#((and cuddle))

this one is sort of getting into darkish territory, but nothing really too triggering (at least i hope!! if i forgot to tag something that triggers you pls lmk and ill add it in and im so sorry)

warnings: mentions of male masturbation (nothing too specific/detailed), hints of andrew's trauma, a lot of mentions of throwing up but no one actually does and theres no descriptions of it, probably swearing, smurf (shes a warning all by herself lets be real), sort of miscommunication???, general sort of angsty vibes idfk

part three!!!!

—

Pope had only masturbated three times successfully since he'd been imprisoned three years (and four months, since getting out) ago.

The last two came in quick succession in the shower two nights after you two first spoke. He had never felt so desparate in his life, purely to see you, to take in the sight of you, the smell of you again.

Before he knew it, just the thought, the memory of you, had him rock hard and leaking. He mashed his cock into his fist and almost immediately after the last of his release landed on the glistening tiles in front of him, his throat felt to be burning in some way, his own thick breaths choking him. He nearly threw up.

He didn't do it again.

When Smurf found out about the two of you, only two weeks into his being your boyfriend, he nearly threw up again. Swallowed it back like he did as he stared at the cum slowly falling into the drain of his shower.

Craig was stuffing his face with a burger his mother had made as he let it slip, the words not even half thought through before they'd fallen from his tongue, muffled by the greasy patty stuffed in his cheeks.

His oldest brother sneered at him from across the kitchen counter, avoiding his mother's eyes, feeling how they turned on him. Immediately.

Thankfully, your timing was impeccable as always, slipping in through the garden door in your new skirt, with the usual melodic hum of your voice, "Um, Andy? Sorry, can I steal you for a minute?"

He felt like grinning. But his lips remained pursed as he lifted his head slowly and gave a nod. He didn't spare another glance to either Smurf or Craig, nor did he look even once to Deran as he headed in and beelined for the fridge.

Instantly noticing the cool chill of tension around, the latter's eyes found Craig's and the two of them shrugged at each other. Smurf grimaced as she stood, arms over her chest, watching Pope, her Pope, be swept away by you.

Stepping outside, you exhaled and smiled at Andrew over your shoulder, eyes soft. "Andy...?"

His eyes, now immeasurably more gentle, were glued to the side of your face as he gave a small nod. You shifted on your feet, stopping at the sun lounger you'd been relaxing on before rescuing him. He could hardly think, just taking in the sight of you, glowing in the low sunlight of the late afternoon. "Yeah, Angel?"

"Can... we go to my place?" you whispered, gently grasping his hand where it had settled on your waist, drawing your fingers slowly over his knuckles. "I.. cleaned.." Eyes maybe wider than you'd ever seen them, he blinked and you couldn't help but let out a quiet giggle. "Sorry. I mean, sorry, it's not like.. we have to do anything..."

"Okay," he muttered, nodding again. When his eyes found yours, his lips instinctively turned upwards in a small, easy smile. "Whatever you want. Just... don't be sorry."

"Okay," you smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "Thank you."

You spent the night watching, at your request, having discovered that he'd never seen any of them, The Godfather films. You'd gasped dramatically, a chuckle had escaped his mouth, and he let himself be succumbed to your every whim. Yet again.

He just couldn't help it; anything you wanted, he made sure you got. No matter what it was, it was worth it to see the smile that brightened your whole face.

"Andy..?" you cooed from where you were nestled in the crook of his armpit, engulfed in his smell as you'd found you very much liked to be. He smelled of pine and sand and sometimes beer, or a hint of sweat. Addictive, to say the least.

"Mm?" he hummed, still watching as the credits rolled out.

"Tired..."

"Do... you want me to take you to bed?"

"Yes, please..."

The next morning, you awoke, still wearing the (Andrew's) sweats and a t-shirt (your own), which you'd put on last night. Finding the sun streaming in through the all-too-thin curtains on your window, you squinted slightly sitting up as you glanced around for Andrew.

And there you saw them. The clothes you'd worn while he'd taken you shopping and afterwards as you'd laid by the pool at his mother's house, folded neatly on your dresser in the corner.

You had yet to sleep with Andrew. Or even beside him. At least, you didn't think so. This made the third occasion that you'd fallen asleep on him, and the third occasion that you'd woken up alone after doing so. There was always some small hint of him left in the room, but none of the man himself.

With a soft sigh, you reached out blindly for your phone, locating it on the edge of your bedside, where he'd sat it neatly after plugging it in. Trying not to smile at the thought, you opened it and texted him quickly:

'you never let me pay you back for that shopping'

His reply was near immediate, tasting ever so slightly of that slight twang of sarcasm:

'Good morning to you, too'

Rolling your eyes at that, you shot back quickly:

'not too good'

'What?'

'Why?'

'Are you okay?'

'no!'

'i woke up boyfriendless!'

Frowning at his screen, Andrew hurried his fingers to form an explanation that he and Deran had to prep for a job. You watched the dots in the text bubble bounce for a short while, then they stopped briefly and after just a second of typing, a message came through.

'1 min.'

'Sorry.'

You stilled at that, frowning as you watched the bubble disapper, eyes dragging up to the time in the corner of your phone, watching as one minute ticked by and then two, then three.

Andrew stood stiffly in the kitchen of his mother's place, gritting his teeth as he could hear Deran shuffling down the hall. Smurf lingered at the counter, watching him intently, clearly weighing whatever words were on her mind.

When she failed to capture his attention, the woman gave a quiet scoff, tilting her head down too meet his eyes. "Do you think it'll work out? I don't. I think- well... poor girl. Hm? What do you think, baby? Isn't she too soft for someone as.. strong as you? You'd break her in your sleep. Wouldn't you?" When she started to laugh, he got that almost-familiar feeling of wanting to throw up. Needing to, maybe. He held it back as well as he did both times before.

It lingered this time, the feeling, as he trudged to his car, Deran sauntering behind.

You didn't hear from him again until that night. After two hours of chewing your nails nervously, you couldn't keep yourself from texting. At least to know he was safe.

During the day, you could make yourself into enough of a regular functioning human being so as to not think about him so much, assuming he was merely busy. That was why he didn't text. He didn't suddenly hate you and the world wasn't going to explode.

Everything would be fine.

You'd said that to yourself in the mirror four times by the time you finally sent your message, a simple, 'hello?'

Andrew's eyes widened at the notification and he shifted on his seat in the car, his large body stuffed behind the wheel as he replied,

'Hi'

'everything ok?'

'Yes.'

'Sorry I never texted, busy day'

'its ok'

'kind of missed you'

'I missed you, too'

'come over again?'

'Be there in 5.'

Again, you found yourself cuddled up on the sofa in your apartment, not sure whether to speak the words that were on the tip of your tongue. You gently toyed with the hem of his t-shirt, biting your lip as your mind warred with the words.

Shifting underneath, Andrew tilted his head down, sliding his palm from your shoulder to your back in what was hopefully a comforting gesture. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie."

His fingers spanned your stomach and waist now, and he squeezed. Wriggling slightly, you shifted on his lap before turning to face him slowly. "Okay. Well... you ghosted me."

"What?"

"You never sent another message.."

"Oh. I-"

"Did I do something?"

Eyes bulging at that, his refirmed his grip on your waist and shook his head quickly. "No. No, no," leaning forward slowly, he pushed his face against your neck with a quiet hum. "Not you..."

Feeling his cold breaths, trembling slightly, ripple over the flesh beneath your ear, you let out a slow breath of your own. "Well... will you stay — properly stay here, tonight?"

You'd break her in your sleep, his mother's words swirled back to the centre of his thoughts.

"Is- you want that?"

He'd gone rigid under you again, shifting his feet on the floor. Shoulders still squared, his head tipped back and a rough sigh left his lips as you moved your fingers through the short curls of his hair, gently scratching his scalp as you nodded.

"Yes, please.." the words came out so small and so sweet that he couldn't bear to say no, to let you down.

He nodded against your hand and uttered, "Alright."

You didn't fall asleep quite so easy that night, eyes drifting shut every now and then before you forced them open, wanting to ensure he would stay.

"You can sleep, sweetheart," he murmured, as if your thoughts had been loud enough for him to hear. "It's okay, I'm right here..."

Your reply came through like the small squeak of a mouse from the skirting boards, "Don't leave..."

Andrew didn't fall asleep at all, as though his mother's words were a curse that he was much too frightened of ringing true. They rattled through his brain, a constant that had him close to pulling his hair out; were it not for your closeness, face smushed into his chest, legs wound up in his, he might've been bald by morning.

He lay on his side the entire night, not shifting to crack his neck or fix his dead arm, just watching you.

There was a certain peace he found in observing you as you slept. Your lips had long since fallen apart, breaths light and airy where they fell on his t-shirt, and when he noticed the small gatherings of drool in the corner of your mouth, he let his own lips crack into a smile and lifted his thumb to gently brush it away.

You'd break her in your sleep.

You'd break her in your sleep.

You'd break her in your sleep.

Wouldn't you?

Wouldn't you?

Wouldn't you?

It was only when your breath hitched, the grip he had on your side apparently too tight all of a sudden, that he made his first substantial move since dropping into your bed. He released you and drew back in an instant, eyes wide, quickly scouring your form for any hint of a mark, a crack in the perfection of you.

With a low, discontented moan, you pulled your eyes open, shifting onto your back and turning to catch sight of him.

"Andy..?" you whispered into the dark of the room, only a glimpse of moonlight falling onto the carpet in the corner, fighting the urge to wonder just how pathetic you sounded.

"I'm here," he rasped in return, eyes fixed on your hip, where his fingers had dug in. "I'm sorry."

"Mmm?" it was a sleepy, half-minded hum as you shuffled towards him. "What's wrong?"

Sighing, Andrew shook his head and reached out, finding your hand atop the sheets, drawing it up to his mouth. He gently kissed at your fingers and shook his head. "Nothing, sweetheart."

"Mmm... sweetheart..?"

"Uh-"

"S'nice..." you murmured before his cheeks even had the chance to flush, dropping your own back onto his chest. "Your heart's going so fast..."

"Yeah," the word dragged its way from his throat, feeling as though it was lined with broken glass.

"Are you okay?" you whispered.

"Mhm."

"Can I... kiss you?"

"O- okay..."

One palm braced on the mattress between you, you leaned up, shifting even closer, reclaiming your comfortable spot right up against him. Looking down at him, you offered a small smile and slowly brushed your lips over his cheek. "Thank you," you whispered, before settling down again and drifting off once more.

Andrew sat stiffly until he felt the rise and fall of your chest ease, the sound of your breaths telling him you were slumbering once more, while his mind told him the only thing he'd believed since midday.

Meanwhile, Arthur’s way of showing affection is punches on the shoulders, gifts, sparring and taking people outside.

But when these two clashes, Arthur is not used to Merlin’s way of showing care, and Merlin doesn’t know what Arthur likes, and what he can do to make him feel better, because Arthur cannot articulate it, since he never had to do it in the first place.

So they’re left with nothing, with a mixture of the two, and they end up not doing anything about what they feel.

Suddenly, Merlin’s typical ways don’t seem to work with Arthur. Viceversa, Arthur’s perhaps harsher ways don’t work with Merlin.

like, in prime, they are so close with each other. optimus is so gentle with him, and like with everyone, he listens to ratchet's perspective and thoughtfully responds to him. there are so many instances in which ratchet has valid criticism of optimus, and instead of responding in a negative way, optimus agrees with him.

now, of course, optimus does this almost every time with everyone. and i think that is really indicative of his character. optimus is the leader, he needs to have outside perspectives in order to be effective. he listens, he ingests information, he comes up with solutions.

but it feels different with ratchet.

he has conversations with him, instead of just one liners. they bicker, they hold each other accountable. even when ratchet is hopped up on synthetic energon, optimus doesn't dismiss him under the guise of "well, he's under the influence."

they have this whole other world together. a world that was built on trust and mutual respect. where they can speak freely and not be afraid of judgement.

i just cant stop thinking about that. i cant stop thinking about how close you have to be with someone in optimus' position to be able to do that. to not be intimidated by his status. to be able to just see him as a person- and i think that's what optimus appreciates the most about ratchet.