you. So he's not exactly bemoaning or anything about not topping you yet. ... But it's his creation day, and you ask him if he wanted anything particular, and he leans real close to you, smiles, and asks, "Let me eat your valve out?" Which leads to his current residence between your thighs, with him working you through your third overload of the night with his glossia. Jazz always gives oral like he's on a mission, and tonight wasn't any different. Jazz loves making you fall apart for him. Shame you didn't let him do it more often. He pulls away when you stop shaking from overload number three. "Let me just say... I love my gift." Jazz smiles easy and nuzzles his cheek against your inner thigh.

"Jazz -" the pitch in your tone makes him pause to make proper optical contact with you. Your expression was serious with no room for argument. Jazz fully expects you to tap out for the night when the last thing he expects sounds out of you. "Spike me."

Jazz's jaw sets, and he's on his pedes at a startling speed. "Oh baby can do-" his array pops opens and his spike pressurizes properly. He savors the sight of your dripping valve under his spike before sliding home easily due to how aroused you were. "Frag- Really spoiling me today, huh?" Jazz huffed a laugh, enjoying how you felt fluttering around him. Jazz doesn't wait to start thrusting in lazy but deep motions. Making sure to bottom out every time he did so. Jazz hoists your pedes up onto his pauldrons and traps you against him and his berth.

Jazz's pace picks up till he overloads with a sharp invent. Jazz groans at the feeling of spilling inside you, his hips lazily rolling against yours through it.

You're both venting against one another until Jazz eventually picks up his pace again. Hips soon snapping like they had been before. You jerk and grasp at Jazz's armor tight, your optics are deliciously bright while huffs and gasps slipped outta you. Valve still taking his spike so nicely. "Got two more overloads to go! Need to- catch up with you, Sweetspark." Course Jazz was planning on catching up again if he got you to overload again- and again-

It was unlikely, but Jazz really hopes he breaks before you do.

-

With Prowl, it's a touch- complicated. You didn't really "Top" so to speak before this point- but neither had he. Prowl didn't like losing control on the battlefield or in the berth. You just so happened to be the same. So you'd both begun with servo and mouth activities, with most times it leading to hot and heavy frottage. Most often, it would end with you both usually rutting against one another like a pair of aggressive cyber hounds. Yes, Prowl would like to overload in your valve, but he also wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of the opposite. So Prowl knew he had no right to ask you to do the same. You found a middle ground regardless, and it worked.

Prowl didn't count on it occurring, but it does end up happening when you're grinding against one another again. Both of your servos are over each other's spikes, jerking up and down at a steady pace. Prowl is already close to his own overload- only you end up releasing your own spike and shift, pushing your hips upwards. Prowl hissed in a vent and glanced down at where the head of his spike was now slotting against the folds of your valve. When he glances back up he was met by your bright optics  "Prowl, if you don't spike me right now I'm leaving-" Prowls optics widen and he grasps at your armor and snaps his hips harshly. His spike bottoming out inside you with a gasp. Prowl vents harsh at the sensation of your valve wrapped around him.

Prowl frags you harsh against the berth, his chassis coming down and pressing hard against your own. Much too pent up from thinking he'd never be inside your valve like this and already much too close to overloading. Your servos grasp tight on the base of his doorwings, and Prowl groans. His hips buck harder and harder, trying to savor the hot rush it is. Eventually, you squeeze his doorwings, and Prowl overloads only to keep fragging you both right through it. His transfluid makes a mess of your inner thighs in the process. Until Prowl eventually bottoms out inside you and stilled. Prowl began huffing in panted vents.

He pulled back a touch, the sound of you huffing brings his optics back to your cobalt tinted faceplate. The after effects of a hardy valve overload are still obviously rocking through your frame.

Maybe Prowl could... offer to return the favor. Especially if it raised the chance of you doing the same afterward.

-

Thundercracker kinda does mind, but he also doesn't know how to bring it up. He didn't hate bottoming or anything he just really wants to top you more- or at all. He's got a spike, and he wants to frag you into the dirt with it. The problem is Thundercracker isn't going to say that, and he doesn't exactly know what he's supposed to say about it. So he elects he'll say something when he finds the chance. You're in Thundercrackers lap, glossia in his mouth with your modesty panels pulled back, grinding on one another. And in the heat of it, Thundercracker lifts your hips and drags the length of his spike across the opening of your valve. Your valve lubricant coats his spike, and he gasps at the feeling.

You only jolt and break away to stare down, and Thundercracker lately realizes what he'd just done. But this was the perfect chance to ask, right?

Thundercracker grabs your hips and tentatively lines his spike up with your valve. "Can I?" He asks stupidly, and Thundercracker is immediately regretting how he'd asked that. Why did he do that- Before he can rip into himself mentally, you wordlessly grabbed his pauldrons and started lowering your valve on his spike- and Oh Pit! He's inside you now- Thundercracker hissed a vent at the sensation of you dropping down his length. Digits grasped tight on your hip armor when you sat back in his lap, spike now fully inside you. Oh, you feel Perfect- slag. You squeezing down on him every time you vented made Thundercracker feel hazy.

Your digits abruptly dig into the sensitive base of his wings and Thundercracker keens and spills inside you. Thundercracker groans and ruts against you in short motions through his own overload. Thundercracker can feel his optics brighten fast and harshly in mortification when realization sets in. You're staring at where his own transfluid is now spilling down into Thundercrackers lap. Thundercracker opens his mouth to apologize, but all that comes out is a sharp grunt when you grind down in Thundercrackers' lap. Thundercrackers digits dig hard enough in your own waist the metal wants to try to give and you still. Thundercracker huffs and makes optic contact with you. "Wanna overload in me again?" You casually ask, apparently much too forgiving for Thundercracker.

Thundercracker nods fast a quick. "Yes." Sounding out of him, very glad you were giving him a chance to redeem himself. He genuinely did not know what he'd do with himself if that was his one experience with your valve.

Here's to hoping (and praying) he didn't frag up round two.

-

Soundwave is a true verse normally. But he's frankly so tired from war efforts that he barely has the energy to interface, let alone top most days. He doesn't have a problem indulging you with his valve when he's feeling lazy but still wants to sexually satisfy you. Yes, Soundwave would like to spike you more often or once even. But the days and battles take up most of his energy and free time. One day, you have a mission, and it ends with Soundwave pissed after stupid battlefield decisions that made the entire battle drag on much longer than needed. You were in group A and had a much easier time than Soundwaves group B during the mission. He enters his habsuite to find you already laying face down on his berth, having let yourself in.

Soundwave walks over and doesn't hesitate to straddle, and full-on shoves his faceplate flat on the back of your chassis. Eventually, his servos start wandering with his earlier frustrations feeding his continued touches. Soundwave skipped tracing and moved to fondling and pulling on your frame. Soundwave sees your modesty panel where your valve would be visible to him. he's digging his digits into your hips already. "Permission to spike?" You grant him it and pull your array back, and Soundwave doesn't hesitate to spike you then and there.

Soundwave would usually take his time to savor you or this, but Soundwaves frustrated. And you at least seem content taking that frustration for him. He'll have to reward you later for it, but right now, he's slamming himself into your valve from behind over and over again. "Soundwave- spike!" you muttered and- Ah- he sees. Your spike can't pressurize right with you flat on his berth. Soundwave pulls your hips up a touch, and your spike pressurizes instantly. Soundwave then snaps his hips hard enough to frag you back flat on his berth. Your spinal strut arched and your servos gripped at his berth for some type of purchase. You squeeze down on him, and Soundwave realizes he's about to overload. Soundwaves servos abandon your thighs, and he reaches over further to press his digits over your mouth.

Soundwave groans deep when you wordlessly take two of his digits in and start sucking. Your glossia laps along them with a hum and Soundwave bottoms out and promptly overloads inside you. You overload right after him, which makes Soundwave only press you harder into his berth. Your valve is twitching around his spike length as you come down from both your combined post overload high. You huff when Soundwave pulls his now oral lubricant soaked digits out of your mouth.

Soundwave might have to adjust his schedule and make the time so he can spike you again like this.

[tinydefector]

Thundercracker rut cycle

Thundercracker x human

Rut cycle masterlist

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, giant/tiny, praising, sub Thundercracker.

This mech needs so much more with smut fics but gods did I have fun writing him getting treated to some praising.

_______________

The little human from earlier had Thundercracker's full attention. They are peacefully unaware of his burning gaze on them despite the sweet scent that came from their smaller frame, making him nearly snarl with want. His vents hitch slightly each time they shoot him a slight glance.

Venting deeply, the Seeker steadied himself. Fighting a losing battle to purge heated lines each time his frame caught a whiff of their scent, it was truly maddening to him, most times during rut he had Starscream or Skywarp, but as of recently neither of them had the time nor the interest.

"Hello, can I help you?" They call out to him their voice sounds so sinfully sweet to him that his digits dig into his servos as he watches them. They weren't afraid like many others of their species. Thundercracker vented sharply as the sweet scent of the little organic's arousal hit his olfactory sensors. His valve clenched and spike throbbed behind its panels at the alluring smell.

He reigns himself in enough to talk. Leaning down, his optics roved hungrily over the small creature's form. "Hello, fleshling," he rumbled, fans whirring loudly. The seeker cycled several intakes, struggling to override protocols screaming for him to claim a mate, he knew he should go and find one of his Trine or just another Decepticon but he was getting sick of getting sidelined over his needs.

"Your scent, it's very intoxicating" Thundercracker said gruffly. His plating felt too constricting against his frame, everything was screaming at his processor he needed to interface. The seeker loomed closer. They continue to watch him warily but relax slightly. "Oh, um thank you?" They feel rather exacerbated by the strange comment from the cybertronian. Their eyes flick to his vents that cast out loud whines with air as his plating shifts uncomfortably.

"Your species bears no reproductive cycles?" He questions helm tilted, most times all it took was remarking about their scent for Thundercracker to get someone in a berth during his rut, but now he's starting to question if humans actually have cycles. His panelling felt molten.

"Oh no, humans do have a reproductive cycle, we just don't tend to um.. smell it. Sorry you just took me off guard, I was aware that the Ark was on somewhat of a lock down due to your people experiencing some problems" They fluster slightly over saying it.

Leaning closer, the Seeker met their gaze. gritting his denta, as he tries to figure out the best way to broach the subject. "Are you alright, do you need me to get someone?" They ask softly. Thundercracker vented sharply as another wave of their scent washed over him. "Fraggit," he growled, fans whirring into their highest setting.

"I...apologise for my lack of control, it's getting to me. And no I doubt the other would be interested in helping" he vented. They look around for a moment, going quiet. "Close the door and sit down, you have to stay quiet though" they instruct while quickly making sure that they are the only ones in the room. "Do you want help with your problem?" They ask while motioning to his now leaking interface panel.

Thundercracker cycled a heavy ventilation as a whine leaves him, wings flicking at their words. "Primus, yes," the seeker growled, fans whirring loudly. He pressed the button for the door to close with a click, then lowered himself to sit on the floor. His optics burned hungrily as they roved over the human's smaller form.

The seeker cycled several intakes, fans howling as another surge of the organic's scent rolled over sensors. The moment they climb up onto his lap it has the seekers servos wrapping around their waist pulling them flush against his panel.

"Easy big guy, don't want you breaking me" they chuckle trying to make light of the situation. "Gotta be gentle with me, I'm human remember, I'm happy to help but you have to be gentle, tell me what you want pretty mech" they coo softly at him. Running their hands up his plating teasingly. Thundercracker managed to chuckle, though his voice carried a husky edge, betraying his own need.

"Alright, alright, I'll be gentle," he replied, his words laced with a mix of desire and restraint. He knew the importance of control, especially with a fragile being like this one.

They gasp as his servos cup their hips, feeling the way the metal digs into them through their clothing, They look up at him. " Is this alright?" They ask while slowly grinding against him.

The feeling has him nearly moaning as they grind against him. "Yeah, it's... it's more than alright," Thundercracker managed to reply, As they continued their slow, deliberate grinding, Thundercracker felt himself teetering on the edge of restraint. The sensation of their body moving against him, the heat and friction building between them, has groans and heavy vents of air falling from him.

Transfluid slowly leaks from the seams of his interface panel, as he continues to grind them against his heated plating. They gasp when the pink fluid begins to stick to their skin. "Didn't take you as one who liked humans" they chuckle softly,getting more comfortable as they continue to move against him.

"Oh, you have no idea," Thundercracker replied, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement. The pink fluid that now adorned the human's skin and clothing has an almost primal part of the mech wanting to just rip the fabric off them. As he continued to guide them in their movements, the sensation of their bodies moving together sent shivers of pleasure through him. "You humans have your ways of surprising me," Thundercracker remarked, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

"You seem to be handling yourself rather well for being in rut" they tease, playful touches continued to stoke the fire of his arousal. "Well, what can I say? I've had plenty of practice," Thundercracker replied, despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through him, Thundercracker found himself oddly at ease in the human's presence, much more than he would be with Skywarp or Starscream. He didn't feel like he had to put up the Decepticon facade.

"Don't get many chances for release?" They inquire, as Thundercracker begins to trace their body through their shirt, enjoying how soft and delicate they feel. "Though the Decepticons would want their troops in tip top shape " they discard their shirt for him to have more access to their skin.

"Release? Ha! You have no idea," Thundercracker grunted, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and desire. "Peak condition? Yeah, right," Thundercracker scoffed, his movements growing more urgent as he touched their chest and stomach caressing and admiring. "The Decepticons don't care about our well-being, just our obedience," Thundercracker remarked, his tone laced with bitterness.

"Why do you stay with them then?" They hum as the cool metal of his servos trace down their chest and stomach, a deep hungry growl leaves him as the hormones and pheromones from their body make his own arousal more visible. "Why did I stay with them? It's complicated," Thundercracker began, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. The memories of his loyalty to the Decepticons, despite their lack of care for his well-being.

"Starscream and Skywarp are why I stay, they are my trinemates" Thundercracker explained, his movements growing more urgent.They move back enough to pull their pants off, throwing them to the floor and moving back to sit spread across his lap. "Come on pretty mech let me see what you've got hidden here, ill take care of you" Their bold actions sent a surge of desire coursing through Thundercracker's circuits, his systems humming with anticipation as they straddled his lap.

With a deep growl of longing, Thundercracker's interface panel opens his spike surge forth, transfluid leaking from it and down into his lap. "Oh woah" they stutter looking over the details and colours of his spike, the pink transfluid leaking through the ridges of his spike. they run their hands along it while moving closer for Thundercracker to grind against them. "I don't know if that will fit " the state shyly

"I assure you, it will fit just fine," he reassured them, his words carrying a hint of mischief and desire. As he lifts them up, slowly letting them get comfortable as he slowly presses into them. A loud moaned whine leaves them as Thundercracker presses his spike into their tight sex, his servos holding their hips as he grinds his spike deeper.

It is a tight grip and sinful feeling of how tight a human is wrapped around his spike. "Mmm, fuck never thought I'd be fucking a Cybertronian" they mumble thought a shaky breath. Gasping loudly as he thrust and rocks against them, never too rough with his movements.

As he grounds his spike deeper, feeling their body react to the tight grip, Thundercracker couldn't help but let out a low growl of satisfaction. "Mmm, that's it," Thundercracker's voice is a husky whisper, filled with desire. "You feel so good wrapped around me, human. Never thought I'd be indulging in such pleasures with one of your kind," he murmured, his tone laced with a newfound appreciation for the human before him. Despite the general disdain that Decepticons held towards humans and organics, he is rather enjoying himself.

Thundercracker found himself lost in the intoxicating sensations picking up his pace as he leaned back on the floor, wings twitching and stretching each time he tilted in them. feeling their tightness compared to Skywarp and Starscream, Thundercracker couldn't help but be amazed by how different it was, they are so much warmer and softer than a Cybertronian but took just as much of his spike.

"Mmm, you're something else," Thundercracker's voice was filled with admiration and lust. "You take me so well, frag im close," he confessed, his optics flicking off as he begins to buck into them. Their fingers scratch at his plating as Thundercracker growls lowly. He is so close to overloading despite not wanting to, his frame is pent up and this sweet little fleshling has him nearly a puddle on the floor due to how soft they are.

A primal moan escapes his vocalizer as he overloaded, grinding deeper into them as he holds them flush against his frame rutting into them trying to make sure they take as much of his transfluid as possible, little praises leave him as he holds them close. Loud moans leave them as they grip onto his plating as the bright pink fluid begins gushing from them, leaking into Thundercracker's plating and onto the floor. “ fuck..” they whine as they press their forhead to his frame.

“Are you alright?, your not hurt?” Thundercracker begins only for them to press back down onto his spike earning a mix of legitimate mix of words. “I'm more than alright blue but it looks like you need a lot more than just one go” they tease. Feeling how pent up he still is. He goes to move only for them to press a hand to his middle section. “Ah, ah no, I'm not done yet, pretty boy, you and I have some more getting to know each other to do” they coo at him onyk for his thrusters to flick on from their words.

Thundercracker could get used to this, he realises.

_______________

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[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

inspired by this very old ask about you giving opti diy crochet charms

cw: hardcore pinning, obsessive thoughts, optimus is bad with dealing with emotions

word count: 700

something small that I needed to get off my system <3

Digits glide over the soft yarn with calculated subtlety. A thumb slowly traces the indentations of the intricate patterns, acquainting itself with the texture of the interwoven chains and half-double stitches, magically linking together into a shape. A few motions are enough for him to memorize every dent and placement of the material, yet he does not cease his journey, still gently stroking the creation. After dozens of times, the tenderness gives way to adoration — he is aware of it, but cannot stop, incapable.

But he knows he should. Optimus uses this friendly gesture to feed the fire, burning ever fiercer with every movement of his thumb, taking advantage of your kindness to nurture the warped, unworthy-of-your-innocence feelings that slip further and further beyond control. He despises himself for it — oh, how he loathes himself — but has long since grown accustomed to self-hatred, his ever-present shadow at every turn. Hatred was familiar. The feeling of receiving gifts from you was a vibrant novelty he had yet to learn how to handle, for it terrified him with its rawness.

Crochet charms, as you called them. Everyone on Team Prime received a few, so he should not be assigning such immense significance to his own. Should simply be happy with the gift, accept it, and maybe glance at it occasionally, recalling your eyes gleaming with excitement like beads and your broad smile, radiating pure joy, as you handed your tiny creations to his massive servo. A star and a sunflower — both incredibly delightful, almost as much as your expression when you saw that he had accepted your present.

"Tomorrow, I can help attach them to your mirror in the alt mode. If you’d like to, of course" you told him, and though he longed for nothing more than to fall to his knees before you and beg you to do it now, the only thing he managed to utter was:

"I would be delighted."

But he cannot simply be "delighted". Cannot just set your creations aside and occupy himself with other things when a piece of you is so close to him. Cannot fall into indifference, seeing it as an affront to you. Wants to cherish the crumbs of attention you have given him, to savor this non-physical affection he is unworthy of but treasures more than the ability to sustain himself with energon. Wants to linger by the proof of your kindness for as long as he can, fully aware of his madness yet unable to put its source away.

His thumb moves to the sunflower, gently pressing into the material. A gift from you. You. He never asks for anything, demanding only the preservation of safety. Optimus doesn't seek glory, gold, or riches, for he has found them in you — and you are the most magnificent treasure he could have ever dreamed of. Yet you went a step further, crafting something with your own hands, dedicating your precious time to him. You called your gift modest, but in this, he cannot agree with you, for to him, it was everything. And soon, it would permanently become a part of him.

It is an exhilarating thought, but also a treacherous one, for he knows these are the last moments he will hold your creations in his servos. The final moments to touch, to encode the texture into his memory, to relish the sight of your affection woven into physical form. Wanting to make the most of it, he brings the crochet charms closer to his faceplate, pressing against the soft fabric. Closes his optics, sharpening the remaining senses, focusing entirely on the feeling of having a piece of you so close to him. Knows he is defiling your gifts, that he should have let them be long ago and forced himself to suppress his erratic emotions towards you, but he cannot, craving to draw every ounce of impure satisfaction from this moment.

He clings to the gifts more tightly. Just a little longer. A nanoklik, he tells himself — but he cannot bring himself to turn his helm away.

[revelboo]

REVEL BOO! PLEASE POST ANOTHER CHAPTER IF AOK WITH BLURR! AND MY LIFE IS YOOOOUUUURS!!!

Well, alright then

Fighting my deplorable impulse control because I really want to assemble these, but also realize they’re limited editions and some of the singles are already selling for around $40 but…. Shiny Starscream…

A-Ok Pt 3

TFA Blurr x Reader

• Helmet bouncing and rolling away on the concrete, he stares at the limp form in his servos. Did you just die? Had known humans were delicate, but this i I s ridiculous. Shifting you to one hand and catching your face to tip it up, he can feel a pulse in your throat. Seem to be breathing, too. Good. Just offline and helpless. “Scrap.” Would you be okay if he just leaves you here? Somehow he doubts it. Shoulders slumping, he turns in a fidgety circle, not sure if he’s looking for another human to pawn you off on, but giving up, he hefts you over a shoulder and takes off.

• Motions blurring as he streaks through alleys, hits a wall and propels himself up, that giddy sense of freedom spreads through him. Momentarily going airborne, a hand on you to keep you in place when his peds hit the roof of the brick building and he’s moving again. Carrying you to the abandoned warehouse he’d claimed as his own base of operations. Hating that he’s going to now blow that secret, too. Slipping in through the hole in the roof of the old structure, he grabs you and sets you on the crude berth he’d cobbled together from scavenged metal. The space fine for him, he can rest anywhere, but looking at your limp form, he’s realizing how inadequate the building is as a shelter. The floor strewn with litter and leaves that had blown in from the broken windows fronting the building before he’d blocked them for privacy. Needless to say the roof leaks and there’s no heat. Fine for him, but for you? No. It’s not like you’re staying. You’re gone as soon as you’re awake. No longer his problem.

• Cold, you curl into yourself and a faint muttering draws your head up. That’s right. Zippy. The wreck. Muzzily watching the blue bot pacing around the unfamiliar building you’re in, you shudder as his movements edge into an uncanny speed. Blurring almost nauseatingly. “Chill, Zippy. You’re making my headache worse.” Mouth dry, you slowly sit up and he stops pacing. But doesn’t stop moving, big hands shifting and servos flexing like he’s holding a conversation with himself in his head. Like he can’t be still. “Where are we?”

• “I thought maybe you’d died,” he mutters, ped sliding slightly as he shifts his weight and drifts to where you’re sitting up on his berth, head in your hands. “You just broke.” Remembering the unsettling way you’d just gone boneless and collapsed. You arch your brows at him as he shudders, grimacing. Hands lifting and falling away shy of touching you. Making himself back away as you watch him. Because handling you? Big mistake. Do humans imprint? What if he can’t get rid of you now? If he’s not alone?

• “Sorry to disappoint you, but humans are pretty hard to kill.” You say, knowing that compared to him, that’s a lie. You’re not metal, only soft flesh. Ridiculously easy to kill, but he sounds almost upset about you ‘breaking’ on him. Best you can figure, the adrenaline from the wreck crashed. Everything a bit fuzzy. Leaning out to realize you’re higher up than you want to try and jump down from, you look at him expectantly. “A little help, Zippy?” When he just stares at you, you sigh and hold out your arms like a toddler asking to be picked up. “If I jump, I might actually break.”

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[random-fandoms-fanfics]

KOBD Sparkling. Autobots

3500~ words

Transformers Terminology

I shifted to doing this in a reader insert style, I just enjoy writing this way

The glow was too beautiful to resist, your legs moving on their own, pulling you out of the building and towards the portal. You would think that by now the Autobots would automatically watch their footing to ensure they didn’t step on their human companions, but their eyes were up, focusing on each other and missing the human sized sparkling at their feet, your quiet beeping ignored as Bumblebee’s beepings masked it. Passing through the portal felt weird and was disorientating for such a little and young being, you found yourself stumbling as you came out of the portal, your soft pedes making your unsteady footstep undetectable to the bots that grouped together.

Once you had steadied yourself, you made your way between the legs of the giant robots, your yellow eyes gleaming up at them as they talked amongst themselves, completely unaware of the sparkling wandering beneath them. You were next to the legs of the large bot you were close to during the battle when your mind drifted to the other bot that was there, where was he, he seemed cool. With your mind distracted you didn’t notice that Bulkhead began to move, his leg lifting over your helm.

*squeak*

Everyone froze, Bulkhead nearly tipping over as he stopped his descending pede midstep, when he pulled his leg back he revealed the tiny white sparkling, who’s was slightly squashed, “Bulkhead!”

“I didn’t see them,” terrified of hurting the tinier being further Bulkhead tried to move away, his pedes barely lifting off the ground as he shuffled backwards, yet he failed to run as you chased after him, giggles bubbling from your throat. Before you could torment the big bot further, you were scooped off the ground in a swift motion, lifted high into the air by two servos, “hello little one,” turning to the voice you found two bright blue optics staring at you and the most gentle smile, “where did you come from?” Optimus brought you closer to his faceplate, his smile growing as your servos pressed against his mesh. “What is that?” Miko squealed as she stood on the railing trying to get a better look at you, bouncing when Optimus lowered his servos down, revealing you to the girl trying to control her squeals, “this is a sparkling, or in your words a baby,” 

“Ooooo come here precious baby,” Miko held her arms out to you, her hands grabbing for you, lifting yourself up to your feet, you made your way to her, shaking as you walked over Optimus’ digits. When you made it to the edge of his servos, you didn’t really know what to do next, the ground wasn’t there, what were you meant to step on. “Come on, big step down,” Miko’s hands grabbed your servos and what was meant to be gentle encouragement turned into you losing the balance you barely had and tumbling off Optimus’ servos, slamming into the concrete.

You kinda just laid there, listening to the suddenly loud voices that were incomprehensible to you. After laying there for a minute or two you stood back up, finding yourself in front of the weird looking being who pulled you into the concrete. You found that not only did you stand just below her head, but she was also biting her lip to stifle the laughs from seeing your flat, elongated helm, “don’t worry, I can fix it,” Miko grabbed onto your faceplace, squishing the malleable metal back into shape, “oh, that worked,” Miko’s giggling came right back when you tried to squish her face back. Her face was different to Optimus’, instead of being the same type of material, you could feel she was squishy like you, but under that squishiness you could feel something solid, you could even feel the bristles on her face and you also nearly stuck your finger into her eye.

“Curious, sparklings are only that malleable right out the spark chamber, alright spill it which one of you were carrying them,” Ratchet’s digit pointed at everyone even at Optimus, as everyone began to deny carrying you, Miko turned from you and looked over them in confusion, “which one, wouldn’t it be Arcee?” Miko’s question silenced the bots, it was so absurd to them that it restarted their processors, “why me?”

“You’re a girl,”

…

“And?”

“Only girls can have babies, duh,” Ratchet groaned at the limitations of humanity and the lack of knowledge humans had about cybertronians, even though no one taught them, “any cybertronian can carry a sparkling, usually it’s the bot with the bigger spark chamber,” Arcee’s servos hooked under your arms, lifting you away from your spot and pulling you against her chassis, “see how big they are, a sparkling like this wouldn’t be able to grow in me,” Arcee showed that you were as long as her entire abdomen, being too big to fit in her, but you didn’t care about that, you were busy swinging your legs against Arcee’s abdomen. Feeling optics staring at you, you lifted your helm up to Arcee, the femme smirking at you, “you know, they look big enough to be a wrecker,”

“Don’t you try to put this on me, w-who would I even have a sparkling with,” Bulkhead's sudden voice startled you, causing you to almost jump out of her arms. Worried about you falling again, she placed you back down next to Miko and turned back to the arguing bots, quickly being drawn back into the argument about your creation.

“So, you wanna ditch while they’re distracted,” hearing Miko’s voice you turned to her, watching as she threw her hand over her shoulder, her thumb pointing out behind her. Looking her over you moved your body to match hers, your pedes even shifting to match the placement of her feet, Miko looked confused for a second before a smirk overtook her face, Miko raised her arms above her head and watched as you copied her, when she spun in a circle you spun in a circle. You watched as Miko lifted her foot off the ground, standing on one leg, of course you mimicked her and of course you struggled to balance, almost tipping over and slamming into the ground again. 

Thankfully you were saved from this fate by two servos taking you away from your friend, “we don’t need them mimicking humans, let alone you,” while his words were incomprehensible to you, you understood the cruel tone of his voice that contrasted with how gently you were held against Ratchet’s chassis, it was so gentle you were able to lift yourself out of his grasp and stand on his shoulder, looking up at him you saw the points on his helm, and immediately felt the urge to grab them, “hey what’s wrong with me,”

“You knowingly put yourself in danger time and time again, a curious sparkling mimicking that type of behaviour will ensure it’s death,” Ratchet tried to look serious but there was a sparkling standing on his collar and pulling his brow closer to them. And that’s when you heard it, a rasp bubbling noise that came from the squishy being you were just with, turning to her you saw something between her lips as she made the noise, feeling the glossa in your intake you pushed it between you dermas, and when you pushed air through your intake, you made the noise. Everyone’s optics and eyes snapped to you, the closest pair staring in horror, “why are you even still here, shouldn’t you be home, shouldn’t you all be at your humans’ homes,”

“Why would I go home when there’s a baby, I got so much to teach them,”

“You will not be teaching them anything,” before Ratchet could go any further, Optimus pushed himself between Ratchet and Miko, “Ratchet is right, you must return home Miko and the three of you still have your duty to our human companions, Ratchet and I will ensure their safety until you return,” their chassis heaved as they begrudgingly agreed with Optimus. Oh the sudden attention you got was intoxicating, the digits that brushed over your helm, the servo that completely engulfed your helm, the cooing and beeping directed at you as they said their goodnights, Miko could only yell out her, “goodnight baby,” to you as Ratchet refused to let her near you again.

From your perch you watched as the three bots and Miko waved goodbye to you, and when they transformed, with Miko jumping into Bulkhead, and drove off, you stepped off of Ratchet’s shoulder trying to chase after them. Servos accidentally fighting against one another as they tried to catch you, just before you met the ground again Optimus’ servos latched around you, your small body slightly molding to the gaps between his digits, “I’m not sure if I should sparkling proof the base or wrap them in a protective covering,” Ratchet’s voice was shaking, he was starting to think you didn’t need Miko’s help to end your life, “both?”

“Both is good, I’ll set up a berth for them in your berthroom and get started on making this place safe,” after a quick stop in a storage room where Ratchet found a small box like berth, Optimus and Ratchet delved deeper into the silo, reaching the bare berthroom that belonged to Optimus, there was just a large berth that sat against the furthest wall and a computer hung against a wall. “Give me a second and I’ll set up their berth up,” while Ratchet began to attach the small box to the side of Optimus’ berth, said bot looked down at you with a face that was so warm and soft, “now remember sparklings need strict boundaries, no matter how much they cry do not let them recharge with you, or else they’ll never recharge alone,” even with how serious Ratchet made himself sound Optimus couldn’t help the snicker that escaped his dermas, he was a 9 million year old prime who was hardened by war and you were fresh out the spark chamber, what could you do to him, “Optimus!”

“Understood Ratchet, say goodnight young one,” Optimus turned you to Ratchet, his giant servo pinching your wrist and shaking her servo up and down at Ratchet as you babbled out some beeps, “goodnight sweet thing,” Ratchet gave Optimus one more stern look before he waved back to you and left you and Optimus to yourselves.

Optimus lowered you into the smaller berth, one of his servos lingering in the berth as a digit brushed over your cheek, “do not worry we’ll keep you safe,” three digits held you steady as he pushed you down onto your back, his servo hesitant to leave your tiny frame. Sticking your glossa out you blew a raspberry at him, and Optimus blew one back, a massive smile on his dermas and his chassis shaking as he laughed, when his servo left you, you chased after him, clinging to the edge of the berth as you tried to reach him. You shuffled around the edge of your berth, following Optimus as he climbed into his own berth, peaking over the wall you watched as he sunk into its soft material, his vents expelling gusts of hot air.

From his position Optimus could see your yellow optics peeking over the walls, staring at him, he couldn’t help the rumbling in his chassis, like the humans you were a needed break in the constant fighting between decepticons and autobots, a small source of joy, that would likely also cause them a bunch of stress.

Optimus struggled to ignore the pleading optics staring at him and the servos clawing at the berth as you tried to climb out, turning his helm from you he squeezed his optics shut in a desperate bid to ignore you, but his spark broke in half when he heard a shrill cry calling out for him.

Optimus’ servos suddenly wrapped around you and he held you over his helm, “I am glad you’re not a decepticon, your manipulation skills are unmatched,” he set you down in the space besides his helm, his optics watching you as you crawled closer to him, “please do not tell Ratchet about this, I do not need to hear a lecture,” because you didn’t know what he was saying and weren’t able to communicate, this deal was going to be easy to keep, so you buried yourself into the side of his head, one of your servos wrapping around the spike that sat on his audial as your optics closed, quickly sinking into deep recharge.

-----------------------------

After that night Optimus realised the reality of his thought, you were in fact not a hardened cybertronian who understood the dangers of the world and the serious situation you were dumped into, you were a newly born sparkling whose only concerns were getting attention, obsessing over random things, eating when and what you wanted and recharging when you wanted. And with the bots still being in a war, the added pressure of caring for you wore them thin.

Their mesh was stained by the liquid energon you threw at them, everything in the silo now had a bite mark in it, because of this behaviour they had to become incredibly careful about not leaving live wires in your reach due to you biting into one once and becoming obsessed with trying to get at the electricity that ran through them. Optimus’, Ratchet’s and Arcee’s back struts and necks were in near constant pain due to how often you would grab the spikes on their helms if they got too close to you and just hold them in a bent position, and their pedes burned due to how often you escaped the silo and needed to be chased down before anyone saw you. They weren’t always successful as after your arrival a few rumours about a metal eating metal creature stalking the town started to pop up.

These escapes weren’t even Miko’s doing, you just did it by yourself, the worst instance of this was when it was just you and Ratchet in the silo, he had been watching you intensely all day, ignoring his duties to keep your attention with games and toys you couldn’t bite into, and the moment he turned away to open the groundbridge for the others, you were gone. Somehow making it to a nearby junkyard completely undetected and gorging yourself on scrap metal. The kids wouldn’t let Ratchet live his mistake down as after a sheet of metal that had bite marks in it was found in the raided scrapyard, the entire town now held a belief in the metaleater.

The only peace they got was when you were in Optimus’ berth, holding him in place as you recharged without any interruption. The only problem was when Optimus was needed for a mission, as he abandoned you in your berth and ignored your cries for him, so every time he abandoned you, you made sure to punish everyone, including the humans, the next day by biting them whenever they tried to touch you. Blood was weird, it tasted like metal but it made your insides twist in the wrong way. They really did try to get you to recharge by yourself, but having to listen to the constant anxiety-inducing screaming that filled the silo whenever they left you alone and your denta sinking into their mesh the next day made it a more than miserable task they just gave up on.

The autobots’ saving grace was June finding out about their existence as they finally had access to someone who was experienced in caring for such a young being. Their biggest concern were of course your grand escapes. June’s recommendation was to regularly take you outside, if you were so desperate to be outside why stop you. If you understood her you would agree with her, all you wanted to do was be outside, to feel the sun on your mesh, to dig in dirt, and enjoy the bath you got after, to see the creatures of this planet and to run without walls. The moment they began taking you outside the silo and letting you run off the excess energy you had, was when things became calmer. Now your escape attempts only occurred when Arcee, Bee and Bulkhead went to pick up the kids, which was easily fixed by Bee and Bulkhead taking you with them. Oh how you loved the car rides, sure you were able to see cars and other humans but the best part was when Bulkhead or Bee would make a detour to the highway and speed down it, the two mechs loving how you would squeal and whir as you were pushed into your seat.

With you having less energy to cause chaos, June’s other recommendation of creating a routine became a bit more feasible. You would wake up with Otpimus, have a bottle of energon, go out on a patrol that was ensured to be safe with two of the bots for an hour or two then be sent back to base to hang out with Ratchet, he would try to teach you things like speaking, but he found more success with just let you play with random items, like a box large enough to fit in, some building blocks, some of Jack’s old toys, he even let you play with the rocks you kept on bringing into the base. You would get a nice pile of scrap metal before one of the other bots returned, one of them taking you outside for a quick little run around so you would fall into a recharge without Optimus. You would always wake up when Arcee, Bulkhead and Bee were about to pick up the kids, chirping into the donated baby monitor until one of them came to get you from your berth. 

The kids loved to care for you and give the bots a bit of a break, they would race you through the base, give you an unplugged controller when they played video games, they would bring you a bunch of paper and pencils so you could all draw together, and even though they couldn’t understand you, they would listen to your made up war stories, unknowingly cheering on the gruesome battles you created with your toys. Even though it was rare, Miko would take you outside, where she would encourage you to smash rocks and punch the canyon walls, she even let you listen to Slash Monkey after Ratchet forbade it due to it, corrupting you.

After an entire day of playing and adventuring, you got another bottle of energon, drinking away against the chassis of one of the bots, being gently rocked for what could be hours until you called out to Optimus. Said bot always avoiding the glare he got from Ratchet when he would pick you up and take you to his berthroom where he would always try to have you recharge in your berth but he always broke the moment he heard your little voice call to him.

There were still some issues, the main cause being how often missions would turn south and the bots having to abandon your routine, typically leaving you alone with a preoccupied Ratchet. They learned the consequences of this when Ratchet was late in opening the groundportal because he saw you had got ahold of an electrical cable. After that they set up a little enclosed area for you, it was full of toys, some of Jack’s old books, a few pieces of paper and pencils, a little pile of scrap metal and a bottle of energon, there was even a berth in it, and sometimes you would crawl into it and fall into a recharge.

-----------------------------

As the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, your rapid growth was very obvious, when you first arrived the top of your helm just reached Miko’s chin and now you were twice her height, and while you were thickening out evenly your chassis and shoulders were broadening out much more than the rest of your body, becoming more triangular in shape. During this time your armour formed, it wasn’t anything special, just a basic set, the most interesting part was the prominent crest with three tall prongs beginning to form on the top of your helm, as it allowed the bots to realise that your affiliation towards the spikes on their helms was likely due to at least one of your creators also having a prominent crest and you somehow remembering that basic shape. You were also no longer a uniform white, most of your plating shifted to a beautifully bright ultramarine blue, with a few orange accents lining your armour.

If only Knockout could see your colour, he would’ve loved the way his and Breakdown’s paintjobs combined to create such a beautiful blue.

He would have loved to hear your little voice. To hear your little beeps and whirrs slowly become words.

To have you on his shoulders as he worked, or to be his little assistance.

For him to be the one you recharged with.

For his neck and back struts to be in pain with how often you would grab the spike on his crest.

To chase after you through out the nemesis with Breakdown multiple times a day.

He would even love it if his mesh was the mesh stained by the energon you refused to consume.

But he couldn't love the little, or even the big things about you. How could he when Breakdown lost you.

[til-all-are-loved]

Hihii! Your IDW megatron makes my heart swoon (he's very well written, hehe) I'm wondering if you have HCs for G1 Megatron as well? Maybe with a human reader too

oops this became like a whole thing (do people even make oneshots anymore). also this became nsfw, if that's not what you wanted please shoot me another ask and i'll redo it <3

{Mascara Running Everywhere}

G1 Megatron x Reader One-Shot

NSFW, afab reader

rough sex | power dynamics | sex servant | 2110 words

You were just an average civilian, taking a walk down a public trail into the barren hills. Hiking seemed like a good idea—a chance to get outside, feel the sun on your skin, and maybe find some peace.

Wrong day for that. Very wrong.

The Decepticons were retreating when it happened. Out of nowhere, you were scooped up in the jaws of Ravage and whisked away to their headquarters. The world blurred past, and by the time the rushing air settled, you were unceremoniously dropped at Megatron’s feet.

For a long, harrowing moment, he simply stared down at you. Cold. Isolated. Frightened. Something flickered in those piercing red optics. Not pity—never pity. No, it was something darker. A desire to control, to dominate.

Your ordeal began soon after. They kept you in a cage—small, cramped, and situated in a high-traffic area like some grotesque display. The humiliation was endless. Decepticons would pass by, sneering, their optics glinting with amusement or disdain. Verbal jabs cut deep, their cruel laughter a constant reminder of your helplessness. You sat huddled, cold and shivering, alone in your prison. No signs of rescue. No one coming to help. By the second night, your sobs echoed through the metallic corridors.

At first, Megatron reveled in your despair. The sound pleased him, a testament to your broken will. But the noise soon became a distraction, grating against his patience. On the third night, he'd had enough.

The ground trembled under his heavy footsteps as he approached. You froze when his towering form loomed over the cage, his optics blazing down at you. He stared, silent and unreadable, before the lock clicked open. The door swung wide, and before you could even think to run, his massive servo descended.

His grip wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either. The cold metal pressed against your ribs and hips, reminding you how fragile you were in his grasp. Struggling felt pointless. Resignation set in—you would endure whatever was coming next.

He carried you briskly to another room, its dim light casting long shadows. With a calculated motion, he placed you on a dashboard. The surface was unyielding beneath you, and the room thrummed faintly with energy. Megatron pulled up a chair and sat heavily, the impact reverberating through the space. He leaned in, his red optics casting an ominous glow that painted you in shades of crimson.

Without a word, his massive digits reached out, pinching at your clothing and prodding at your face. The gestures were curious, deliberate, and invasive. You didn’t flinch. There was no point. His gaze bore into you. As you endured his explorations you were as well analyzing his expression. Irritation curled into fascination, a smile played at his lips and his cheeks rose in satisfaction. He likes what he sees.

You dared not flinch as a digit stroked your face, swiping underneath your eye.

"Hmmmm." A low rumble of interest purred out of him, vibrating through the air. "What could this be?" he murmured, his optics narrowing as he examined his fingertip.

In the dim light, you caught a glimpse of it—a dark smudge of mascara on the tip of his grey finger. Your lip quivered involuntarily, betraying your nerves.

"Be still, my sweet bird," he said, his tone deceptively gentle, though there was no mistaking the edge of command beneath it. "Your war paint is... fascinating. A pity you've made such a mess of it." He held the smudge up for another moment, as though pondering its significance, before dismissively wiping it off on the edge of the table.

"Clean yourself up, whelp," he ordered, his optics locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. "And return to me only when you’ve made yourself beautiful again."

Before you could react, his massive servo enveloped you once more, plucking you from the table with an ease that reminded you just how insignificant you were in his grasp. The world blurred as he carried you off, his heavy steps resounding like distant cannon fire.

You were deposited abruptly onto the floor of another room, where a smaller figure waited. The one called Rumble stood there, arms full of towels, clothes, and various toiletries. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t linger long.

"Uh—yeah, boss says to, uh, clean yourself up... and, uh, yeah," he mumbled, unceremoniously shoving the pile into your arms before scuttling away like a startled rodent. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you alone.

The wash racks were utilitarian and grim, but the cold saltwater that poured over you was a surprising comfort after everything you’d endured. You scrubbed yourself clean, the sharp chill biting at your skin and grounding you momentarily in the present. When you turned to the pile of supplies, you were stunned to find an array of surprisingly high-quality products—luxurious even. Brushes, palettes, and powders lay in perfect order, the kind of items someone might steal from a boutique rather than find in a warlord’s lair.

Still, you worked quickly, applying your makeup with practiced hands in the reflection of a small handheld mirror. When you were finished, you steeled yourself with a deep breath and stepped into the hallway.

You didn’t make it far. Megatron swept you up again with terrifying speed, the force of it leaving your head spinning and your heart pounding. His laughter boomed, a deep, resonant sound that chilled you to the core.

“Well, well,” he mused, his voice a twisted mixture of amusement and satisfaction. “Such a pretty little pet to entertain me.”

His grip tightened just enough to remind you of your fragility as he carried you back to his quarters. When he sat down, it was abrupt and deliberate, the vibrations from his weight settling into the chair reverberating through you. He placed you on his massive thigh so that your legs straddled him, The force made you lurch forward forcing yourself to catch yourself on your hands. Leaning in close, his optics flaring brightly in the dimness. The faint whir of his internal mechanisms filled the silence as he examined you sprawled out on top of you.

“This is where I will keep you,” he commanded softly, his massive frame looming like a storm.

It was wrong. So utterly, undeniably wrong. And yet, somehow, you grew to look forward to your days with him.

He made sure you were cared for—though in his own twisted way. Deliveries of stolen luxury poured in: designer clothes, glittering jewels, opulent bags crafted for someone with a life far removed from this metallic fortress. Week after week, the offerings grew.

He expected you to dress for him, to dazzle with beauty, and, most importantly, to entertain. On days when you failed to captivate him, his disappointment was evident. With a dismissive wave of his massive hand, you would be sent away to try again, to prove yourself worthy of his attention.

And so, you lived for those fleeting moments when his raspy, low voice would utter words of praise. It was intoxicating, his approval. You found yourself craving it. Wondering what more you might earn if you pleased him enough. Surely, you thought, even your own pleasure could one day be a possibility.

That day, you had dressed with meticulous care for what had become your grueling eight-hour "shift" of looking perfect. The black silk dress you chose clung to your body like a second skin, its elegance heightened by the glittering diamond-encrusted bangles on your wrists and the delicate silver necklace resting against your collarbone. Every detail was deliberate, calculated to ensure you looked flawless.

He wasted no time. in sweeping you up and you were placed on his lap like a prized possession.

And thus began your dance. You shifted forward, bracing your weight on your hands. Your knees squeezed tightly against the sides of his massive thighs, as a rider on a saddle. You arched your back dramatically. You turned your head, your eyes meeting his with a smolder.

If it was his attention you wanted, you had it entirely.

His expression betrayed him, a flicker of surprise mingled with excitement. You’d caught him off guard, your boldness sparking a reaction that even he hadn’t anticipated.

You reach back to pull your dress back, tightly sliding off to expose your ass.

This earned you a pantherine smile, and a firm tug on your ankle. Now your ass lined against his-- what would one call it? "Modesty panel"? You almost laughed to yourself. The implication that there could be something beneath lit your imagination on fire. You imagined yourself being stuffed with a large warm metal cock in a slew of indecent ways.

With some new inspiration, you grind your hips against his crotch. He didn't release a servo from your ankle, observing you desperately search for some friction to achieve relief. With his other servo he slipped his digits under your dress, playing with the feeling of the fabric and your hot skin. With no effort at all and a quick snap he tore the garment off your body.

In a swift motion you were flipped onto your back. You silently gasped at the sudden exposure.

"Such a fragile little thing," he rumbled, his optics burning into you. "Do you squirm like this for anyone else?"

With a servo around your back he lifted you to another that now supported your ass as well as keeping your legs parted. With a hard click his plating hit the floor followed by a soft hiss. You watched his spike pressurize against your pussy.

You squirmed against him observing this alien dick. It was already covered in a thin slick lubricant, warm and pulsating. Small red lights trailed down the underside and some between paneling in the mesh. You lowered yourself excruciatingly slowly past the tip. You guessed that it was about 18 inches in length, an intimidating girth as well. It took almost a minute of bobbing up and down to stuff half of it up your pussy.

Megatron sighed and moved into a languid position. His other servo found its way to your back again and provided firm support to guide you up and down. A fierce roar of his internal fans was all the assurance that you were thrilling him. That and the frequent low staticky sighs he made while fucking you.

"Cry for me" He ordered. "Sing for me, human"

His demand was enforced with a thrust from his hips and a rapid increase in pace, earning him a wail from you. Your swollen cunt made hideous wet slapping noises off his body. The sensation your entire pussy being stretched while being mechanically railed sent waves of pleasure through you. Every movement built the intensity higher and higher. Your skin and core burned hot, the fire rising inside you. With a gasp and cry your body shuddered and you climaxed at last, your fluids dribbling down his spike.

His relentless pace did not let up as he continued fucking you through the orgasm before his spike pulsed and throbbed inside you. The sensation of incredibly hot cum filled your already sore pussy. Already filled to the limit the pink fluid dribbled out of you.

His body slumped further into the chair and he let out a crackling groan. His hands softened their grip on you and you took a deep breath, you hadn't realized how firmly you were being held until you were free.

His head tilted back, optics dimming slightly as a rare moment of quiet overtook him. “Hmph,” he muttered, his voice low and rasping. “You endure well… for a creature so small.”

You slid to the floor and gathered yourself. Your body trembled with exhaustion and something unnamable. He didn’t stop you, his optics dim and unreadable as you picked up the tattered remains of your dress.

“Go,” he commanded, his voice a deep rumble, quieter now but no less commanding. “Return to your chambers... and prepare yourself. You’ll be summoned again soon.”

You didn’t look back as you stepped out of the room, the echo of his words and the lingering weight of his touch still heavy on your skin. The metallic halls stretched ahead, cold and unfeeling, a stark contrast to the heat that still clung to you. You clutched the fabric tighter to your chest and walked on, your mind spinning, knowing that tonight would not be the last time you would entertain him.

The door slid shut behind you with a hiss, sealing away the towering warlord and the line you had crossed.

[t1188]

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[gardens-light]

Flirtatious Company

After a chaotic run-in with Decepticon scouts, Wheeljack crash-lands in Earth’s dense, wilderness forest near Wolf Lake, Stranded in the middle of nowhere with a damaged ship, he's expecting trouble—but not in the form of a curious dog and its wary human owner..

As an unexpected storm rolls in, an unlikely bond begins to form. With flirtatious banter, subtle tension, and a slow growing trust, Wheeljack explores what happens when two very different worlds collide—and just maybe, discover something worth coming back for.

Content: TFP Wheeljack x F/Human Reader. Slow burn. Strangers to Lovers. F Receiving Oral. Face Sitting Kink. P in V. Size Kink. Fluff/Smutt. Mild Courage Language.

Word Count: 8,500

Inspired Song: Eastside- Benny. B, Halsey, Khalid

Wheeljack's servos gripped the controls of his small starship- The Jack Hammer, his processor running hot with frustration as he fought to keep the craft steady. Smoke filled the cockpit, the flashing emergency lights painting everything in erratic pulses of red and white. The ship jolted violently, alarms blaring in his audials.

“Scrap.” The Wrecker snarled through gritted denta, gripping the malfunctioning controls as the small scout ship tumbled through Earth’s atmosphere like a flaming comet.

It had been a simple recon mission, a routine patrol on the outskirts of Cybertronian space, when a pack of Decepticon scouts ambushed him. He’d taken a few of them out before they got a lucky shot in—right through his nav system. Now, with only minimal control, he was on a one-way trip to whatever patch of dirt and rock happened to be below him.

The windshield displayed a rapidly approaching landscape of green and brown, thick forests stretching across the terrain. He didn’t have time to scan for a proper landing zone. The Wrecker could already feel the ship losing altitude, the power reserves draining fast.

"Hold together, girl," he muttered, pulling every bit of power into stabilizing the descent, flipping switches in vain as warning lights blared all around him.

The Jack Hammer slammed through the thick canopy of trees, branches snapping like toothpicks as the hull tore through the foliage. The impact sent him lurching forward in his seat, harness straining against the force. Metal screeched as the ship skidded along the forest floor, carving a deep trench through the earth before finally grinding to a halt with a heavy groan of twisted steel.

Wheeljack exvented sharply, pressing a servo against his chassis to still the thrum of his spark. His optics flickered as he checked his HUD—damage reports scrolling rapidly. The ship was wrecked. No immediate explosions, but he wasn’t flying out of here anytime soon.

"Well, ain't this just my luck," he muttered.

Stepping out of the cockpit, the forest around him was dense, tall pines stretching high above, their scent thick in the air. The ground was littered with fallen leaves and scattered debris from his rough landing. Optics scanning the area, Wheeljack crouched beside the wreckage, examining the worst of the damage.

The engines were completely shot. The communications array? Fried. He wasn’t sending out any signals to Team Prime anytime soon.

Just as he was about to pull open a damaged panel, a sudden rustling nearby made him freeze.

Wheeljack’s optics sharpened as he turned toward the foliage to his right. Instincts kicking in, and in an instant, his twin swords were drawn, their edges gleaming in the dappled sunlight breaking through the canopy.

His optics narrowed. Decepticon scouts? A human retrieval unit or something?

The underbrush rustled again, and a blur of motion leapt toward him.

Wheeljack barely had time to process what he was looking at before the animal—clearly some kind of Earth species—bounded up to him, tail wagging furiously, tongue lolling from its mouth in a pant.

"What in the pits—?" he muttered, stepping back slightly.

The creature didn't seem to care. It barked, hopping in place, looking at the Wrecker as though he was the most exciting thing it had seen all day. Wheeljack hesitated, one servo still gripping the hilt of his sword.

It wasn’t dangerous. That much was clear. But before he could decide whether to shoo it away or just ignore it, another sound caught his attention—a voice.

"Dodger! Get back here!"

Wheeljack’s optics flicked back up , following the sound.

A human. Female, if my audials are picking up correctly.

You stepped cautiously into the clearing, slowing as your gaze locked onto Wheeljack. As your curiosity melted into stark fear, as your brain struggled to register exactly what you were looking at.

Eyes went wide. Posture stiffened.

Fragging organics.

Wheeljack knew that look. That sharp inhale which meant you were seconds away from either screaming or bolting. Maybe both.

---

His first instinct? Disappear.

Humans weren’t supposed to see Cybertronians, not if Team Prime could help it. Too much risk, too many questions.

The Autobots might play nice with ‘em, but Wheeljack wasn’t an Autobot in the traditional sense. He didn’t answer to Prime’s rules.

On the other hand… you'd already seen him.

If I... let her run, what were the odds she’d tell someone? Report a 'crash' to the authorities? Call for help? Wheeljack grumbled. I dont need human interference on top of this already slagged situation of mine.

The dog—Dodger, apparently—was still wagging its tail, completely oblivious to the tension in the air.

With a low sigh, he slowly released the grip on his swords, sheathing them away.

“Well,” Wheeljack lowly spoke, shifting his weight as he folded his arms, “didn’t think my first visitor on this rock would be someone so... small.”

Your breath hitched, h-holy shit! This... thing... is talking to me?!

Dodger barked again, tail thumping happily against the dirt, patiently waiting for pats.

Wheeljack smirked. At least someone was enjoying the introduction.

Wheeljack’s optics flickered between you and your dog—Dodger, who was still wagging his tail like this was the best day of his life. But you, however, wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic.

You were stiff, shoulders drawn tight. A scream bubbling in your throat- contemplating weather to let out to the world, or hold it in.

Wheeljack optics softened slightly, the way you were looking at him—the sheer terror in your expression—made something twist uncomfortably in his spark.

He wasn’t a Decepticon. He didn’t want to scare you.

He watched you take a slow, cautious step backward, hand moving in a subtle way—trying to get Dodger's attention without making any sudden moves.

Wheeljack shifted his weight slightly, raising his servos in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture.

"Hey, relax," he said, keeping his tone even. "If I wanted to hurt ya, I would’ve done it already."

Alright... Maybe not the best choice of words-

But the second he shifted, just the tiniest bit, your nerves finally snapped. Breath hitched, and in a split-second, you turned on your heel and ran.

“Dodger! Come!” you called desperately, voice high with fear.

The dog hesitated for half a second before scrambling after you.

Wheeljack cursed under his breath, watching as you bolted without a second thought. Don't blame her, really... if I were a squishy little organic and just ran into a seven-foot-tall armored alien, I'd probably do the same-

But then he saw it—the terrain ahead. Wheeljack's optics widened.

“Hey, wait—!” he called, but it was too late.

You barely made it three strides before your foot got caught on an exposed root. Ankle twisted, balance thrown off completely. You pitched forward with a sharp cry, unable to catch yourself as the momentum carried you toward the steep incline of the forest hillside.

Wheeljack’s instincts kicked in before he could think, he lunged forward. Metal servos wrapping around you, stopping your descent just in time. Breath gasping as you clung to the cold, smooth plating of his index digits, fingers trembling.

For a second, all you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The world seemed to slow down, as the Wrecker remained quiet for a moment, allowing your brain time to process everything.

Wheeljack carefully lifted you closer to him, ensuring you wasn’t harmed. “Whoa, easy there, darlin’,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft. “That coulda been nasty.”

Swallowing thickly, forcing yourself to look up at him. His glowing blue optics locked onto yours, sharp and alert, but not unkind. You expected menace, something predatory in those robotic features. Instead... you found something else entirely.

Amusement. Curiosity. A hint of exasperation, even.

“Usually, I’m not the mech that the femmes fall for,” Wheeljack quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

The sheer ridiculousness of the comment—especially after saving you. Blinking in surprise, and then, despite everything, you let out a breathless, disbelieving chuckle.

Something that made Wheeljack's smirk grow a little more.

Wheeljack carefully loosened his grip, helping you back to solid ground. Surprisingly mindful of his strength, allowing you to lean against his frame, as he knelt beside you. Once stable, a slow breath escaped you, placing both hands on your knees, testing movement.

Swallowing hard, glancing up at him. “You, uh… you caught me...?”

The wrecker gave you is typical charming grin, “yeah, well... can’t have you tumbling into the unknown, now can we?”

"So...” you exhaled, brain still catching up with reality. "What exactly are you?”

“Now that’s a loaded question.” Wheeljack tilted his helm, considering for a moment before answering. “Long story short? Name’s Wheeljack. I’m a Cybertronian.” He gestured vaguely toward the ruined ship behind him. “Some assholes caused my ship to crashland and now I need to fix it.”

Your eyes flickered toward the smoking wreckage, mind spinning. A-Aliens...? Aliens... are... real...?

Dodger barked suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. His small head looking up, the sky had darkened considerably, thick clouds rolling in above the treeline. You didn't realize that the wind picked up, rustling the canopy, nor the scent of rain heavy in the air.

Wheeljack quirked a optical ridge. “Something wrong?”

"Yeah..." you heavily sighed. "I forgot that a fucking winter storm is rolling in, but... if I quickly hike the 3 miles back to my lake house, I should easily avoid the rain." Pausing for a moment, your eyes flickered back to the Jack Hammer, “so… how exactly are you gonna fix that?”

Wheeljack glanced at the smoking remains of his vessel, optics flickering over the torn metal, busted thrusters, and the deep trench it had carved into the earth.

The Wrecker shrugged. “I’ll figure it out. The ol' girl has been in worse shapes than this.”

Your brows lifted, clearly unconvinced. “You crash-landed in the middle of nowhere, with half your ship in pieces. You sure about that?”

A chuckle escaped the Wrecker, “darlin’, I’ve gotten outta worse scrapes than this. Just need time, and maybe... a bit of luck.”

You gave him a skeptical look but didn’t argue.

Turning his attention to the terrain, mentally mapping out the uneven forest floor.

If my ship had landed somewhere flatter, I would have considered transforming and offering her a ride back.

But the wreckage, thick roots, and steep hills would clearly damage is altmode- and that was something he certainly couldn't offered. Wheeljack turned his attention back to you, watching you subtly call your dog again, as you stared at your map. Trying to mentally figure out which hiking trail would get you home quicker.

Dodger barked at Wheeljack again, as if impatient for your solution, his tail wagging in anxious little flicks.

Wheeljack glanced at the sky again. The storm was moving in fast. The clouds thickened, the air heavier with humidity, and a distant roll of thunder growled through the forest.

He let out a sigh, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, darlin. Looks like you’re bunkin’ with me for a bit.”

A startled yelp escaped you, instinctively grasping at the Wrecker's plating as he lifted you off the ground. “What do you mean—?Whoa, hey—! What are you doing?!”

“Relax.” Wheeljack casually spoke, carrying you towards his ship. “Not leavin’ you out here to get drenched and hurt yourself. I got room inside.”

Dodger barked excitedly, trotting alongside, as Wheeljack carried you within his palm. Maneuvering past some of torn plating, stepping up into the cockpit where the interior was still relatively intact.

Smoke had settled into the cracks of the cockpit, a few sparking wires flickered from exposed panels. The metal walls were dented, panels shifted out of place from the rough landing.

Lowering you carefully onto the co-pilot seat, making sure you were as comfortable as possible, before lounging into his pilot seat.

You stared at Wheeljack for a moment, something unreadable within your expression. “You’re... a lot more careful than I expected.”

Wheeljack huffed a chuckle, leaning back slightly. “What, you think ‘cause I’m a big scary alien, I don’t know how to be gentle?”

Shrugging, a small smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “Didn’t really know... what to expect, honestly.”

The Wrecker chuckled once more, before kneeling in front of the control panel. Laying upon his back and crawling beneath it, the sound of metal scraping against metal filled the cockpit as he pried open a ruined panel.

Sparks flickered as he dug through the exposed wiring, muttering to himself. "Just...need to reroute what little power left to the backup systems, running long enough to properly fix a few things."

“You're... actually quite good at this." Your eyes flickered across the main control panel, watching parts of it flicker back to life.

Wheeljack scoffed. “Darlin, I’ve been buildin’ and breakin’ things since before your species figured out how to make fire.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. “That’s... a lot to unpack.”

He smirked, tapping the bottom of the control panel. “I’ll dumb it down for ya—this ain’t my first rodeo.”

Exhaling, shaking your head with a small chuckle. Despite the insanity of the situation, you had to admit… the tension from earlier faded a little. Is it his casual attitude? Or maybe the fact that he didn’t seem interested in hurting me at all?

Lightning slashed across the sky outside, illuminating the darkened corners of the cockpit for a fleeting second, before vanishing into the pitch-black of the storm. Wind howled through the dense forest, shaking the trees as rain pounded relentlessly against the hull of Wheeljack’s ship.

Wheeljack continued to work in awkward silence, optics narrowed as he stripped another ruined wire and reconnected it to the backup power conduit.

Then—the lights cut out. Completely.

The sudden darkness swallowed the cockpit, save for the faint golden glow of the emergency lights. A dull hum reverberated through the walls, and thin lines of light now traced the floor toward the sealed exit hatch—just enough to navigate by without tripping over loose plating or exposed conduits.

Wheeljack ex-vented, setting his tool down and wiggling out from beneath the control panel. “Well... Ain’t that just a stroke of some fraggin luck?”

You couldn't help but let out a small sound, adjusting yourself in the seat. Dodger shifted beside you, ears perking up at the sudden change.

“What happened?”

“Ship’s prioritizing power reserves. The non-essentials just got cut, leaving only the necessary lighting and heating online-”

A soft grumble, interrupted him.

Wheeljack’s optics flickered toward you, catching the way you shifted uncomfortably in the co-pilot seat. Arms wrapped around your stomach.

“How... long have you been out here?” his tone more curious than accusatory.

You hesitated. “Uh… since this morning...”

Wheeljack gave you a look. “And you didn’t pack any food?”

“No… I wasn’t planning on hiking further than I normally do, due to a storm that I forgotten about. Or did I expect to be temporary abducted by a ridiculously tall alien. ”

The Wrecker scoffed slightly, "fair enough."

Pushing himself up from the console and walking towards a storage compartment. Digging through it, searching for anything remotely edible for you. His servo landed on something small, crinkly, and definitely not Cybertronian.

Wheeljack frowned before realization dawned. Miko. That little gremlin must’ve stashed her junk food in, the last time she was aboard. He could practically hear her cheeky laughter.

Shaking his helm, pulling out a bag of chips and a protein bar, glancing back at you. “Here.”

You blinked, catching the snacks. “Where did you even get this?”

Wheeljack smirked, leaning against the wall. “Let’s just say I’ve got a human friend who stows away in my ship when she ain’t supposed to. She’s got a habit of leavin’ things behind.” He smirked, grabbing another bag and tossing it towards you. “Go ahead, eat. Ain’t no use starvin’ while waiting this storm out.”

“…Thanks,” you muttered, opening the protein bar. Dodger immediately perked up at the sound of crinkling plastic, his tail wagging as he nudged your arm, clearly very interested in sharing.

Wheeljack chuckled, popping open another compartment and pulling out a small container of energon. It glowed a soft cyan in his servo, casting eerie blue shadows in the dimness.

You paused mid-bite, staring at it. “What’s that?”

“My kind of fuel,” twisting the cap and downing a sip. Wheeljack gave you his usual cocky grin. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to start chompin’ on your food.”

Rain pelted against the hull in steady sheets, growing louder as the storm settled in overhead. Outside, the forest was cloaked in shadows, but inside the battered ship, the cockpit held a strange sense of warmth.

Yet, you couldn't help but watch Wheeljack lean back in the pilot’s seat, one leg bent, the other stretched out casually. Your eyes gazing at the way the glowing liquid pulsed faintly in the container, as it slowly drank it. It was… kind of mesmerizing, actually.

Your gaze continued to take in more of his frame, which was marked with dirt and superficial scrapes from the crash, but his energy signature had evened out.

“Hey... Wheeljack...” you finally spoke, gaining his undivided attention, “thanks. For… you know. Letting me and Dodger crash here for a bit- oh! I'm Y/N, by the way.”

Wheeljack grinned, leaning his helm back against the back of his seat. “Anytime, darlin.”

Another beat passed before you spoke again. “So… what were you doing here? On Earth? I mean... you don’t exactly look like you came for sightseeing.”

Wheeljack huffed a quiet laugh. "Like I said earlier, got into a bit of a scuff with some assholes, which caused me to crashland. Plus, I'm a Wrecker, crashin and breakin things, is what we do."

You blinked. "A... what?"

He gave you a proud little smirk. “Wrecker. Kind of like… a demolition squad. Special forces back on Cybertron- my home planet. We go into places no one else would survive. Dig up enemy outposts, track down Con's, sabotage supply lines—clean up the mess no one else wants to touch. Dirty, dangerous work. The kind where you either finished it… or you didn’t come back.”

You blinked, lowering your food slightly. "That... sounds intense"

He gave a lazy shrug. “It was. Still is, when the job calls for it. Back then, I ran with a crew that stuck together no matter what. Me and Bulkhead? We used to be tighter than any weld line.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiosity softening your gaze. “Bulkhead?”

“My old partner,” Wheeljack said, a rare fondness softening his tone. “We raised hell across half the galaxy. Got in trouble more times than I can count. He always had a bigger spark than a brain, but he had your back without question.”

“What happened to him?”

“He settled down,” Wheeljack said, his grin returning. “Joined Team Prime. You know—Optimus’ gang? Bulk and the rest of the gang chill here on this rock, defending it from Con's, while tryin to rebuild our home.”

“So… that means you follow your bos...Optimus too?”

Wheeljack barked a laugh. “Pfft—me? Please.” He waved off the idea like it offended him. “Don’t get me wrong, Optimus is noble—one of the best mechs out there. I respect the guy. But me?" the Wrecker tapped his chestplate. "I’ve never been big on the whole ‘chain of command’ thing. I don’t follow rules unless they’re written in explosives.”

You raised a brow, amused. “So, you’re basically a space cowboy?”

“Pretty much. Never stay in one place too long. Get in, do the job, move on. I’ve been to more planets than I can count. Some with three moons, others with nothing but ice. And plenty with fascinating native species…” He paused, glancing at her with a sly smirk, “which I’ve been known to explore from time to time.”

The word hung in the air for a moment.

Your eyes widened just slightly. “…Are you implying…?”

He winked with a smug look. “Let’s just say diplomacy comes in many forms.”

You snorted into her protein bar, choking on a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Hey, no judgment. We all find ways to learn about a culture. Some of us just prefer the... hands-on approach.”

Another laugh escaped you, genuinely this time. Despite the absurdity of everything, you found Wheeljack was… oddly easy to talk to. His confidence didn’t come off as arrogance—more like someone who had truly seen too much to be bothered with pretending otherwise.

“So…” you began slowly questioning, adjusting your position in the oversized co-pilot seat. Curiosity getting the better of you more than it should. “When you say you’ve, uh, explored other species… what exactly does that mean?”

Wheeljack chuckled, the kind of rich, raspy sound that rumbled low in his chassis. His optics flicked with amusement, knowing full well where this was going.

“Well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mischief, “you’d be surprised how many intelligent species are out there across the stars. Some of ’em are not half-bad company, once you get past the tentacles and communication differences.”

You paused in mid-bite of the protein bar. "Tentacles?"

“Only one time. Learned real fast not to ask about mating rituals unless you’re ready for a show.” He gave you a pointed look, laughing when you visibly cringed.

“There was this planet, Veltraxis-9. Swampy terrain, had these bioluminescent creatures with skin like polished crystal. One of ‘em tried to barter mating rights with me by throwing bio-fruit at my head. Had to fight off three of their siblings just to get back to my ship. Whole species thought a good brawl was a love letter.”

You laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth. “That’s amazing. Sounds like you’ve lived one hell of a life.”

Wheeljack chuckled, sipping from his energon cup again. “Let’s just say boredom’s never been a problem.”

You fell silent for a beat, thoughtful.

Then—almost too casually—asking, “So… have you ever, y’know… explored a human?”

Wheeljack choked on his energon, placing the cup onto the main console while coughing. Optics flickering as he stared at you in stunned disbelief. "“W-what? No! I—I’ve met humans. Bulk and Team Prime’s got great ones around 'em. They're brave. Smart. Loud, but none are... I'm not going there! Plus you guys are so small. Fragile. Squishy. Not exactly built for compatibility with seven-ton alien mechs.”

You hummed thoughtfully, casually stroking Dodger's ears while the dog dozed peacefully beside you upon the co-pilot seat. “Sounds like someone’s lacking imagination.”

Wheeljack’s optics widened. “E-Excuse me?”

A smile faintly teased your lips, not even bothering to meet his gaze as you added smoothly, “It’s all about positions, Jackie.”

The Wrecker paused for a moment, spark slowly picking up it's pace as his processor begun to wonder. “…Alright,” he said at last, avoiding eye contact but definitely not hiding his curiosity. “You’ve got me wondering now.”

You blinked, feigning innocence again. “About what?”

“You know what.” He gave you a sideways glance, arms folding over his chassis. “You said it’s all about positions. Which position would even work?”

“Oh? You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t’ve asked if I didn’t.”

“Alright, Hypothetically speaking?”

“Sure,” Wheeljack said smoothly, leaning a little closer, his curiosity piqued.

“Well…” your voice trailed off, tapping your chin thoughtfully. “There’s one that might work pretty well."

Sitting up just a little straighter, voice dropping just a touch more playful. “Imagine this—you’re on your back, nice and steady. I’m on top, sitting…” your hand raised to gesture vaguely around the level of his face. “Right about here-nice and comfortable."

Wheeljack blinked slowly, optics dimming just slightly as he processed that.

"And you…" you smirked, giving him one last teasing little glance, "would get to use... that mouth and sharp tongue of yours to explore me.”

Your grin widened as the Wrecker's engine purred, curiosity upon his faceplates melting into all sorts of mischief. As his words slipped out as a moan, "Oh... darling."

---

Your fluttered within your chest, holding Wheeljack’s gaze, as the air between you molten.

Every part of you buzzed with adrenaline. Unbelievable. Yet, here you both were crossing a invisible line with an ease that felt frighteningly natural.

Wheeljack's optics burned a vivid, focused blue, his ventilations slow but deliberate, his massive frame laying stretched out upon his berth beneath you. He didn’t move—didn’t dare move—as he watched with a hungry patience, as if giving you full control of the moment was some sacred offering.

Without breaking eye contact, you reached for the button of your trousers, fingers deliberately slow and popping it free. You could feel Wheeljack’s optics trailing your every movement, practically hearing the faint hum in his plating as you slid the fabric down your legs, revealing soft skin inch by inch. Underwear followed, pooling at your ankles before kicking both garments aside, leaving yourself in just hour oversized shirt that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs.

Wheeljack ex-vented sharply, the plating along his throat flexing with restrained tension. His servos clutching tightly onto the plush covers of his berth, optics greedily traced the newly revealed curves before him.

Hard, cold plating met your warm skin, the contrast sending shivers up your spine, while straddling his broad chestplate, knees braced wide for balance.

The size difference was startling up close like this.

You felt ridiculously small as you straddled his chassis, the slope of Wheeljack's armor creating a perfect perch for you- and it utterly thrilled you. The power difference, the way Wheeljack so easily could dominate you if he wanted, made heat coil tightly between your thighs.

Fingertips softly tracing his lips, as you leaned in closer. Your voice a playful, husky whisper. "Can I?"

The growl that rumbled from Wheeljack's frame in response was nothing short of feral. His optics burned into you, bright and unwavering.

"Oh baby... you don't even gotta ask." He rasped, voice thick with hunger.

Shifting your hips, sinking down carefully onto his faceplate, positioning your core directly over the his mouth. Bracing yourself by planting your hands against his forehelm, biting your lip at the sheer wrongness and rightness of the sensation—the faint mechanical hum of Wheeljack's systems vibrating against you.

Wheeljack let out a low, guttural growl of approval, his optics shuttering closed as he tilted his helm back slightly for better access. His warm glossa, textured with faint ridges that pressed and explored your folds with a slow, savouring precision that made your thighs tremble.

"F-Fuck!" the curse slipped from you in a gasp. Your fingers scratching and marking up the paint upon his forehelm, as your hips rocked against him instinctively.

Wheeljack groaned again, the sound vibrating up through your most sensitive places. He lapped slowly at first, savoring the taste of you, experimenting with careful, firm strokes of his glossa. Every movement seemed designed to coax out a reaction, to learn exactly how to make you squirm atop him.

As you grinded down against his mouth, seeking more. His servos finally letting go of the plush fabric of his berth, caressing your thighs with a gentle touch. Raising his servos just enough to hold you steady by your thighs, anchoring you exactly where he wanted you.

Wheeljack’s mouth worked with expert, unrelenting focus—every flick of his tongue, every deep, hungry suck drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

You clutched at his forehelm, moaning loudly, thighs quivering around his face as the coil inside you finally snapped, bouncing against his glossa. Mewling the Wrecker's name, as he explored your velvety walls.

Wheeljack groaned beneath you, venting hot air against your soaked core, servos gripping your thighs tighter to holding you steady, as you rode out every last tremor. Wheeljack didn’t stop—Primus, he savored it. Your essence coated his glossa, slick and heady, dripping down onto his lips, cheeks, and the seams of his mouth.

Wheeljack's glossa- hot, textured, insistent- swirled and flickered expertly against your swollen clit, while every hungry growl of his sent electric shocks bolting straight through you.

P-Primus! She's driving me wild! Her taste... Her overload... how it better than the richest, most potent energon I've ever sampled? Sweet, sharp and oh so fragging intoxicating!

"Scrap... you're addictive!" his greedy words escaped, just before pressing his mouth even harder against your dripping heat. Drinking your essence in, like a starved mech.

Your vision blurred, body trembling as you feel the orgasm building deep in your core, the tension coiling so tight it almost hurt.

Wrapping his lips fully around your clit, drawing hard, as his glossa delivering quick, precise strokes against your entrance- and that was it.

Head falling back, a broken, desperate moan escaping you and filling his private quarters. "Jackie!"

The climax ripped through you like a tidal wave. Pleasure zapping across your neves- white hot and overwhelming. Your thighs clamping around his helm, fingers pulling at the seams of his forehelm without thought. Needing something to hold onto as you rode out the shuddering wrecking upon your body.

Your essence spilled over the Wrecker, slick and dripping across his glossa, lips and down his sharp cheekplates. Wheeljack growled, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating deep into you as he licked and sucked every drop from your folds. His glossa sliding into every slick curve, mouth exploring with single-minded worship. Wheeljack's fan whirled loudly, struggling to keep his systems from overheating as he devoured you.

Whimpering softly, trembling atop him, still caught in the afterglow. Your body was loose, molten with release, but your teasing, wicked smile never left. Even as you paused for a moment to catch your breath, running your fingers down the side of Wheeljack's faceplates.

"You're... way too good at that."

Wheeljack finally pulled back slightly, optics gleaming up at you with a smug expression of pure satisfaction. His entire mouth, chin, and cheeks glistened with your wetness, licking his lips slowly and deliberately.

"Guess I do... have a little imagination after all." He rasped, the roughness of his voice making your thighs clench again.

"Th-That... was the hottest thing I've ever experienced."

The Wrecker shifted slightly under you, giving your half naked body a slow glance up and down. "Now... you gonna let me keep exploring? Or was that just a... scenic tour?"

Before you could tease back, Wheeljack shifted again with careful ease. Lifting you gently and placing you at the end of his berth, placing a firm pillow beneath your lower back and hips. Adjusting till he felt like you were perfectly supported. Before his servos caressed your thighs, thumbs stroking gentle circles into your skin, subtly exploring your flexibility- feeling the way your joints and muscles move beneath his servos.

Your heart couldn't help but flutter a little, as you watched this ridiculously strong, armoured mech, who could without a doubt tear through his enemies without blinking. Yet treating you with such care and precious touch.

Kneeling down, removing his buckling modesty plate with a low metallic hiss. Your breath caught in your throat as Wheeljack's sleek white and thick spike emerged, the polished surface glinting slightly under the golden hue of the ship's emergency lights. Watching him give it a slow pump, before hesitatingly placing his thick tip close to your core.

Your legs naturally fell further apart for him, simply motioning him closer with your index finger.

Wheeljack groaned under his breath as he coated himself in your arousal, sliding his tip up and down your wetness, savouring the way you trembled beneath him. "Primus, you're soaked."

Slowly- agonizingly slowly- he began to push into you. A rasp, gasp escaped you, fingers clutching onto the soft berth as your dripping core stretched around him. Feeling the slow, delicious sense of Wheeljack filling you inch by careful inch, while he watched your expression for any signs of discomfort.

F-Frag, she's takin me like... she was made... for me.

As Wheeljack pushed deeper, every inch of him stretched you even more- filling you more completely than you could of ever imagined. And when he finally bottomed out, your hips meeting the heavy, solid weight of his plating. A low growl rumbled deep within his chassis, optics glinting while looking at the sight of you stretching around him.

His free servo traced up towards your torso, catching the hem of your top, shoving it up with impatience till your breasts spilled free with a subtle bounce. Dipping his helm towards you, his mouth nipping and sucking upon the soft, sensitive flesh.

A heavy gasp escaped you, as you arched into his touch. The wet heat of his mouth, making your thighs tremble even more with his relentless thrusts against your core. Wheeljack's pace picked up with each passing moment, each movement becoming more desperate and hungry. The berth creaked beneath the pair of you, your breasts bouncing with each hard snap of his hips against yours.

The sound of your moans echoed off the curved metal walls of his private quarters, mixing in with the faint hum of the rainstorm battering against the Jack Hammer's hull.

"H-Harder... Harder-!"

"As you wish, darlin." Wheeljack grunted, his servo upon your hip moved towards your ass and giving it a good sqweeze. Spreading your legs a little more, before pushing his spike deeper into you, "you like it rough, don't you, baby? You like me. Want me to wreck and ruin this pretty frame of yours."

Every thrust pushed you higher, your body singing with pleasure, teetering on the edge of collapse. Both of your movements were a raw, frantic rhythm, condensation built up against Wheeljack's plates. His lips caught yours in a heated kiss, tongues swirling and tangling as you explored each other. Clutching onto his neck cables, as your hips rolled up, meeting his with each rough thrust.

"J-Jackie! I'm-! I'm-!-"

"Overload for me, darlin!" he panted, rutting into you harder and deeper, causing the berth to creak more under the force. "I wanna feel you on my spike! Let go, darlin- let me feel you!"

Your body clenched and fluttered around him, the pressure inside you snapping into a another, overwhelming orgasm. Screaming the Wrecker's name as your nails raked over his servos, scratching into his paint and leaving marks. As your entire body shuddered, coming undone harder than you'd ever had. Wheeljack's thrusts became more erratic and desperate, as he drove into you a few more times before finally shuddering.

"B-By the fraggin AllSpark!"

You felt him spill deep inside you, thick and heavy, as Wheeljack collapsed carefully atop of you, bracing himself upon his elbows. His entire frame trembling from the force of his release.

For a long moment, the only sound were both of your ragged breaths. Wheeljack remained hovering over you for a moment, your bodies still joined in the most intimate way possible. His vents huffed softly against your flushed skin, but his optics were fixed—absolutely locked—on the place where you both were still connected.

There you were, stretched so beautifully around the thick base of his spike, your slick folds glistening, clinging to him as if trying to keep him buried inside.

The sight alone made a shudder rack Wheeljack's entire frame. A deep, strange, overwhelming satisfaction rippled through Wheeljack's systems, something far deeper than simple release.

Bliss. Pure, unfiltered bliss.

He hadn't felt anything like it in centuries. Not after battles. Not after surviving the impossible. Not even during his wildest, reckless nights of pleasure across distant stars.

Nothing—nothing—compared to this.

“Fraggin’… stars,” Wheeljack muttered hoarsely, optics half-lidded, awe etched into every movement. His spike throbbed inside you, his frame vibrating slightly under the overwhelming surge of emotion.

He couldn’t help himself. Leaning down, cradling your face with a large, trembling servo, his thumb brushing tenderly over your flushed cheek, before planting a kiss upon your lips.

It was slow, deep, worshipful. Deliberate. Adoring. The kiss of a mech who had finally found something precious after centuries of believing nothing could ever stir his spark like this again.

A silent praise, silent gratitude pouring from him in a way words could never capture.

Reluctantly—carefully—Wheeljack finally pulled out, letting out a low, shuddering groan as he watched the thick evidence of their joining glisten between your thighs.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Simply slumped back against the berth with a heavy breathes, sprawling out as much as you both could. Staring up at the ceiling of his private quarters, listening to the faint hum of the ship's systems and the rain still drumming on the hull.

The heat of the moment ebbed into a lazy, heavy stillness. Both of your bodies slick with the remnants of your union, breathing gradually slowing.

Wheeljack couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so... weightless.

Catching your breath first, turning your head to look up at him-and out of nowhere, a soft giggle bubbled up from your throat.

The Wrecker raised an optic ridge, voice low and rough-edged from exertion. "What's so funny, darlin?"

Softly, playfully biting your bottom lip, as your eyes sparkled with mischief. "I was just thinking... you're probably gonna be in so much trouble with your boss, if he'd find out you've been... y'know... exploring the native species of Earth."

Wheeljack barked a low laugh, the sound vibrating through his frame. Without a word, he reached over, strong but gentle, and effortlessly scooping you up. Causing a tiny squeak of surprise to escape you, as he shifted, maneuvering you stomach-first across his broad, warm chassis.

You relaxed instantly against him, cheek resting against the smooth, humming metal. Feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his spark deep inside its chamber, the rhythmic pulse beating against your heart in a strange, beautiful sync.

Wheeljack ran a single large digit through your tangled hair, the touch slow and affectionate—tracing lazy, soothing paths. Tilting his helm slightly, peering down at your small form sprawled over him, and smiled—really smiled.

"Darlin," he murmured, voice filled with his usual flirtatious tone. “I don’t care what Prime—or anybody—thinks. I’m the only one who decides how much trouble something’s worth, and tonight?... Tonight was worth all the trouble in the galaxy."

The Next Morning

A warm beam of morning light pushed through the small slats in the ship’s damaged hull, catching the dust in golden shafts as the storm outside gave way to a quiet dawn. The ship continued its steady rhythm, though a few weak sparks occasionally flickered from the cockpit wiring.

You stirred slowly, breath catching with the faint ache in your core. Dodger's quiet tail thumped gently against the berth, staring at you with bright, expectant eyes. Turning your head, smiling sleepily as the dog nuzzled into your, happy to see you awake. Looking to your side and let out a soft, amused breath, as Wheeljack had left a half-crushed packet of Miko’s snacks and a small water bottle on a nearby console beside the berth.

Your smile widened just a little, as your gaze raked over a holo-pad with a message written:

Mornin Darlin, I'm afraid your pup got into Miko's snacks during our... 'exploration' last night, so blame him for the lack of nutrients. Be outside fixin the engine. Yell if you need anythin - Wheeljack

Reaching for one of the snack bars, opening it and taking a few slow bites, before washing it down with the water. Petting Dodger's head, murmuring a soft "Morning, boy," before brushing hair from your face. Heart fluttering, butterflies entangling your nerves, as your gaze looked at the floor beside the console. Gratitude swelling inside your chest, noticing that Wheeljack neatly folded your jeans and draping them over your hiking backpack.

A man in the streets, yet a Wrecker in the sheets.

The distant sound of metal clanking and muttered Cybertronian swears caught your attention as you got dressed. Curious, sliding out of the berth. Dodger followed, tail wagging, as you made your way to the open hatch and stepped outside the ship.

The air was crisp and cool, filled with the earthy scent of wet pine and moss.

Wheeljack crouched beside the smoldering engine core near the rear of the Jack Hammer, leaning in with his helm lowered and a servo inside the panel. His expression tight, optics narrowed in frustration.

“Morning,” you called softly, careful not to startle him.

Wheeljack paused mid-tinker, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk, a light teasing tone lingering within his words. “Morin darlin, sleep well?”

A smile tugged the corners of your lips, "of course I did, big boy... perhaps we could shower together next time."

The Wrecker's engine purred as he leaned against the Jack Hammer's open hood, his smirk briefly turning devilish before a Cybertronian curse escaped his mouth. Pain zapping throughout his frame as his servo slightly slipped within the engine, ruining the vivid images your words painted within his processor.

“What’s wrong?”

Wheeljack huffed, tapping the bottom of the engine's hood with the edge of a knuckle. “There's a busted conduit buried behind some bracework, but I can’t get to it. My servos are too damn big to reach into the slot.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So... you need smaller hands?”

He glanced at you, optics blinking in brief confusion. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. I’ve worked on my Jeep a few times—mostly patches and hose fixes. I can do tight engine spaces. Plus, I’m small enough to fit in there. You just gotta talk me through it.”

Wheeljack hesitated, optics flickering as he eyed the open space, then you. It felt… odd. Letting a human into a Cybertronian engine. But he didn’t have many options, and you wasn’t exactly fragile, last night proved that.

“…Alright,” he said, nodding slowly, then kneeling to your level and offering a servo. “C’mon. I’ll lift you in.”

Gently scooping you up with both servos, easing you toward the open engine, letting you lean in headfirst, while using your hips to balance yourself against the outside frame of the hood. One servo planted just lightly against your hip to anchor you. “Let me know if you need me to pull you back.”

“Got it.”

“Alright—see that fuse-link just left of the orange wire? That’s the busted one. You’ll need to wiggle it free, then snap the spare in place just above it.”

You nodded, hand reaching carefully through the coils. Your jeans stretching as you leaned deeper into the engine, pressing against Wheeljack’s steady servo.

As you followed his instructions, Wheeljack kept his optics locked on your movements. More specifically… the way the jeans hugged your figure, especially with you bent over like that.

His gaze lingered.

The soft denim curved perfectly across your ass, pressing tight with every subtle shift of your body. His digit moved instinctively—just a light brush, testing texture, warmth, softness.

Primus.

He shouldn’t have noticed. He really shouldn’t have noticed. And the images within his processor, of his servos caressing and squeezing your ass last night certainly wasn't helping.

His digit twitched.

Optics flickered slightly as his digits rested against your hip. And then—just barely— sliding down… brushing against the curve of your ass.

A soft, surprised sound escaped you—half gasp, half involuntary “Oh…”

His engine purred. Literally. Giving a deep, involuntary thrumming noise—low and unmistakably pleased.

Scrap.

His servo snapped back like he’d been burned, expression stiffening as he immediately turned his gaze towards Dodger, who sat by the ship, ears perked and watching with an expression that could only be described as judgmental.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Wheeljack muttered, barely audible, more to himself than the dog.

Dodger squinted, tilting his head as if somehow knowing the connection between you and Wheeljack.

Wheeljack groaned, dragging a servo down his faceplates. “Not. One. Word.”

He cleared his throat and spoke louder, turning his attention back to you. “Alright, uh—slide the spare connector up two inches and twist it clockwise. Should lock into place.”

Wheeljack kept his servo steady, his processor desperately trying not to drift back to the way you softly moaned and subtly pushed your ass into the contact.

“Alright, now shift it two degrees left. You should hear a soft hiss—that means the line’s realigned.”

“Copy that,” you called back from inside the narrow engine compartment.

Adjusting your grip, reaching deeper into the cluster of wires and glowing conduits. Fingers fumbled for the right component, brushing metal and coolant lines. The gap was tighter than you thought. I... just need to reach a little further-

“Whoa—!”

Before panic could fully sink in, Wheeljack’s servos shot back to your hips, both servos firmly catching you just in time. His digits splayed wide keeping you from slipping, thumbs unintentionally pressing snug against the curve of your ass, holding you in place with startling precision.

“I gotcha, darlin” he said quickly, voice sharp, trying to mask the growing heat in his systems. “You’re good.”

“…Good catch,” you teased, voice low and amused, as Wheeljack carefully placed you back onto solid ground. “Lucky I wasn’t wearing a skirt, huh?”

Wheeljack’s systems faltered for a full second. “Primus…” he muttered under his breath, not sure if he was praying or cursing.

You laughed softly, the sound low and unbothered, and that only made it worse.

The low hiss of the engine igniting suddenly drew both of your attention as the power hummed back to life, the circuits responding smoothly to the completed repair.

Wheeljack exhaled. “Engine’s finally all fixed."

You raised an brow, crossing your arms, turning to glance back at the ship. Eyes scanning the hull with slow, deliberate skepticism: the twisted metal plating on the starboard side, the scorched edge of the wing panel, the multiple deep dents gouged along the frame from where it had plowed through the forest, and—of course—the cockpit, which looked like it had gone ten rounds with a sledgehammer and lost.

You looked back at him, brow arching higher. “Fixed?”

Wheeljack shrugged one shoulder and gave a small, shameless grin. waving a dismissive servo.

“The important stuff’s patched,” he said, shrugging. “I can control her just fine. Doesn’t have to be pretty—just has to fly.”

“And the torn-up cockpit?”

“Optional interior aesthetic,” he smirked.

“Completely exposed wires?”

“Ambient mood lighting.”

A laughed escaped you, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Wheeljack chuckled at that, optics gleaming. “I'm more than happy give you a lift home, unless…”

"Unless what?”

He leaned against the side of the ship with that ever-confident tilt of his hip. “Unless you want a joyride first.”

You blinked. “A joyride? In a ship that just crash-landed less than 24 hours ago?”

Wheeljack spread his arms wide, like it was the best offer in the galaxy. “We’ve got gravity stabilization, minimal smoke, and snacks. What more could you want?”

Before you could answer, Dodger gave sharp bark, looking up at you with his best “are-you-kidding-me” expression.

You grinned, patting the pup’s head. “Yeah, he says no. Thinks the whole ‘joyride’ idea is insane.”

Wheeljack snorted. “Tough crowd.”

Stepping forward slightly, giving him a flirtatious wink. “Still, I wouldn’t say no to a ride home… minus the stunts.”

Wheeljack raised both servos, mock innocence in his optics. “No flips, no barrel rolls. Just a smooth flight home.

Dodger huffed, clearly unsure about all this, but trailed after both of you, as Wheeljack gestured towards the ramp of the Jack Hammer.

---

Wheeljack leaned back in the pilot’s seat, servos dancing over the last row of controls as the ship’s engines rumbled to life. The rear thrusters flared with soft blue energy, and the hull gently lifted off the forest floor. A few sparks flew from one of the battered panels, but the craft held steady.

Dodger barked once from where he sat comfortably next you upon the co-pilot seat, tail wagging in rhythm with the ship’s vibrations.

“Strap in,” Wheeljack said with a grin as he checked his controls.

A chuckle escaped you, shaking your head. “Just get us home in one piece, Big Boy.”

You gave him directions—straight shot through the forest and just a few miles west—but you swore, after a few minutes, that Wheeljack was stalling. The ship tilted, banked, and took a slow lap around Wolf Lake, the morning sun glinting off the water’s surface below.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, secretly enjoying the slight detour

“Just calibratin’ the balance,” Wheeljack replied smoothly, optics flickering with mischief.

Eventually, the Jack Hammer hovered just above the tree line, cresting over a peaceful clearing where your cabin stood. Nestled perfectly beside the lake, the cozy logwood cabin looked like something straight from a travel magazine. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney, and the front porch was decorated with a windchime and stacked firewood.

With a rumble and a gentle shift, the ship hovered low enough for Wheeljack to open the side hatch. Leaving his pilot seat, keeping one servo extended. With his usual, deliberate gentleness, scooping you up from the co-pilot seat, cradling you comfortably in his palm as he moved toward the trees closest to your cabin.

Wheeljack lowered, allowing you to sit upright in his palm, legs curled to the side as your hand rested against his thumb for balance.

Reaching the edge of the cabin’s path, he knelt down, lowering you as close to the porch as he could without damaging the ground beneath him.

You didn’t move right away. Instead, you looked up at him, face warm with sincerity.

“Thanks, Wheeljack… for everything.”

Wheeljack scratched the back of his helm, a faint hum pulsing beneath his faceplates as his spark fluttered. “Any decent mech would’ve done the same.”

You tilted your head at him, amused by how awkward he suddenly became.

But then, you paused before leaning forward. And then—without warning— slowly rising onto your tip toes, one hand lightly braced on the edge of his faceplate. Placing a soft, delicate kiss to his cheek.

Wheeljack blinked—completely still—as your lips lingered for just a second longer than necessary. When you pulled back, a faint lipstick mark in soft rose-red had been left behind, subtle, but unmistakable.

Before he could stutter anything that resembled a coherent thought, you gazed at him with a teasing glint in your eye.

“Don't be stranger, Jackie.” You purred lowly, voice dropping even more, words laced with sultry mischief with a smirk upon your lips as you stepped back down from his servo. "I feel like there's still plenty of... exploring for us to do."

Wheeljack’s engine gave an unmistakable purr, loud enough that Dodger tilted his head, curious at the sound. While a sudden influx of lude ideas filled his processor.

A cheeky smile flashed across his faceplate, "wouldn't have it anyother way, darlin. I'll be back before you know it."

Briefly pausing as you took a step upon the porch, you turned back to the Wrecker, sweetly blowing him a kiss as your heart fluttered at his fulfill promise. "Don't keep me waiting."

Wheeljack stood there, momentarily stunned, his spark thrumming faster than it had in centuries. When your door finally clicked shut behind you, he ex-vented hard, whispering to himself, "frag me sideways, I think I've just... sparkbounded with an organic." And I absolutely don't regret it...

[pddparthi]

Unlocking Precision and Power: A Guide to Hydraulic Servo Actuators

Introduction: In the realm of automation and motion control, hydraulic servo actuators reign supreme for their unmatched blend of raw power and exceptional precision. These marvels of engineering combine the potent force of hydraulics with the meticulous control of electronic systems. This comprehensive guide delves into the world of hydraulic servo actuators, exploring their inner workings,…

[wolf-among-mechs]

WLF-Xb-KNT Wolf Knight

Description:

The WLF-Xb-KNT Wolf Knight is highly specialised one of a kind mech made from primarily the chassis of a Black Knight and a number of parts from a Battlemaster. Made to the whims of a mechwarrior with a strange idea with some mechtech experience, the Wolf Knight was constructed allegedly from a dream, that was then committed to paper, explored and executed. Its primary purpose is to be an upgraded Black Knight with heavier armour, jump jets and extensive re-engineering of the Black Knights interior and sensor suite. The interior was remade to fit a powerful Extra-Light engine. The chassis and frame was remodeled extensively and changing to a more common frame model of pieces of changed BL-7-KNT Black Knight pieces and that of a BLR-1G Battlemaster. Despite its Frankenmech design, the focus on off the shelf parts allows the Wolf Knight an ease of access for repairs and maintenance to a surprising degree despite the heavy modifications. The most taxing parts are its dual Myomer and servo system and the cockpit to sensor connections. The refit process documented the notes of these two extensively but nevertheless requires a very qualified engineer to repair and maintain. It makes extensive use of Triple Strength Myomers that run through the mech coupled with finely and highly tuned actuators, calibrated after the pilot's movements, the Wolf Knight can swing the great blade's motions in its hand with tilts, flicks and even whips in its attacks. This is made possible with a secondary Myomer system that works on tandem with the more powerful one, giving increased agility and precision. Lastly this secondary Myomer system is backed up and tied into an integrated hydraulic servo system with the fibres themselves attached to limit switches for a natural pullback and resistance. The practical nature or battlefield application was contentious even by the refitting engineers but it was found difficult to argue against the one placing the order. One of its most curious features and the namesake is the re-engieering of the sensor suite of the Black Knight. It uses similar principles as the originals Beagle Active Probe system which uses the small laser to scan. Instead it has a second sensor tower, giving it two "ears" on the Knight helmet. Together with the pilot harness this is called the High Oscilation Wave-Length system or H.O.W.L. for short. It functions by generating pulses and frequencies through the heart rate monitor and neurohelmet's brain wave readings. Which in turn create an algorithm that is impossible to predict or even anticipate for a computer. This forms the basis of the skip-frequencies used in the sensor system in its pulses. The effect shifts the Mech's position by one to two meters between pulses on hostile sensors, slightly distorting the Wolf-Knight position, velocity and direction. Even skilled combatants can be caught unaware of their mech suddenly shifting the targeting to compensate. Leading to glancing shots. However the H.O.W.L. system distorts command and control communication over long distance, forcing it rely on short wave range bands. For this reason, it is usually only active during active combat operations in order to allow for strategic coordination. This, along with the precise movements of the arms is achieved by a specially made cockpit. Rather than the usual joystick configuration, the mechwarrior wears a harness that can mimic arm movements of the pilot. In addition it keeps track of the pilot's vitals and uses these together with the helmet to modify the frequencies of of the sensor suite and probe. The harness is heavy to move and is is wholly integrated with the neurohelmet and cockpit at large and tailored for a single individual and does not interact well with ejections.

Armament:

The Wolf Knight wields a large sword in the right, though functionally is follows the design principles of Fedcom-era hatchets. Otherwise the loadout is very similar to that of a Black Knight. A Lord's Light 2 rather than the royal versions' Kinslaughter ERPPC in the left arm allows for long range sniping with an original Maxell DT medium laser mounted under the main cannon. It is supported by two Magna Mk III large lasers as shoulder cannons along with parts of the housing used for a Rifleman. Instead of the the original torso mounted McCorkel mounted in order to make space for the new internal systems. Using parts and housing from a a Catapult on each side of the torso is a pair of Martell Medium Lasers and Omnicron 1000 Small lasers. Allowing the Wolf Knight to brawl with to a similar degree as a standard Black Knight.

Sixteen Double heat sinks allows the Wolf Knight to remain at range and fight without significant overheating. Once it gets close and pounces with the shorter range lasers it can easily activate the full potential of the Triple Strength Myomer system.

Inside the chest of the Wolf Knight however remains the Beagle Active Probe from which the black knight was noted for carrying. It has been wired to a Ceres Metals model 666 Communication system that connects into the Beagle Active Probe together with the original TransComm Beta targeting system.

The engine is connect to a RedLine-F Series Outland Supercharger system that allows the Wolf Knight to pounce on targets with the blade. Four Chillton model 600 Jump jets give it an extra level of mobility. However the XL is a weak point in long engagements where endurance becomes the dominating factor as a single torso side being blown apart would stall the engine.

Made in blender by kitbashing a number of things together.