#Optical mold

[toolsongmould]

Unlocking accuracy: exploring the world of optical mold manufacturing

Precision is the cornerstone of modern manufacturing, particularly in industries where accuracy and quality are paramount. Optical mold manufacturing stands at the forefront of this pursuit, revolutionizing the production of intricate optical components used in various applications ranging from consumer electronics to medical devices. This article delves into the intricate world of optical mold manufacturing, shedding light on its processes, technologies, and significance in contemporary manufacturing.

Optical mold manufacturing represents a specialized branch of mold making dedicated to producing components with exceptionally high precision and surface finish. The term "optical mold" refers to molds used in the fabrication of optical elements such as lenses, prisms, and mirrors, which demand micron-level accuracy and flawless optical properties.

At the heart of optical mold manufacturing lies the pursuit of perfection in form and function. Unlike conventional molds used for general-purpose plastic injection molding, optical molds require meticulous attention to detail throughout every stage of the manufacturing process. From initial design to final polishing, each step is meticulously executed to ensure the production of optical components that meet the more stringent quality standards.

The process of optical mold manufacturing begins with the design phase, where engineers meticulously plan the geometry and specifications of the mold to achieve the desired optical properties. Advanced computer-aided design (CAD) software is employed to simulate the behavior of light within the optical system and optimize the mold geometry accordingly. This iterative design process allows engineers to refine the mold design until it meets the exacting requirements of the desired optical component.

Once the design is finalized, the fabrication of the optical mold commences. Precision machining techniques such as computer numerical control (CNC) milling and electrical discharge machining (EDM) are employed to carve the mold cavity with sub-micron accuracy. Specialized materials such as high-grade tool steels or ceramics are chosen for their exceptional wear resistance and thermal stability, ensuring the longevity and performance of the optical mold.

The surface finish of the optical mold plays a critical role in determining the quality of the finished optical component. To achieve the ultra-smooth surfaces required for optical applications, advanced polishing techniques such as diamond turning and abrasive polishing are employed. These techniques allow for the removal of surface imperfections at the nanometer scale, ensuring that the mold cavity imparts small optical distortion to the final product.

Throughout the manufacturing process, stringent quality control measures are implemented to verify the dimensional accuracy and optical performance of the optical mold. Advanced metrology tools such as coordinate measuring machines (CMMs) and interferometers are used to inspect the mold geometry and surface quality, ensuring compliance with the desired specifications.

The significance of optical mold manufacturing extends beyond the realm of optical components, influencing a wide range of industries and applications. In the field of consumer electronics, optical molds are instrumental in the production of high-resolution camera lenses, display panels, and optical sensors. In the medical sector, optical components manufactured using precision molds enable advancements in diagnostic imaging, surgical instrumentation, and laser-based therapies.

In conclusion, optical mold manufacturing represents a pinnacle of precision engineering, where every aspect of the process is meticulously executed to achieve perfection in form and function. By unlocking the potential of optical mold technology, manufacturers can produce optical components with unparalleled accuracy and optical performance, driving innovation and progress across various industries. As the demand for high-quality optical components continues to grow, optical mold manufacturing remains at the forefront of technological advancement, shaping the future of precision manufacturing.

[emdotcom]

Yeah, so while I was on my "I'm going to read into Vanny/Vanessa as much as possible" journey, I noticed an odd quirk in her animations in how she moves. At first, I thought it reminded me of a ballerina, 'cause she's kinda tip-toeing, & she has this way of keeping her head & chest in one place as she moves, but I looked again & realized --

That's not ballet! She's doing a tight-rope act. Like, look at this one:

This is like standing up on the wooden boards before you do the actual tight-rope walking, & the ring leader is hyping you up as you do some fun movement for the crowds. &, then, these:

These are all instances where she walks with one foot directly in front of the other. In that third, she's doing the "woaaah" wiggly-ass balance movements & everything, as if she's swaying up at the top of the tent, even though she's down on solid ground.

Idk, I feel like the way her feet are placed isn't accurate (pretty sure they should be pointed left & right, not both forwards...) doesn't make this 100% correct, but I like it. It also connects back with her first SB teaser, wherein she's up in the rafters.

[tapesandelectronicsclub]

VHS and audio cassette tapes, like all tape-based audio and video formats, can develop mold due to poor storage, heat and humidity. Most likely because the organic materials used in their construction, such as binder and cellulose base, make them a ideal environment for mold growth. Mold spores can be found in hot and humid places, so they can be trapped into surfaces of objects, leading to the formation of mold on the tapes.

Not even floppy disks, vinyl records, optical discs and neither game cartridges have escaped from mold!

Fuji-branded tapes are the worst offenders, as they are seen to be more susceptible to mold than other brands.

[yejiasilicone]

Light Guide Silicon Lens for Automotive ADB Headlights - yejiasilicone.com

Experience the brilliance of Silicone Lenses from YeJiaSilicone.com, engineered for high-performance optics and unparalleled clarity. Whether it’s for lighting, cameras, or medical devices, our silicone lenses deliver exceptional durability and performance.

[apolooptical]

Finest Molded Plastic Optics

The leading producer of molded plastic optics and products is Apollo Optical. Our custom optics are made with great performance, quality, and longevity in mind to meet your unique requirements. In our opinion, the best optical quality should begin at home. We offer the toughest, lightest, and most fashionable lensed eyewear available.

[smallestapplin]

Bro you got me down so bad for Optimus Prime. Can I request possessive Optimus smut? Cybetronian reader if you could, 10/10 love your writing and will be a die hard follower forever

Alright 💕 but you keep your end of the deal/lh

Warning : stomach bulge, size kink, praise, and a very needy Optimus.

Minors do not interact! 18+ only!

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Optimus is this best partner you could’ve ever asked for, ever the gentlebot, so tender and loving with you, how could you not trust him so? You didn’t question him when he called you over, wishing to speak with you privately, why would you?

He was livid, a rage emotion for the Prime to feel, but he couldn’t stop the anger twisting in his spark from ealier, he shouldn’t feel threatened by one of his own, but he can’t stop the feelings from bubbling to the surface.

You’re too kind to your teammates.

If he can’t tell them off, then he can take it out on your valve, drown you in his scent and mark you as his once more.

“Optimus..!”

Your sweet cry breaks him from his thoughts. You’re shaking on his berth, legs twitching on either side of his helm, your servos on top of his which hold your legs apart, clinging to him. You ex-vent sharply as he pulls away from your wet valve, leaving your puffy node alone.

“I’m sorry, my light, you are just too addicting.”

A whine tumbles from your dermas, feeling your lover kiss your inner thigh just so close to your valve. Optimus takes a deep breath, trembling at the heady smell of your need.

To have you beneath him, crying just for him, needing him, wanting him, desperate for him to frag you and fill you with his transfluid

“Frag…what’s gotten into you?” You laugh breathlessly, your fans on high trying to cool yourself down.

You aren’t complaining, not when Optimus moves further up your body, lavishing your frame with firm slow kisses as if to worship your body. He stops just at your neck cables, moving your legs up and over his shoulders, putting your needy valve on display for him.

Optics watching how your valve drools fluid, occasionally clenching around nothing, wanting to be filled. You gasp as Optimus puts his large spike over your valve, grinding his shaft against it and soaking it in your juices.

“Is it a crime to find my conjunx endura enticing? So pretty, and all I can think about is stuffing this valve of yours full, marking you as mine. To remind everyone here that you are mine to hold, mine to frag.”

Your optics widen at his lewd words, his voice low nearly a growl as he pulls his hips back, positioning his spike at your needy hole and easily pushing in. You grab his shoulders, tossing your helm back and intake dropping open.

Even still he’s just too much, your poor valve always stretched so much just trying to take him. His optics stay trained on your stomach, groaning as your metal begins to dent as his spike alone is too big for your body.

“S-S’deep!!”

“Look at how well you take me, just like you were made for me.” Optimus places a servo on your stomach, pressing down where his spike bulges under your mesh. You shriek, servos gripping his shoulders, blue and red paint scratching off under your grip, but he doesn’t care.

“Optimus…ohh…please, it’s too much.”

“Too much? My star, we haven’t even started.”

He kisses the top of your helm to give you some comfort. You choke on air, his hips clanking and smacking against yours pushing his spike further against your sweet spot, pelvis grinding against your node before he pulls back once more and thrust back in.

His thursts are heavy, fragging his spike as deep into you as he could manage, wanting to mold your valve into his shape so only he could please you, no one else can make you feel as good as he can, no one can have you.

He can’t lose you.

“Frag…you’re clenching so tight. Overloading for me already?”

You’re in tears, your body covered in coolant, as he speaks so sweetly to you, like he isn’t fragging you stupid and spike drunk. You’re so close, your climax lost from earlier building back up swiftly.

“O-Optimus!! Oh, oh primus I-I caan’t—!!”

Your overload does little to make him stop. You’re sobbing, near squealing out hiw name even as your voice box goes to static. He leans over you, practically folding you in half, rutting his spike into your needy hole.

“So good, I love you. P-please, just a little more-mm! Haa…overload for me again, milk my spike, let me mark you.”

You’re too far gone, helm heavy and all you can think about is his spike breaking your back strut.

The entire base will know who’s spark you belong to by the time he’s finished.

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

Envy

Soundwave is jealous Shockwave gets to have a pet.

Cyberverse, Shockwave x reader, AFAB human gender neutral reader, racially ambiguous, Soundwave has a crush on the reader, voyeurism, possessive Shockwave, slight breeding kink

It wasn’t fair how Shockwave got to keep a pet. In fact it was quite strange to see Shockwave take to anyone let alone an organic.

Homosapien, the species if primate that took their planet and molded it to their liking. Humans could be considered the dominant species in terms of the impact their presence has made.

Compared to Cybertronians, humans are so simple. Their issues, their wars, their joys all so simple. However despite this, or maybe because of this, Shockwave managed to find himself a doting pet.

For some reason it made Soundwave’s inner most energon come to a boil. It bubbled behind his spark seeing you so cutely perched atop Shockwave’s shoulder plate, holding onto one of his finials for balance, with your legs resting over his chasis.

Maybe he was just disgusted that Shockwave would let an organic being, sloppy and mucus producing, be so close to him let alone touch him. Maybe he was enraged with how Shockwave coddled you and kept you from speaking to the other Decepticons. You were an adult of your inferior species, if you misspoke and ended up squashed that shouldn’t be Shockwave’s responsibility.

Seeing you perched on Shockwave’s shoulder, head resting against his optic helm, very obviously bored with their meeting made something in Soundwave so furious he couldn’t describe it. He observed you from behind his red visor, your organic fibers pressed against Shockwave’s purple plating. What did those fibers feel like? Corse? Soft? Wirey? Why did you even have those silly fibers growing from your organic plating anyway.

Skin.

Soundwave remembered overhearing you correct Shockwave and tell him it was skin that covered your frame.

Frag, you corrected Shockwave and he didn’t dispose of your pathetic little body that instant.

Just why did Shockwave keep you around so much? Why did such a proud and logical mech succumb to such desires as to keep an organic pet like some low Autobot?

The way you nuzzled your face against Shockwave’s optic helm and absentmindedly stroked his finial with one of your much smaller hands made Soundwave’s spark irk. It was like you were punching him in his abdomen. Your soft and squishy meat hands managed to make the metal of his frame bend in jealousy.

No!

Soundwave was not jealous! Your soft form perched atop his rival’s shoulder shouldn’t make him feel so angry. Yet here he was seething in silence trying to make sense of his jealousy. Perhaps he wanted another cassette bot to accompany Lazerbeak? A small cassette bot he could have perched on his shoulder. One that would dote on him like you do Shockwave. A cassette bot that would stroke his faceplate, press gentle kisses across his mask, and calm him down.

“It’s okay,” the cassette bot would purr rubbing their soft face against his metal plating. “I’m your now. I’m all yours.” Little fibers tickling his audial receptor as his little cassette nuzzles him. Little fabric coverings bunching under his servo as he holds them against his chasis. You’d look so cute waiting for him in his habsuite, a cube of energon ready for him as you eagerly reach up to wrap your arms around him.

Soundwave shook his head finding his processor had conjured a fantasy he wasn’t entirely sure was his. Yet whose else’s fantasy could it be?

He could only stare at you so perfectly perched on Shockwave’s shoulder. Your eyes looked glazed over and your eyelids would shut periodically. Soundwave couldn’t figure out why he found the human recharge state so cute.

Then you looked at him.

Your tired gaze moved to Soundwave. He had heard that humans were sensitive to being stared at. It was amazing seeing how you could sense his gaze without even looking at him. Your eyes wandered over his frame in a bored manner before offering Soundwave a small smile.

He swore his spark stopped.

You then cuddled your face against Shockwave and closed your eyes. How could such a small organic feel so comfortable around mechs twice their size? Mechs that would kill them if they were only just a little bored. Do you really trust Shockwave enough to protect you against that? Shockwave? Of all mechs??

Soundwave wandered the various decks of the Nemesis ordering Decepticon foot soldiers to do various tasks to cover up the fact that he was trying to clear his mind.

Your soft organic features squished against Shockwave’s helm during the last bits of the meeting was imprinted on Soundwave’s processor. Your cute little intake parted open as you slept through the Decepticon High Command discussing strategy.

Your intake looked so soft. He’d seen you apply some sort of balm to your intake giving it a mild shine and a fruity smell. Soundwave had gotten the luxury of walking into Shockwave’s lab only to see you apply the balm then press your plush intake against Shockwave’s optic. Little wet kiss marks covered the side of his helmet as he worked.

Soundwave recorded the entire thing and meant to use it as blackmail against Shockwave but for some reason he couldn’t stop replaying the video. Cute little organic intake kissing the side of a big bad Decepticon’s helm like they were a sparkling.

Spundwave’s fantasy was thrown off when he heard a whine then a gasp. The noises sounded too airy to be caused by someone in pain so that meant-

Shockwave’s lab.

He was right in front of Shockwave’s lab.

Soundwave pushed the metal door open slightly only to peek in to see the source of the noise.

Your little form splayed on the table Shockwave used to operate on, sweat dripping off your body, your precious lips parted in wanting moans.

Soundwave couldn’t remove his optics from the scene. He couldn’t pry his gaze from how Shockwave’s servo dug into your thigh, squishing the meat there under his grasp, as he held your legs open. His spike buried halfway inside of you yet still more than enough to cause a bump on your lower abdomen.

Soundwave watched in awe as the bump would shrink then rise again with every thrust of Shockwave’s pelvis.

“You did excellent today,” Shockwave praised. You only moaned out his name reaching your little hands up towards him. The purple mech indulged by leaning down so you can grab onto his chasis. “You have been very well behaved,” Shockwave said in almost a whisper. “It is only logical to reinforce such behavior with a reward.” He ran his servo up your thigh to your hip grabbing the fat there and pulling you down with every thrust. His canon arm keeping him balanced on the table next to you as his pelvis swung into yours. Wet slopping sounds could be heard and Soundwave made sure to record them all.

His servo glided down to his modesty panel as it hissed open. Soundwave’s spike sprung out already glistening with transfluid. He rubbed his servo over the blue metal as he disabled his vocalizers.

Soundwave wondered what you felt like. He was thoroughly impressed that you were even able to take spike from a mech of Shockwave’s size. Considering your size difference, Soundwave assumed you’d be a tight fit. His servo gripped his spike harder trying to emulate what he thought your organic valve felt like.

Shockwave’s lab was filled with your sounds. Moans of his name, wet schlick from your pussy, your pleas for more from Shockwave. What more could you take? You could barely fit half his spike inside of you yet you want more?

Soundwave felt his servo quicken at how thoroughly used you looked. It was obvious Shockwave had been tormenting you for a while by the sounds of the leaky mess between your legs and the glistening sweat on your body.

“You will take my transfluid,” Shockwave said with a slight glitch in his voice. “Am I understood?”

You nodded eagerly. You lifted your pelvis giving Shockwave more room to use you like a spike sleeve. “Afterwards you are to use the plug I gave you,” Shockwave’s hips started to falter.

Plug?

Soundwave nearly overloaded onto the door to the lab. Shockwave had been filling you up with his overload then plugging up your little human valve to keep him inside. He wondered if you were wearing a plug during the meeting. Were you filled with transfluid with a cute plug keeping everything inside when you smiled at him?

Soundwave couldn’t control the way his servo moved. It should be his transfluid inside of you. Maybe Soundwave could fuck you well enough that he could push Shockwave’s tainted overload out of your pussy and replace that emptiness with his instead.

How cute would you look bent over, panting for air and leaking so much transfluid it forms a puddle under you. Soundwave would have to plug you up with his digits to make sure you didn’t waste anymore before filling you up all over again as punishment.

The shriek you let out of Shockwave’s name made Soundwave boil with rage yet the noise of you wailing in such pleasure was enough to throw him over the edge. Pink glowing fluid splattered against the door to the lab as Soundwave continued to ride out his high.

Around your spent hole, the same fluid leaked around Shockwave’s spike. His engine revving and his vents stuttering in bliss. His little pet, his perfectly trained spike sleeve. His and his alone; which reminded him.

A message appeared at the corner of Soundwave’s vision: “I hope we have come to a mutual understanding in regards to who the human belongs to.”

Soundwave leaned back against the other door confused in his post orgasmic haze before being hit with realization. He flipped his helmet around to look back into the room to see Shockwave looking at him from the corner of his optic as he tenderly caressed your body.

Your intake formed into a smile as you stretched and moaned under Shockwave’s servo. Your poor little brain filled with nothing but pure bliss at being filled with Shockwave’s overload.

Soundwave looked at his transfluid soaked servo then at the door he made a mess of then back at you being pampered by Shockwave.

The scientist’s servo slid back down to your human valve rubbing at your clit with his thumb. You squirmed under him with your eyebrows furrowed. Your moans a mixture of pain and pleasure all the while Shockwave stared at Soundwave through his hiding spot to further rub in whose pet you were.

[ikkosu]

TO LIVE, AND TO SERVE

part one

(tfo. sentinel x gn.miner.reader )

spoilers! just in case. nothing plot heavy spoilers but yk just in case.

one, two, three

CHAINS clinked against the ground. Ones, you realize that were yours as you try to lift up your pedes, only for it to stop short a few centimeters high and drag back down again with a hackle. Alright, so you're shackled. Easy, just flip over and see where I am.

You tried. Tried. To flip over, but all you could manage was a wiggle and that's just about it. Your servos were chained to your back. And your neck was sore bent at a position for so long. The ground was grimy and dark and your cheek — Primus it was sore —was pressed against the floor.

Where am I?

A migraine pulsed behind your optics, coupled with a familiar faint ache thrumming from your abdomen, freshly sore.

Oh, right.

A kick to the shin and one to the helm. A blur of colors. Then, a throttle. Darkwing, you grimaced. You should've known better than to play hero and help. A creak sounded, hinges of a metal door opening and your neck strained from frantic ways of trying to look over your shoulder.

—Proved futile.

"Oh, you don't have to run." A voice echoed, a cave-like resonance that trilled and bounced off the walls of the cell. "I've already made sure that you couldn't."

The shadow stretched across the floor. It became larger, molding in size. Into shape. You try to speak, but all that came out were incoherent slurs of sentences. Each one increased with panic. Intake, slack, faceplate numb. And that, to your unfortunate demise, amused the Prime.

"No worries, though, Airachnid's venom aren't usually that fatal. Well, usually. But this time I advised, and I'm glad she listened, to use her lesser death-inducing ones. Ones that take an instant. Its a bit of a mess when anomalies die."

His pedes stopped beside your helm. "And you know that... don't, you?" Another babble from you made him laugh. "Hah. You look ridiculous. Here, allow me."

A harsh tug on your back flipped you over and you grunted, finally able to relish some light from the ceiling. Sentinel prime loomed above you, a grin on his face.

Oh, Primus.

You never thought this was how you'd meet your beloved Prime. Besides, any other way would result your spark snuffed and churned into energon. The ache in your abdomen pierced into a searing pain. You winced.

"You know what that is? Its a kind of paralysis that only affects your body, not your helm." He tapped your forehead.

Tink.

Tink.

"Your mind still works. You can think, you can feel. I can see your optics are still bright." He tips his helm, curiously amused. " Still got that little fire in you, huh. And you're scared. You're scared, yes?"

Silence. You only stared back, chassis pumped with andrenaline. What else you were suppose to say, blegh blegh blegh?

" Silly me. Blink twice if you're scared."

You blinked once.

"Oh?"

Then another slow blink.

"That's what I thought. Now," he knelt beside your helm. The tight smile on his face was nothing genial. " What did I tell you about miners going around creating troubles for me to fix. "

Sir! It wasn't what it was! You rustled, moving you mouth. Nothing came out. Whether Sentinel was aware of the incident or not, it seemed he chose to ignore the possibility that you might be right.

" Not only you defied a supervisor, you also kicked him and destroyed — let me see," He tapped your cheek, tink tink tink, optics to the ceiling, thinking. "Oh yes, almost blew up crates worth of decades use. Injured five of my gaurds. Many more, probably. And, why is that? To make a point nobody will understand. To make a point that's virtually worthless?"

You shook your head.

We couldn't go on any longer. Sir, please.

We are free.

We need to be free.

"Your little speech was adorable. That mineer you saved, oh how melodramatic. Unfortunately like you, he's not going to have the opportunity of choosing his punishment."

Your optics widened and you froze. That look on your face seemed to please him and he lunged forward. You choked as he grabbed your face, pulling your head up to his level.

"It's a shame." He crooned. " You miners are so delicate. Its a miracle you managed this much through the mines already." The other servo grabbed your throat. He sighed, and tightened both grips.

The accumulating andrenaline allowed you to kick below in panic. The venom was dissapating. You feel a little pulse in your pedes, as well as the sensors blooming back on your digits.

"Now, I'll give you two options" He leaned closer. "And I'll only say this once. You can serve Cybertron and it's people — or,"

The servo clutching your throat released and glided down, down and lower...

" Or, you can serve me. Your Prime. Your leader — What will that be?"

Your optics flickered, staring back into his blue ones.

You faintly reminisced bumping into a miner on the street while heading down to the main square of iacon. You've just had your pay, a few hundred shanix clutched in your servos and the collision smeared them across the ground. Frantic, you tried to pick them up, ignoring the several laughters from the bots above — and the miner did too. They were just like you, except...

"Here," They said.

You look up.

They were pretty. Well kempt. A gentle smile on their face. Their platings were shiny, glossy. Without a scratch.

You were confused.

They were just like you. No cogs. No nothing.

"Oh, you're at a different sector, then?" You remember asking.

The miner blinked and frown, chagrined as he handed the last slip of shanix and looked away. You couldn't asked more. A mech with gleaming gold platings dragged them away.

The last look he gave was a somber look before looking ahead. Never back.

You remember being confused. A little irritated at such a display the senator took them away.

But, now. Now, it all made sense.

Is that what it was?

A toy for them to play with?

"I'll...serve....you...." You croaked out.

But even so, at least you're able to live.

"Good mech."

[enigmatist17]

I've never written Deadlock before, but RatchLock(?) in the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon has me by the throat bc Ratchet is my #1 babygirl of All Time ❤️❤️❤️

My other fics I've done in said AU 1 2

---

Ratchet was old.

Sure, he still had a good 50 to 60 years left in him, but hoy boy he was old. He knows most of that "aging" happened when he worked with the mecha program, and while it had been the highlight of his life, the dark road they had started to turn down wasn't for him.

Pilots dying in dozens from all sorts of ways, the worst being the degradation of their minds from the very machine used to defend humanity

Bright-eyed rookies turning hollow and their spark burned out, most leaving with eyes unseeing inside the same black bag.

Demands for more, demands to integrate human and machine, demands to take away their humanity to win

Demands that still haunt his dreams, especially when old superiors ambush him with a gaggle of his new students and interns in his tow.

His town, dammit!

Most of them watch Ratchet spend the rest of the day cursing up a storm that could make any sailor blush while slamming things down, everyone escaping when he eventually made a vague motion to the door. He goes for his bottle of whiskey once he makes sure the last student drives off with some friends, taking a seat in the middle of the shop floor as he pours himself a generous glass, setting the bottle by the side of his chair.

"Does Ratty have all his toys away~?"

"For now." Ratchet rolled his eyes as he took a sip, able to hear the bay door behind his chair rattle before opening with a slight screech. To a normal person, the sight of what appeared to be an unpiloted mecha slipping into some random repair shop would have caused a bit of a ruckus, but Ratchet is unbothered as he takes another sip of his drink. "Make sure you close the door this time."

"I leave it open one time." The mecha scoffs, glowing red eyes cycling in exasperation as the bay door is closed with a slight tug, the loud crash of metal on concrete making the human in the room pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oops."

"If I had a wrench within reaching distance..." The mecha grins as it crosses the shop floor, unapologetic as they sit on the floor across from the bioengineer. "Any luck today?"

"I was able to take out two scouts, should give me enough energon for a few cycles." Ratchet watches as two glowing cubes are pulled out from a seemingly endless storage space inside one arm, shown off before they're placed back inside. "I've survived off less."

"I'm still working on a synthetic version, but no luck." A flicker of regret crosses Ratchet's face, and the mecha reaches over to poke the top of his head. "Hard to create an alien food source, apparently."

"You're still trying, I'll take that." The mecha croons, glowing eyes watching Ratchet take another sip with a sort of purring noise.

No, not a mecha, an honest-to-god alien known as a Cybertronian.

"You seem upset." While the strange organics lacked an EMF field, Deadlock didn't need one to see the annoyance in those pretty optics of his human.

"Just some of the usual bullshit." Deadlock raised an optic ridge and stared, his ornery human staring right back with a scowl. "Got somethin' on my face?"

"You don't get this grumpy over the "usual" bullshit." Deadlock leaned forward with a slight tilt of his helm, the low rumble of his engine getting the other to relax just enough to consider it a victory. "Ratty~"

"Stop calling me that, my name is Ratchet." The Cybertronian only grins, reaching forward to poke the man in his chest.

"I don't like you being upset." Metal that should not be that expressive molds into a pout that would rival his little niece, and had he not seen Deadlock rip out a part of one of the alien threats (Quintesson he's been told) with those sharp teeth, he might find it cute.

.....

Fuck

"Some of those government fucks showed up in front of my people, wanted me to just leave and go back to all of....that." The whiskey is drained, and Ratchet leans over to grab the bottle. "It's one thing to harass me over the phone, but the street? In front of my kids? They can fuck right off with that." The glass is filled again, and the two sit in silence as he slowly drinks, looking at the floor with his brows furrowed. "I can't go back to that, no matter how much that would help out my....project."

"Aw, I'm a project now?" Deadlock cooed, a clawed digit gently caressing the side of Ratchet's face with as much care as he could muster. "I got an upgrade~"

"You're a disaster." Ratchet rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn't move as he listened to the (begrudgingly) familiar cadence of Deadlock's systems. While he could be as silent as the grave, Ratchet was pretty sure he was some sort of spy or assassin of some kind despite any questions getting the brush off, the alien mech had adopted the practice of allowing his natural ambient noise to become noticeable.

Just for his human, one of many things he'd adopted for his savior-turned-object of affection.

"Would you like for me to kill them?" Deadlock purrs when Ratchet raises an eyebrow, taking in the warmth against his digit. "I could make it look like an accident~"

"Like hell you will, that'll just get more eyes on me."

"Are you sure? Didn't sound like you were all that upset by the idea Ratty."

"Yes I am...though if they approach me in public again, maybe you could cause an accident or something, as a treat."

"Oh you do spoil me~!"

[revelboo]

thank you again for all these wonderful stories 🙏 I was wondering if you'd ever consider writing something for Rumble? I have a big soft spot for the guy and I feel like he'd love finally being bigger than someone

Sure

Alcohol Eyes

IDW Rumble x Reader

• Frag, where’s Frenzy? And why had he let his twin talk him into this stupidity? A soft body brushes against him swaying with the thump of the heavy bass pulsing through the club, the flashing neon lights dazzling his optics. Around him costumed humans laugh and dance, bodies brushing against him, because to them he’s just another organic in a costume. He belongs and it’s such an odd feeling. Especially when little fingers catch his servos and turning he finds a human grinning up at him, a pair of crooked costume wings drooping on your back, one wing partially crushed.

• “Wow, you’re tall,” you laugh, clinging to the stranger’s hand. Somewhere behind you, there’s the sound of your ex calling your name and you tug at your new, big friend slipping between him and the guy hunting for you. As buzzy as you are, your ex is wasted and you have no intention of letting him get his rough hands on you ever again. You have enough scars for a lifetime. No, you’d rather take your chances with a complete stranger in a weirdly elaborate costume. “You went all out, huh?” Reaching up to slide your palm over what feels like metal panels. Wasn’t all that heavy and hot? The guy must be sweating in all that.

• Freezing, his lips part as the little human runs soft hands over him, head craning to smile up at him. And it’s so strange to have to look down at someone. Your expression becomes pinched as someone yells, then you’re reaching up and those unbelievably soft hands are cupping his helm to tug his head down. And a warm mouth suddenly presses against his, electric through him.

• That jerk is right there, bound to see you any moment so you pull the guy down to you and kiss him, praying your ex passes by. That this guy plays along. Not expecting for him to curl an arm around you to cup the back of your head or for the other big hand to grip your butt and drag you flush up against him. And those hands are warm as his mouth moves against yours, taking over the kiss and making it something demanding and hungry and deliciously unexpected.

• Primus, help him as you mold yourself to him, little hands clinging as your mouth opens to let him in, let him taste as his glossa explores, sliding against your tongue. His servos tangle in your hair, his other hand tightening on you to keep you from trying to escape, because whatever this is, he wants it to last. Growling when you break free, eyes hooded. “Slow down, sport,” your voice is lower, huskier as you nip at his bottom lip with a laugh, that sound going straight through him in a flush of need.

• “Don’t go,” he growls, big hands flexing against you as his already rough voice deepens. It’s not a request so much as a heated demand. And oh, it’s tempting. No one’s ever kissed you like that before, hungry and almost desperate. Reaching up, you curl your arms around his neck and his own arms tighten possessively around you. You’d come to the club alone, but if you have your way, your unwitting hero is coming home with you for a real thank you.

Next

[muletia]

𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

[tfp] obsessed!ratchet x human!reader

summary: when his emotions turned overwhelming, ratchet tried to hate you instead, to protect both of you. despite his efforts, he cannot stop caring about you

cw: angst, obsessive thoughts, emotional manipulation, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness, ratchet is kinda toxic in this (but he gets better i promise)

word count: 1250

At first, he tried to hate you. To push you away, to make you despise him just as much as he tried to despise you. To turn passion into hatred, to move to the opposite end of the spectrum, yet still burn with the same fervor, the same intensity. Hatred was, after all, easier to manage than love—easier to understand, easier to explain, and easier to back up with facts. Love was an unknown, raising millions of questions he could never answer. Hatred hurt less. And although both passions were fierce in their own right, Ratchet could swear that the first one was far less damaging.

At first, he tried to be cold. Indifferent toward you, mean, and grumpy. He would throw comments at you that he could have easily kept behind his denta because he knew they would hit a nerve and wound you to some extent. He wanted you to leave him alone, to grow disillusioned with him. To stop interacting, to stop looking, to stop being a part of his daily life.

Another warm relationship was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Ratchet was tired. Tired of war, tired of being a medic, tired of patching up his friends only for them to return with fresh, bleeding wounds—or not return at all. Every mech and femme he grew close to either died or suffered, and he had to watch. Watch as the light faded from their optics, as energon poured from their wounds, as they lost limbs. You weren’t a Cybertronian, but would associating with him not weave a similar fate for you? One filled with pain and suffering? If the war didn’t harm you, his feelings surely would—what difference would it make? And your death was something he could not survive.

That’s why he wanted to prevent it. To break the vicious cycle, to stop the machinery of torment. To give himself no hope of a happy ending because he knew it was never meant for him. He couldn’t afford to think of himself. Ratchet was harsh, unfeeling. He made sure that every word he said struck like an icicle, that it hurt. Yet he wasn’t sure who was suffering more. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain, but in this situation, he saw no other way. In a sense, he was saving you from catastrophe, from a collision that would destroy you both. He preferred to deliver the blow when his feelings were just budding, before his infatuation grew into something unmanageable. At least then, you’d both have a chance to recover.

But he found himself checking on you. Ensuring you were all right, even though he had just done so moments ago. He found himself having needs that terrified him because he was never supposed to feel them. Even with a carefully laid plan, with his rigidly set values, Ratchet’s thoughts circled taboo. He contemplated touch, intimacy. Happiness that wasn’t meant for him.

He often wondered if you understood why he had to be the way he was; what kind of clay the war had molded him from. If he explained the details, would you grasp his intentions? Understand that he couldn’t afford the luxury of love? He only hoped you didn’t think it was your fault, that you had made some mistake, even though he gave you no reason to think otherwise. And that hurt more than any sharp remark he ever hurled your way.

It was a pity that by the time he acted, it was already too late. You had cast your spell, enchanted him and his processor. You haunted him during the day, in dreams, when you visited your alien friends, and when you were at home. You appeared in his thoughts when he least expected it, yet when he needed it most. At first, sporadically—when you hadn’t visited them for a while, when he began to miss the sound of your chatter near his workstation. When the lack of your presence started to bother him. Then, you appeared more frequently, and fleeting memories turned into fantasies and daydreams. He stopped thinking he’d like you to sit with him and started longing. Intensely, fervently.

Still, he believed his plan would work. That he could end the relationship he had nurtured for so many months. But you had entirely different plans. Consciously or not, you dismantled the calculated, artificial hatred, tearing down the walls he had begun to build around himself.

The first time you touched him to draw his attention, Ratchet was convinced his knees would buckle under his weight. Suddenly, new colors entered his field of vision, and where you touched him, an explosion of sparks erupted, an electricity incomparable to merely being in your presence. The touch was more vivid. Raw and intimate, and so incredibly powerful that it broke him. It pierced through his defenses, reached so deep that Ratchet abandoned his plan. He stopped trying to change your relationship at an unnatural pace and in a dishonest way. Oh, what a fool he had been, what a burden to both you and himself.

Mending the fractured relationship didn’t happen quickly, nor was it easy, but it gave him time to loosen the collar and allow himself to enjoy your company. Your presence brought comfort and peace. Even when you disagreed, when arguments grew heated, Ratchet clung to those shared moments. He wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world and would fight to keep them going. He grew jealous when you claimed you wouldn’t speak to him again, though he knew it wasn’t true. He knew, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you into his servos whenever you started talking to someone else. He wasn’t proud, but seeing you in your rightful place, close to him, made everything feel right again. Everything returned to normal.

“I owe you my sincerest apologies,” he once said to Optimus, choosing a day when the base was nearly empty, save for him, his friend, and the two humans who had changed their lives. Whether for better or worse was yet to be determined.

“You have done nothing that could cause me harm,” Optimus replied.

“But I did not understand,” he said. “That has changed somewhat recently.”

The medic’s gaze anchored on you, dispelling any doubt in the leader’s mind. Optimus began to pity his friend.

“Will it ever improve? Will this torment ever bear anything good?” Ratchet asked.

Optimus fell silent for a moment. “I am unable to provide an answer to that. However, I am certain that surrender is not the correct course of action, and you must not pursue it, for it would destroy the benevolence you have labored so long to cultivate. [Name] holds you in great regard; I would urge you to keep this in mind.”

For Ratchet, it was already too late for retreat, though he had lost the battle with himself. You had entwined yourself too deeply in his spark, taken a permanent place in his processor. He failed to keep his feelings in check, and they took over, spreading everywhere.

He started with hatred, using it as a familiar form of self-defense. Now, when you come to him with the tiniest scratch on your finger, Ratchet is ready to wage a war for you, blinded by his feelings. Ready to protect you at all costs, dedicating every free moment solely to you. He was finished, undone, but the fact that his demise would likely come through you no longer mattered to him.

[toolsongmould]

Unlocking Precision: Explore the World of Optical Mold Manufacturing

Precision is the cornerstone of modern manufacturing, particularly in industries where accuracy and quality are paramount. Optical mold manufacturing stands at the forefront of this pursuit, revolutionizing the production of intricate optical components used in various applications ranging from consumer electronics to medical devices. This article delves into the intricate world of optical mold manufacturing, shedding light on its processes, technologies, and significance in contemporary manufacturing.

Optical mold manufacturing represents a specialized branch of mold making dedicated to producing components with exceptionally high precision and surface finish. The term "optical mold" refers to molds used in the fabrication of optical elements such as lenses, prisms, and mirrors, which demand micron-level accuracy and flawless optical properties.

At the heart of optical mold manufacturing lies the pursuit of perfection in form and function. Unlike conventional molds used for general-purpose plastic injection molding, optical molds require meticulous attention to detail throughout every stage of the manufacturing process. From initial design to final polishing, each step is meticulously executed to ensure the production of optical components that meet the more stringent quality standards.

The process of optical mold manufacturing begins with the design phase, where engineers meticulously plan the geometry and specifications of the mold to achieve the desired optical properties. Advanced computer-aided design (CAD) software is employed to simulate the behavior of light within the optical system and optimize the mold geometry accordingly. This iterative design process allows engineers to refine the mold design until it meets the exacting requirements of the desired optical component.

Once the design is finalized, the fabrication of the optical mold commences. Precision machining techniques such as computer numerical control (CNC) milling and electrical discharge machining (EDM) are employed to carve the mold cavity with sub-micron accuracy. Specialized materials such as high-grade tool steels or ceramics are chosen for their exceptional wear resistance and thermal stability, ensuring the longevity and performance of the optical mold.

The surface finish of the optical mold plays a critical role in determining the quality of the finished optical component. To achieve the ultra-smooth surfaces required for optical applications, advanced polishing techniques such as diamond turning and abrasive polishing are employed. These techniques allow for the removal of surface imperfections at the nanometer scale, ensuring that the mold cavity imparts small optical distortion to the final product.

Throughout the manufacturing process, stringent quality control measures are implemented to verify the dimensional accuracy and optical performance of the optical mold. Advanced metrology tools such as coordinate measuring machines (CMMs) and interferometers are used to inspect the mold geometry and surface quality, ensuring compliance with the desired specifications.

The significance of optical mold manufacturing extends beyond the realm of optical components, influencing a wide range of industries and applications. In the field of consumer electronics, optical molds are instrumental in the production of high-resolution camera lenses, display panels, and optical sensors. In the medical sector, optical components manufactured using precision molds enable advancements in diagnostic imaging, surgical instrumentation, and laser-based therapies.

In conclusion, optical mold manufacturing represents a pinnacle of precision engineering, where every aspect of the process is meticulously executed to achieve perfection in form and function. By unlocking the potential of optical mold technology, manufacturers can produce optical components with unparalleled accuracy and optical performance, driving innovation and progress across various industries. As the demand for high-quality optical components continues to grow, optical mold manufacturing remains at the forefront of technological advancement, shaping the future of precision manufacturing.

[pinkanonwrites]

Hands-On Learning (Rodimus Perspective)

Read 'Hands-On Learning' Here!

art by @archie-sunshine

Rodimus/Human Reader, NSFW, First Contact AU, AFAB Reader, GN Pronouns, G/T, Experimental Sex, Fingering, Oral (Receiving)

I was asked many a time for Roddy's perspective in 'Hands-On Learning', so here it is!

NSFW Below The Cut!

“You're real eager, aren't you? Taking off all your little coverings so fast.~”

If Perceptor, or Megatron, or, Primus forbid, Ultra Magnus knew he was doing this, it could easily be a one-way ticket to the brig. Or Rung’s office. Whichever was closer. The first time had been an accident, sure. A misunderstanding. Something that, if it were to get out to the other mechs aboard, Rodimus could easily brush off as a miscommunication between different species. A miscommunication that wouldn't end with him being questioned about particular fetishes or slapped with a warning about ‘interface misconduct.’

But this? Cupping your soft, unarmored body between his massive digits? Teasing and squeezing your plush organic mass while you wriggled in his grip? This is something he could actually get in trouble for. This was something dangerous. 

And Rodimus loved ‘dangerous’.

Your soft skin yielded so easily beneath the press of his servos, each delicate touch bringing these tiny bumps rippling to the surface of your skin, microscopic hairs standing on end as he stroked you. Your thighs fell apart as he trailed a digit up the length of one, revealing your slick, uncovered valve. 

“Cute.” Instead of following your invitation, he instead poked you in the side of your squishy thigh, chuckling as your muscle shifted beneath his digit. There was far more yield than metal mesh usually gave, warmth molding into the crevices of his joints when he squeezed you again. You let out a soft whimpering noise, grabbing for the seam of his wrist and directing him up, up, until one of his digits was pressed flush against your valve. Once it was there you crooned, hips jerking at the faint rumble of his engines coursing through his frame.

“Yes? You like that? Must feel good pressing up on all your soft spots, huh?” His optics flickered between your face and valve, torn between watching the subtle twitches of your expressions trying to hold back your pleasure, and the slick you were now drooling all over his knuckle.

“Yes…” You cooed, along with another string of babble he didn't yet understand. But you kept rocking your hips up against him, huffing and whining with each ex-vent. He gave the slightest roll of his digit, and even that sensation was enough to have you gasping in his servos.

“So cute.” He reaffirmed, letting his other servo stroke and fondle you while you got yourself off on his digit. With his thumb resting on your chassis he could feel the thud, thud, thud of your fuel pump hammering away, seeming to rev up faster and faster the closer you came to overload. Your little pedes scrabbled uselessly against the surface of the table, pushing your hips up harder, more desperately against his digit as you moaned. Rodimus could feel your valve clenching around nothing as your overload hit you, helm lolling back against his palm with a soft thunk. 

“Careful.~” He teased, digit finally slowing to a stop as your moans began to pitch up into overstimulated whimpers. You blinked up at him with unfocused, glassy optics, slick and limp and looking utterly content in his servos.

“Rodimus…”

The heat pooling in his tanks and behind his modesty plate bellowed, a gush of steam venting through his parted dermas as his engine snarled.

“Slag… You’re so slaggin’ cute.” His digits slunk lower, prodding and massaging at the slick opening of your valve. Your soft skin gave way so easily, stretching far beyond what he could have possibly imagined until, with a wet pop and a sharp, staggering gasp from you, the tips of two of his digits were snug in your little valve.

“Rodimus!?” You yelped again, surrounded by a garble of unfamiliar language as you twitched and shivered in his servos. Your own little digits dug into the sensitive crevasses of his paneling, helm tossed back in ecstasy as he prodded further into your impossible warmth. Rodimus could swear that with each minute curve of his digits he could see the soft bulge of your tank from him prodding within, transfluid spilling out and dribbling down the curve of your aft and into his palm. Rodimus found himself transfixed by the milky substance, unable to tear his optics away from your valve as lubricant pooled beneath his glossa.

“Messy too… Don’t worry, sweetspark, I’ll clean you right up…”

The first lap of his glossa across your valve was electrifying. There was a heady, almost metallic tang to your transfluid, like the powder at the bottom of a box of rust sticks. And each time he teased your tiny node your hip struts would jump right off of his palm, practically humping his open intake. But the best of all had to be your noises. They were even more obvious now, hitched little in-vents and primal mewls as you writhed and gasped and shivered in his cupped servos. The urge to disengage the locks of his interface panels prickled at the back of his processor, drowned out and brushed aside by the mere euphoria of your organic taste. The cling and scrape of your tiny servos against his helm chevron was little more than a buzz in the back of his pleasure-fogged thoughts.

You sobbed out his name again, another spurt of organic fluid spilling from your valve and across his glossa as you clenched around his digits. He lapped at your sensitive node just a few more times before finally pulling away.

“That might have just made you more messy though. Hanging in there, bud? Good?”

Slippery with arousal and coolant and oral lubricant fluid, you lifted your servo weakly to offer him an exhausted thumbs up. Rodimus beamed, squishing your soft cheek beneath the prod of his digit tip.

“Ha! Good. Better get you cleaned up before you get all grimy though, huh? I wonder if you'd fit in one of Mags’s mugs…”

[transformers-spike]

Well, now I *have* to ask for Skyquake and Dreadwing quadruple dicking.

(For everyone else: head cannon that seekers have two spikes, and that very much includes these absolute beefcakes)

After some debate, I decided to still give them knots. Because nothing's stopping me.

Is this what it means to be loved? Claws stroking over your shivering form with reverence and respect, you’ve never felt more at ease. There is adoration in their optics. Skyquake’s blaze like a forest fire, all passion and hunger for what your human body can give. Dreadwing’s stream down your frame like rain on a hot summer day – soaking you in the comfort of his touch.

Their servos are equal parts frigid and searing, overwhelming you with sensations and textures you’ve never experienced with another of your kind. Their ex-vents are warm against your flesh, lips brushing over your neck and back. For the very first time in your measly little life, you’re being worshipped. What do they see in you? You’re trapped between two colossuses of unfathomable greatness, two honorable beings choosing to stoop down to your size if only to experience your finite nature. Their digits find their way inside of you, dull claw-tips caressing sweet nerves to prepare you for what’s to come. Skyquake’s spikes are too large to enter you at the same time; one of them rests pulsating on your stomach, the other stretches you, pain molding into pleasure. His brother’s servos stroke your thighs encouragingly, parting them for his twin. You’re certain the favor will be returned. Skyquake wastes no time thrusting into you, praises dripping off his glossa as his fragile human does the impossible and takes a mech of his size. Dreadwing’s interface panel is yet to open, but you swear you can feel it overheating behind you, cooling fans running at maximum capacity.

It’s not long until Skyquake spills himself, growling and digging his claws into the berth. The knot swelling inside of you burns, stretching your walls to their limits. You don’t mind the transfluid coating your stomach, you can barely feel your own body by the time he kisses you, struggling to stop himself from devouring your lips. You shudder as Dreadwing’s digit draws circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, drawing out overload after overload, making you clench around his brother’s spike. It causes Skyquake to hiss and grind his hips against yours. When he pulls out with a wet pop, Dreadwing quickly takes his place. His members are thinner. At first he starts with only one of them, testing your limits before he slips the other in. Together, they’re bigger than Skyquake’s spike, but your previous orgasms make the transition smoother, easing your walls until he can fit himself completely. He handles you with awe as if mystified by your capabilities, shallow thrusts keeping his spikes mostly sheathed inside of your tiny body. He calls your determination admirable, which makes you laugh and smile up at him, declaring you’re just in for the ride. A startled noise escapes you when Skyquake holds your thighs up, pressing your knees to your chest, pushing your flexibility. Dreadwing reproaches his brother, but you chuckle and give a thumbs up, urging him to continue; hesitantly, he does as asked. He lasts longer than his twin, making love to your smaller form until he eventually overloads with a groan, bracing himself over you. His spikes twitch, knots pressing up against each other inside of you in what must be the best accidental self-service. Skyquake lets go of your legs and gives his brother space to plant a needy kiss on your lips, polite as ever, concealing the full extent of his desperation. Skyquake presses his digit to the very same sensitive bud, guiding you to orgasm after orgasm, inner walls clamping down on his brother’s spikes. “Brother, stop,” Dreadwing orders, servos on either side of your thighs. From your angle, you can hardly see Skyquake’s expression – but from what you can tell, he looks extremely smug. “What? I’m simply repaying your kindness in full,” he answers, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his intake. Dreadwing seizes his twin’s servo without hurting your abused genitals.

“Not when it turns painful,” he says, glaring at his brother who seems twice as amused. You snort at the display, earning two arched optical ridges. “Damn, you guys are adorable.” Your hand finds Dreadwing’s servo, addressing both of them. “Thank you. It’s definitely… the best frag of my life.” His golden face is adorably coated in blue blush. 

“Anything for you,” Skyquake’s voice rumbles above you. He places his servo over your free hand.

Together, they look down at you like you’re their greatest treasure; splayed across the bed, disheveled hair, wide eyed, panting, transfluid smeared across your skin.

“It’s the least we can give,” his brother says, brushing the hair from your face. Tears are pricking your eyes.

[yejiasilicone]

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[mrsoharaa]

Giggling while drunkenly, messily, making out with Miguel is what I could use right about now ngl. 😔

一 ✿

Like you both just return home from a vibrant, lovely fun night out. A few drinks in and neither of you can get your needy hands off from one another.

His large, rough palms would roam up and down the venture of your curvy body, while yours trace up and down the strut of his firm, wide chest to the vast structure of his broad shoulders. Eventually your little fingers would curl up into the back hairs of his beautiful chestnut tresses.

His hungry lips would messily lap over yours with such inaccuracy and drive, sloppily mangling over yours and tripping occasionally over his large feet while still latching onto your hips. You'd break out into small fits of genuine giggles, feeling his warm full lips constantly try to stick onto your own, only to feel them slip past the velvety skin on either onto your flushed cheeks or your cute chin.

Your nails would weave gently into his wavy strands, tucking and tugging playfully as his frustrated grumbles would seep against your warm, soft flesh. Adding on to the cute little chortles that erupt from you. He's too cute.

His looming body would pin your back against the wall by the door.

"M-Miguel- you're b-being too *hic* frantic" you'd hiccup a small chuckle, feeling the warmth of his plush lips crease into the juncture of your jawline and neck. His hot breath permeating into the lush of your simulated skin.

"¡Ay, coño!...n-not frantic enough" his words slur out into rambled mumblings, hands pushing you more steadily, firmly against the solidity of the wall behind you, hips connecting with yours as his lips gradually find their way to the corner of your own. You'd simply giggle at his retort.

Heaves out another heavy, hot breath as he ghosts his lips just centimeters away from yours. Lidded irises of deep scarlet lazily, longingly, gazing down at you. Watching and noting every simple, little detail that was you.

Raises his left hand up to drape steadily around the structure of your neck, keeping you still against his weighted figure and the wall nestled behind you. Your hazy eyes finally meet his, a shimmer of intoxicated desire and endearment drowning your beautiful optics.

"Such a pretty l-laugh...you're so p-pretty, mi araña bonita" his breath husks heftily, leaning in closer to you as he pushes at the back of your neck to mold into his fevered lips. Strongly.

With added friction and steady firmness, Miguel made sure that his lips stayed connected with yours at all times. Swindling his tongue into the moisten cavern of your mouth, as he hums in delight to your acceptance for his sudden intrusion. His heart plummets every time he listens to a genuine giggle or muffled moan resonate from the depths of your throat.

Makes him become more needy and touchy with you.