she was the still point of the turning world, man.

“There’s only one bed.” 

Andrew simply gestures to the blanket on the floor. “You can sleep there”

You are agog. “You won’t even give me the dignity of a bed?”

When he turns back to look at you, his face remains that near-impassive expression he always has, like nothing bothers him- except there is a slight flash in his eyes. “Does your father give bed to the men he imprisons without trial?”

You don’t have an answer for that, so he answers for you. “No, he does not. They do not even get a blanket, so consider yourself lucky.”

Heat creeps up your face. You weren’t aware of the conditions of the prison, you were told it was for the worst of the worst, rapists and murders… and pirates.

“I think I should be allowed the bed, considering my circumstances.”

That gets a scoff out of Andrew, surprised by your impertanance and crossing his arms. “Your circumstances?” He steps closer, almost chest to chest. “Princess, your circumstances are you do whatever we say and be happy if you don’t end up beheaded and raped floating home to your father.” 

Your eyes remain on his, trying to regain some sense of control. “You already told me you wouldn’t do that.”

“And you’re going to believe a filthy pirate?” His voice rasps, breath hot against your face. 

That’s when you dash for the door. You did not get far, barely grazing the handle when you are yanked back by your hair. “AH!”

Pain blossoms on your face when it hits the wooden wall, only having time to turn your head so your nose doesn't break. He’s pressed up against you now, full body weight keeping you pinned and helpless to the rocking ship. He takes a whiff of your neck, so quick your barely notice and wonder if he event meant to, or if he just didn’t want you to know.

“Careful, birdie. If you're in too much trouble, we can always have a change of plans. Plenty of other pretty daughters we could get our money from.”

Despite the pain, you tried to hold on to your wits. “But you want me, specifically… don’t you.” He remains silent, and your crane your neck to try and look at him. It does not work, but you see a glimpse of auburn out the corner of your eye. “You spoke of my fathers prisons. You have a grudge against him. Were you held there?”

Jeanine had always told him women were stupid. She’d made it clear her low opinion of her own sex, holding herself high above the others and often shrugging of the label woman. She didn’t want to be associated with them.

Andrew didn’t have much experience with women outside of sex. There were occasional whores, his mother, and of course Julia. He didn’t think Julia was stupid, but Jeanine had told him he was viewing her through a different light. “Besides,” she’d told him, “If not you’re the sharpest tool in the shed.”

But you’d picked up on his slip quick- he’d given you too much information. Gripping the back of your dress, he uses the full force of his strength and throws you onto the floor. Before you can get up, his boot is pressed against your chest and he’s towering over you. The weight is heavy and you can’t breath, but your thrashing does nothing to get his boot off you. “I’d be careful if I were you. If a bird tries to fly away, we may have to clip her pretty little wings.”

When he walked out the room, Andrew was exasperated to hear you run after the door still. He slammed it and locked it, only to see Baz standing by smoking a cigar. As the pounding of your fist on the doors echoed over the crashing waves, Andrew felt a tightness in his chest, a feeling he tried to push away. Guilt. 

“I’d give her some time. Might bite off your dick like this.”

Baz just grins. “I like a challenge.”

When the door opens, you’re prepared to push past Andrew again, but are thrown off by smoke being blown in your face. Coughing, and eyes burning, you are shoved back into the room and when you orient yourself you see the man who took you. 

“I’m gonna make this reel easy for you. Get on your knees, open your mouth. I’ll take care of the rest. I’ll teach you how I like it another time, love.”

“You’re disgusting.” You spat at him, but he seems disinterested. 

“Get on your knees, or I’ll do it for you.”

You stand defiant, glaring at him. Then he makes it hurt. With a hard punch to your stomach you’re bent over, gasping for breath that still doesn’t feel right after the smoke. From there, with his hands gripped in your hair it's easy to get you on your knees.

“No! LET GO!” Then a horrible burning on your neck. You scream as the cigar is put out the tender flesh, deeper and deeper into you, and agony of burn that felt like an eternity. You thought burning for eternity was reserved only for hell- maybe that's where you were. Maybe you’re being punished for your disobedience, your immodesty. Maybe this is what you deserve.

Andrew heard the screaming. Everyone on the ship did.

“Jesus Christ." Deran mutters, peeling potatoes. They’d raided a small space shipment just prior to the kidnapping, and he was looking forward to potatoes with salt and pepper, so Jeanine said if he peeled, she’d cook for him back at the cove. Their cover wasn’t much of a home. There were no other beds, but they could cook over a fire, drink, bring the women of the island and have a party. They could swim and have fun on a rare time off. It was warm, so they docked here in the winter.

“Think he did that to Catherine?”

“I’d’ve killed him.” But Pope knows thats a lie. In the end, he’d chosen Baz over her. And look where that ended up.

Craig speaks now. He’s supposed to be peeling potatoes but he’d been no help. “No way. I’ve had the unfortunate luck of having passed out and woke up to them fucking. Boring as hell.”

“Really?” Deran asked.

“Yeah, man. No one’s moaning, no one’s talking, just-” he claps his hands together in a slow, rhythmic patter. “Just balls hitting a-”

“Don’t speak ill of the dead.” Andrew's voice is firm, not looking at them but staring across the boat at the door of his room. They knew this was a sore spot for him.

Craig raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I wasn't speaking badly of her. Not her fault Baz can’t have good sex without hurting ‘em.” He gestures at the door. “Does this shit with whores he doesn’t respect instead.”

J walks up. “I wouldn’t say Baz respected Catherine.” He lights up a cigar. “Maybe he just wanted to make sure she didn’t leave the island with Lena.”

“Good thing. Lena’d be dead with now too.”

As they spoke, Pope tried to keep his temper down. Baz didn’t give a shit about Lena beyond the fact she was his child. He knew nothing about her, just pays some family on the island to watch her while he’s gone because she doesn’t have a mom, because Pope chose his side. Now he just needed to make sure he didn’t lose anyone else, and things going smoothly with you was essential. He’d need to talk to Baz- if they return you to the Governor too damaged, things will go south, and someone will end up dead.

“How long have you been peeling that god-damn potato?” Pope snapped at Deran. Deran threw a half-peeled potato at his head. J had to take the steering wheel while Andrew tackled Deran down and they wrestled over spilled potatoes.

Andrew hated the way you flinched when you saw him. There was still that fire in your eyes, that flash of anger, but dulled by tears. It didn’t stop you from glaring at him, but the glaring didn’t stop you from scrambling away on your hands and ass when he took a step to inspect the mark on your neck.

“Be still.”

“Why, so you can have your turn now?”

“When I want it, I’ll take it, Birdie. Trying to fly away won’t stop me. Now.” Andrew crouches down, pants tightening around his thick legs and his intense eyes on you. “Let me see your neck so it doesn’t get infected.” 

Your hackles lowers, and while averting your eyes in shame at your submission, you bare your neck to him. Andrew doesn’t make a sound, but grabs a clean clothe, dabbing it with alcohol. “This will hurt.”

When it touches your skin, you scream out in pain and shove him away, Andrew falling on his ass. He has to push away every instinct to fight, every thought that aggression should be met with swift punishment. He glares at you. “If i don’t clean it, it will get infected. Do you want sepsis by the time you go back to daddy dearest?”

“Then wash it with hot water!”

“How do you think we’re getting hot water, hm? Fire? Not on a ship, sweetie. And we’re not wasting clean drinking water on this. If you’d like your allotted fresh water to be used on that instead of your thirst, be my fucking guest.”

He let the words sit for a minute while you considered, watching the thoughts float around your mind. “It hurts.” You say quietly. “I’m not sure I can take the pain.”

His head swiveled around, looking for something in the room to bite down on. Most things were dirty, far dirtier than he liked them. Andrew much preferred when they docked, either at their usual island or wherever they hid. He liked being able to clean things. Still, he always washed his hands, even if it was in salt water. His hands were clean- he’d just washed them in a bucket.

“Bite.” He raises the palm to you.

The questioning gaze takes over your face again, inquisitive and bright. “Pardon me?”

“Bite my fucking hand, it will help you bare down on the pain… I just washed them. It’s this or infection because I promise you the hands touching Baz’s cigar are not clean.”

Deciding this option was better than nothing, and wanting the smell of cigar and burned flesh off of you, you agree and open your mouth.

“Good girl. Bite as hard as you need to.” And without warning, he slapped the alcohol ridden rag to your neck. And God, did you bite. You bite so hard he felt his skin breaking and he wondered if you tasted blood. You bit hard enough he flinched, hard enough he felt heat boiling in his stomach. He couldn’t help it, Andrew had always been a sucker for pain, but that part of himself was easier to contend with than the much more secret parts. 

This was the part where he liked cleaning the wound, he liked knowing you wouldn’t get sick from it. It was the same part where he liked making sure Deran was safe with the men he pretended he wasn’t seeing and that Craig ate food. Where he reset Baz’s dislocated shoulder and splinted Jeanine's arm. The one where he brings Lena home treats from far away and teaches J how to defend himself and carries Nicky to bed when she passes out and makes sure she’s sleeping on her stomach so she doesn’t die like Julia.

It was the part of him that, when he was done and you pulled away, dabbed the cloth at your lip that Baz had split as well, wiping off the blood. 

When you were bandaged and clean, he went out to get you a portion of food and water. Baz clapped him on the shoulder. “I heard all that.” And he tensed. Andrew didn’t want people to know that side, the soft side. Softness was weakness, softness got you killed. Weakness was a liability and Jeanine didn’t tolerate liability. 

But that wasn’t what Baz had thought. “She’s gonna be a lot of fun, isn’t she?”

He’d heard you scream when he’d tried to clean it, and he’d heard you sobbing after.

“Yeah, she’ll be a good time.”

Andrew wasn’t much of a sleeper, but tonight, after all the excitement, he felt like he could get a few hours.

If you would just shut the fuck up.

“Do I need to stuff you fucking mouth to stop your teeth from chattering?”

In a second, you sit up and although the room is too dark to see, he would bet money you were glaring at him with those harsh lines and little pout. “Oh, my apologies sir,” You dripped with sarcasm. “Is my kidnapping inconveniencing you? Please accept my regrets at not packing a warm set of night clothes, this is my first kidnapping so I wasn’t aware of the protocol, I shall remember next time. Although, perhaps next time, we could do this so that my clothes were SOAKING WET!"

Practically growling, Andrew flung off his blanket and fumbled around in the dark. You heard him run into a wall and swear, then opened a box. Then, you were hit in the face by something warm and fuzzy. “Here, now will you dress and shut. The. fuck. Up.”

There was a pause of quiet. 

“Well?”

“Well what? I need you to turn around so I can dress.”

Impossible. You were impossible. “I can’t see you, birdie. I only have one good eye, but if it makes you feel better I’ll turn around. But remember, if I wanted to see you naked-”

“Yes yes, you’d undress me yourself, I understand, but you can’t blame me for wanting to maintain some sort of control over all this.”

He sighed. No, he could not. He knew what it was like to feel out of control. The clothing rustled, and he heard a damp plop of your white under clothing you’d swam in on the floor. He’d let you out on the deck and in the sun to try and dry, but he supposed it was hard underneath the dress. 

“Bring the blanket over here.”

“What? You give me long Johns and now you are taking my blanket? What kind of-”

“Jesus fucking christ- GET IN THE BED!”

As you step closer, you see him holding the blanket open. “Get in the bed or I’ll tie you to it. Your skin is still going to be cold from the wet clothes and you’ll catch your death of cold. I don’t need illness and fever spreading on this ship killing my brothers. Get. In.”

You knew you should resist. It was improper- you in your underclothes lying next to a man, a bed small enough to require touch.

But they had already seen you in soaking wet white underclothing. The other man had his way with your mouth and felt your breasts. And like Andrew had said, if he wanted you, he’d take you. This position was no more precarious than the one you were in all together. 

So you climbed into bed, placing the blanket over top his. Both of you laid so far on the edge of the bed you would nearly fall off. 

By god, he was warm.

Suggest songs for the playlist!!! Im loving a few Paris Paloma songs and honeslty maybe renaming this as I think I changed a few key story beats lol

The California heat was always generous, but especially so in this time of year. Which was probably why it was your favourite.

You used to hate this state. Living here. It was no wonder you did when that witch that was your Partner Andrew Cody’s Mother, lived here. Controlled him. Abused him.

But things were different now. Pope had broke free from the chains of Smurf, cut off contact from her and gave all the evidence he had against her — leaving out stuff that incriminated him and his brothers of course — to the police and got her put behind bars.

It wasn’t easy to do, you knew that. But you supported him all the way through, helped him through his problems and found a therapist suited for him.

So now? You felt like you could enjoy these sunny days. Lounging by the pool, the salty, summer scent in the air feeling refreshing with each inhale through your nose.

And of course, Andrew’s head between your thighs made the summer evening all the more enjoyable.

You were sprawled on your back on one of the sun beds in front of your backyard pool, your brows beading with sweat from the heat of the sun and the pleasure rippling through you.

Pope was laying on his stomach, his hard on pressing firmly against the black swim trunks he was wearing. His face was slick with your juices, his eyes watering with every rut of your hips up into his mouth. A lewd slurping sound comes from him as he collects some of your juices and brings them up to your clit, spitting them on the bud and flicking his tongue against it.

The action had you seeing stars, your hand flying down to tangle in his curls. “Yes, baby. Yes, just like that. Fuck, Andrew.” You moan through clenched teeth, your voice raw from moaning. Pope didn’t reply, just moaned into your pussy, the noise causing vibrations on your most intimate parts.

Andrew wasn’t much of a talker during sex at the best of times. Honestly, the only times he really did speak was when he was asking how he was doing, seeking praise from you. He liked hearing that he was making mommy feel good. That he was good.

Oh yeah. Mommy was a thing now.

It had surprised you a little when Pope first called you that. He was balls deep in you from behind, sobbing softly as you intentionally clamped your walls on his cock. It just slipped out of him. A plea.

And although Pope had a tough, dominant exterior, with his trauma — specifically his issues with his mother — it was no wonder he sought that role in you during sex.

Pope briefly stops his ministrations but doesn’t pull his mouth away. “It’s good?” He asks softly, enquiringly. His voice was muffled against your pussy and the sound of it like that nearly brought you to tears. And the question wasn’t rhetorical or cocky, or even really a form of dirty talk. He genuinely wanted to know.

You nodded eagerly, the urge to lift his head up and kiss his pretty face being almost unbearable. “Yes, Andrew. You’re doing such a good job for me. Making mommy feel so good with your tongue,” You assure honestly. “Now keep going for me, baby. Mommy’s gonna cum soon if you keep doing your job so well.”

And that promptly got him back to work. God, he was like a little puppy like this. Just eager to please his mommy. Wanting her to feel good. It made you so proud of him. Of him allowing you to be this person for him. His partner, his friend, a person he trusted.

Andrew sucks your clit into his mouth, the action making you gasp. But that gasp was quickly turned into a guttural moan when he accompanied it with two of his thick fingers sliding into you, curling upwards to aim for your swollen g-spot.

Just like you taught him.

Fuck, he was good at this. And your statement a few moments ago about cumming soon would definitely prove to be true if he kept doing this for the next couple minutes.

It was just so fucking unique that despite you physically being completely at his mercy, emotionally, you were still the dominant one for Andrew. You were praising him, calling the shots, keeping him in line. How special was that?

Your moans begin to become more frantic, your cunt squeezing and spasming around Popes knuckles with every suck on your clit or movement of his digits inside of you. Your thighs start to tremble, your fingernails digging into his scalp roughly. “Yeah — fuck yeah, baby. Oh, Andy, mommy’s gonna cum for you.” You whine, your hips bucking erratically as you reach that point in the build up to your orgasm where you are just on the edge but not quite tipped over. It’s intense. Like your falling but waiting for the actual landing.

Andrew’s eyes begin to glaze and before you know it, tears are falling from his eyes and onto your pubic area. Sobs are muffled against your pussy as he continues to suck and lick you, his fingers moving faster and more urgently inside of you.

Well, that did it.

The sound of those pathetic whimpers and sobs, his salty tears rolling down your mound and dripping onto your pussy, mixing with your juices. Yeah, you were done for. You were cumming. And hard.

“Such a good boy. Cry for Mommy, Andrew. Show her just how much you enjoy this.” You mumble through shuddering gasps, making a mess all over his face.

Andrew keeps sucking you through it, his chest flushing deeply when you look down and notice how he’s humping the sun bed beneath him. Oh, the poor baby. So fucking ready to cum in his pants just from having his face in mommy’s cunt.

You bite down on your lip and moan through your teeth, pushing his face away when his tongue became too overwhelming. He took the hint and pulled back, peppering kisses on your thighs and nuzzling them as he whined desperately, the friction through his swim trunks bringing him dangerously close.

“Mm — gonna cum. S’your pussy, it’s so good I — I can’t take it.” Pope says with a shudder, the site of him so worked up despite you not even touching that pretty cock of his being just as satisfying as the orgasm youd just had and were still coming down from.

“Oh, sweet boy. It’s okay, baby. Come in your trunks. Mommy wants you to make a mess of yourself.” You encourage.

And with one final rock of his hips into the cushioned sun lounger, a strangled cry passed his lips, and he was cumming in his fucking pants.