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like-a-diamondinthesky · 22 days

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🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter V

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: Han Jisung is the bane of Minho's existence. Fuck Han Jisung.

word count: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, nudity

author's note: oooooh things are getting spicy bestiessss. thank you for all the love and the feedback, i appreciagte every single word. let's see where this goes 👀

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< chapter IV - chapter VI (coming: friday, april 12, 3pm CET) >

Fuck Han Jisung.

Minho’s scalp is on fire, the midday sun bearing down on him where he sits at the bow of the ship. His hat lies forgotten in the captain’s quarters, but she’s currently having a strategy meeting with Hyunjin, so he doesn’t want to barge in just to get it. So here’s forced to bear it, beads of sweat accumulating on his brow, his skin burning under his black hair until he thinks he can feel the sunburn develop.

Then he hears it again. The stupidest fucking laugh he has ever heard, echoing across the deck, loud and shimmery and unabashed, as if its owner didn’t have a care in the world. What’s Han Jisung got to be so fucking happy about all the fucking time? Literally every time Minho sees the guy, he’s smiling. Or well, he is, until his eyes fall on Minho and then his smile always, without fail, dies a swift and painful death, crumpling until he’s looking at him with a barely contained scowl.

Minho flinches where he sits, lifts his arm and sinks his knife deep into the wood of the ship next to his legs with a dull thud. It shouldn’t affect him so much, the fact that Han Jisung arrived on the ship one day, as a prisoner, their biggest enemy’s nephew no less, all fancy clothes and expensive boots, pouty lips and flushed cheeks, and somehow wormed himself into everyone’s heart.

Minho has to admit he wasn’t very … focused that first day when they dragged Jisung into the room, his mind, and his dick, very preoccupied with the taste of his captain on his lips, the thundering of his heart as he allowed himself to leave his hands on her waist. Possessive, satiating something hidden deep in his chest that he didn’t allow himself to indulge in often, all too aware of the invisible line between them.

But he remembers Han Jisung’s arrogance, the scowl painted on his face that looked more like a petulant child than anything else. He also remembers the curl of familiar hatred in his guts when he spoke about his old crew, what they would try to do to him, remembers filing the knowledge away for later, to know just how painfully he would kill them once he got his hands on them – though Han Jisung somehow managed to sour even that with that fucking attitude of his, like he didn’t ever need Minho, quite the opposite. Arrogant asshole.

Minho lets his eyes wander over the deck, skimming the few groups of pirates sitting or working, until his eyes meet Jisung’s where he’s leaning against a mast, chatting to Felix. As per usual, the bright, gummy smile on Jisung’s face dims as soon as he sees Minho, the corners of his mouth falling, eyebrows furrowing and Minho suppresses the urge to snarl, spit onto the planks. Instead, he forces himself to look away, wrests his knife from the wood and drives it in harder, the plank splintering from the impact. When he looks back, Jisung has shifted, half of his perfectly shaped back now facing Minho instead of his face. And he seems to have recovered from Minho’s unpleasant presence, nay existence, his broad shoulders jumping with a silent giggle at something Felix must’ve said.

Felix. Felix, who had joined them after the captain had found him in that horrible whorehouse in Nassau two years ago, that still makes Minho shiver when he just thinks about it. He remembers the captain’s face when they heard his screams from the outside, and she had rushed in without a second’s hesitation, Minho himself hot on her heels, pulling the man who was forcing himself onto Felix off with a violent shove. Minho remembers because he had dragged the man out the door, hatred tickling his fingertips as he slit his throat and left him to bleed out slowly and painfully in an alley. By the time he’d come back, still wiping his knife clean from the filthy scum’s blood, Felix was already part of the crew, thanking him with sparkling eyes and a disarming smile.

Felix, who, for this reason, had never had a cabin mate – until Jisung. Minho doesn’t know how it happened, and he likes to pretend he’s not dying to know. But, of course, nobody volunteers the information. They’re all more than aware of Minho and Jisung’s … differences.

And they’re all on Jisung’s side, his brain supplies unhelpfully. Minho scowls at the surf. Jisung and Felix are inseparable. Seungmin greets Jisung with a soft smile, the rarest thing Kim Seungmin could hand out, patting Jisung on the back when he brings him food. Changbin and Chan sit next to him and pat him on the head when he offers them his leftovers. Hyunjin seems halfway to a serious crush on the guy, always making clothes for him and then dressing him up and running his hands all over Jisung’s body, gushing about his trim waist and thick thighs. And he’s pretty sure he heard Jisung’s stupid fucking laugh from the top a couple nights ago while he and the captain were … it doesn’t matter.

He just doesn’t get it. What’s so fucking special about Han Jisung?! Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hyunjin’s mop of black hair emerge from below deck and make for where Felix and Jisung are chatting and Minho decides he’s just about had enough of the sun scorching his head, of Han Jisung’s stupid laugh.

He swings his legs onto the deck, wrenches his knife from the wood and sheathes it. He feels three pairs of eyes on him as he walks past the little group of them, but he doesn’t spare them a single glance.

Hyunjin will probably give him an earful later about being a grumpy asshole, but he doesn’t care. He’d take that over having to watch his mere presence drain all happiness from Han Jisung’s eyes for the second time in half an hour.

His legs carry him to the captain’s quarters almost on autopilot. Changbin gives him a nod as he raps his knuckles against the heavy door twice and pushes it open.

And God, she’s a sight for sore eyes. Legs propped up on the edge of her desk, her knitted coat wrapped closely around her, what he assumes is Hyunjin’s ration list for the next stopover resting on her knees, her plump bottom lip worried between her teeth.

She only briefly raises her head when he enters, gives him a small, entirely radiant smile, before she turns her attention back to the paper in her lap. Minho closes the door behind him carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots his hat, sitting on the low settee next to her desk. But he doesn’t need it any more, ignores it in favour of walking over to her, coming up behind her until he can lean over her, his hands supporting himself on the armrests of her chair. His eyes run over the words on the paper, but he’s not even going to pretend like he’s reading it, his focus entirely on the way his chest is pressed ever so slightly against her shoulders, his arms resting on hers. The smell of rosemary and lavender and her that emanates from her hair much too faint for his liking from where he is, leaving him aching for more.

“We could afford two or three more crew,” she says, pensively, underneath him, “could really do with them, too, to upkeep the ship and have a better chance with attackers.”

He hums in agreement as she keeps talking, but he’s not really listening as he allows himself to succumb to the siren song of her presence, leaning down a little bit more until he can take a quiet, deep breath of her.

Her chuckle jolts him out of his reverie.

“Are you even listening?”

Minho absentmindedly hums again, a lazy grin spreading over his lips as he leans down, presses a kiss into her hair.

“Something something we should get more men, but you don’t know where to find them,” he mumbles, drags his lips down until they’re ghosting over the shell of her ear. Her little chuckle gives way to a delicious sigh that Minho wants to bottle for a rainy day.

“Like Jisung, he’s been a great addition. I wish they could all just wander into our hands like that …”

Minho freezes, his lips stilling on her warm, rosemary skin. The bliss of their bubble, her skin under his lips, burst suddenly and violently. Han Jisung. Again. He pulls back abruptly.

“Right.”

It comes out acrid. He turns around, busies himself picking up his hat from the settee, dusting it off carefully. He can feel her eyes boring into his back.

“Why do you hate the guy so much, Minho?” she suddenly asks, and he’s taken aback by the directness of her question. He scoffs, turns around and meets her eyes. She doesn’t look angry, just … like she’s trying to figure something out.

“Why do I hate him? Why does he hate me?”

The captain gives him a withering look.

“You literally nearly got him killed a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah? And he punched me for it, in front of everyone, so I considered us even,” Minho sneers, and he knows he’s being petty. But he’s had about enough of everyone being on his ass about not liking Han Jisung when Han Jisung has been fucking recoiling from him since the very first day …

“Well, did you ever apologise? I know we’re not the most conventional with our customs, but last I checked that would still be a decent thing to do,” the captain chides, and Minho feels anger bubble in his chest. Of course. She’s on his side, too. It hurts more than he can allow himself to admit.

“I did not,” he spits, the stiff felt of his hat crinkling between his tightening fingers, “I don’t know how I would, considering the guy flees every time I set foot into the same room as him.”

The bitterness rises in his chest, and he turns around, makes for the door before he takes it out on her and regrets it later.

“Fine, you win, we won’t talk about it,” she sighs, “I’m about to go over those maps we took from Han Yujun’s ships with Seungmin, do you want to stay?”

Minho recognises the olive branch she’s holding out, but the olive branch reeks of pity, and he’d rather die than suffer that from her. He doesn’t turn when he reaches the door and opens it.

“No, thanks, I’ll see you at dinner.”

And with that, he walks out and straight to his own quarters, where he locks the door and buries himself in his book and his self-pity until the memory of Han Jisung stings a little less.

And by the time he makes his way back to the captain’s quarters a few hours later, he does feel better. He also feels more than a little sorry for how he reacted earlier. He could’ve been with her this whole time, just the two of them in their world. Maybe she would’ve leaned against his chest as they looked at the maps, allowing him to bury his face in her neck, pressing wet little kisses against her irresistible skin until she went pliable in his hands, ignoring Seungmin’s knock in favour of sinking between her legs and making her cum on his tongue.

But instead he had let Han Jisung get to him, again, and what did that get him?! He vows to himself that he won’t ever let it happen again, but that is easier said than done when he walks into the empty corridor and the person he sees through the half open door is most definitely not Seungmin.

“Could it be somewhere super specific? Like the Indian Ocean or the North Sea or something?” Jisung’s voice floats through the air. It’s deeper than Minho’s own, he can’t help but notice.

The captain hums, quietly, thoughtfully.

“Because … I mean, I’ve only ever been once, but I’ve seen maps like these of … of groups of small islands or archipelagos.”

Minho noiselessly tiptoes closer, until he has a clearer view of the room.

Night has fallen and the candles in the sconces all around the room bathe the desk, the settee, the captain perched on the corner of her desk and Jisung leaned over it in a warm, sensual light. She looks like a dream, the candlelight giving her an ethereal glow, softening the hardness in her features, softening everything about her usually wound taut body until Minho thinks he can feel her under his fingertips. Minho should know. This is his time to be in her room like this. But now the flickers of the flames instead bathe Han Jisung in their warmth, radiating off his soft, wavy hair, dipping the planes of honeyed skin exposed by another one of Hyunjin’s creations in a layer of gold so undeniably attractive, Minho wants to throw up.

“Seungmin has cross-checked them with every single one of our maps,” the captain mumbles, pointing to a stack of paper on the edge of the desk, Jisung follows her finger with a thoughtful look on his face. “And none of it lines up. Our maps are only a few years old, and Seungmin is one of the best cartographers out there …”

She slides off the corner of desk and walks over to Jisung and reaches across him to rifle through the papers and Minho watches Jisung’s eyelids flutter, gaze dragging over the expanse of her neck, then her back where her shirt has ridden up to expose the smallest sliver of the skin of her waist; watches his lips part when her arm brushes against his chest.

“Ah. Look,” she exclaims, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, entirely oblivious, and pulls the map towards her. She grabs another one to place next to it, gesturing between them and looking back at Jisung, who blinks at her for a second before lowering his gaze to the maps again. “This one seems to look really similar to this one we found on your ship. But, as Seungmin pointed out, it’s still not right. It’s not the same. And the scaling of these maps we got from your uncle’s ships just doesn’t … make any sense. From a cartography perspective.”

Jisung huffs, shifts his weight from one foot to the other and glares down at the desk with a deep furrow between his brows. He fixes the paper with a mean glare, like he’s trying to force it to give up its secrets by sheer willpower alone.

“I don’t even …” Jisung mumbles, a frustrated huff falling from his pouted lips, “I’ve never understood why he did this anyways. He would send these big ships, with crews of 20 people and someone like me on board, but the ships would mostly be empty … Well, except for these maps, it seems, maps that he didn’t even tell me about …”

He shakes his head incredulously, leaning over the desk again to inspect one of the maps, lingering on the meticulously painted edges of them with his ringed fingers. He leans his cheek in the cradle of his hand and sighs, absentmindedly shrugging off his jacket, throwing it over the back of the chair behind him and shoving the sleeves of his ruffled white shirt up his arms.

Minho watches the captain’s eyes follow Jisung’s movements, drag over his arms, his collarbones, the exposed V of his chest before it flutters up to his profile, lingers on his lips. Minho’s heart hardens into something unrecognisable.

The captain looks back at the maps, sighs, but it’s lighter now. She reaches out, gently pats Jisung on the shoulder, letting her hand rest there for only a second, but it’s enough for Jisung to straighten up with a start. He blinks down at her, stares.

“Just think about it, will you? Because Seungmin and I are at our wit’s end. You’re kind of our last chance …” she says, and Jisung turns to her, his face full of the same stubborn determination as that day when he had screamed at Minho to untie him.

“I promise, I’ll figure it out … we’ll figure it out,” Jisung asserts.

The captain gives him a devastating, lopsided smile, one that makes the tips of Jisung’s ears turn pink and Minho’s heart drop into his stomach.

“Give me some of your optimism, please,” the captain chuckles, but it’s soft, her cheeks warming in a way that makes Jisung’s pout stretch into a sweet, conspiratorial smile. He leans into her, bumps her shoulder with his playfully.

“Hey, you’ve got me now. How could we ever lose?” Jisung chokes with another sickeningly sweet smile that makes his cheeks puff up and Minho watches his fingers brush against hers where they hang next to one another, how he extends his pointer finger to drag over the back of her hand, watches their eyes catch on each other for just a broken moment too long and Minho burns.

He turns abruptly because he knows he can’t stand any more of it, his mind filling with images to torture himself, of Jisung leaning in, kissing her in the golden candlelight that’s his, running his tongue over the seam of her lips, her soft sinful hands on Jisung’s body – his world spins, legs uneven as he stumbles down the hallway, the throbbing wrath in his guts driving him down the stairs, through the living area where he ignores Changbin’s incredulous call of his name and straight through the mess and into the kitchen.

The swinging doors slam against the wall with a loud crack and Felix nearly jumps out of his skin, drops the wooden spoon into the pot he was stirring. Sauce splatters all over his apron, and he curses, gives Minho a dirty look, but Minho has no patience left in his body. The captain. His captain. Not her. Why her?!

“Your little charity case is trying to get into our captain’s pants,” Minho barks out, probably loud enough for anyone lingering in the mess to hear. He doesn’t care. They should all know the audacity of their new favourite.

“Who?!” Felix asks, incredulous, fixing Minho with an infuriatingly patronising look.

“Your little charity case. Your pet. Fucking Han Jisung,” he spits out and Felix’s eyes widen before they narrow again, this time much less friendly.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you, Minho, he’s not my … what the fuck?!”

“Whatever,” Minho interrupts him, waves his hand dismissively rolls his eyes, “what matters is that he’s trying to get into the captain’s pants.”

Felix’ eyes narrow even further.

“I don’t understand what you of all people are trying to say with that.” Minho’s clenches his fists so hard he hears a knuckle pop.

“He hasn’t even been here for a year, and he’s already trying to seduce the only woman on the ship. It’s preposterous, it’s disrespectful, it’s …”

Felix shakes his head and turns back to the pot, decisively grasping the spoon, stirring whatever he’s cooking with all the calm in the world. He doesn’t even look at Minho when he finally speaks.

“Well, does she want him, too?” he asks nonchalantly, and Minho’s vision goes blood-red. When he comes to, there’s sauce spilled all over his shirt and his hands are wrapped around Felix’s throat, straining against him where Minho has him pinned against the wall, harder than he knows he should. But Felix is just glaring back at him, coughing, but unfazed in his fury. His foot kicks out and painfully catches Minho in the knee. Minho almost welcomes the pain.

“I can’t believe you would take a stranger’s side over all of us, over the captain who saved your fucking life,” he screams and Felix’s eyes narrow to slits. Behind Minho, the kitchen doors slam open again, and then he’s being dragged back, away from Felix whose voice cuts him deeply.

“Don’t pretend like this is about the captain, you fucking hypocrite,” Felix yells, “you’ve been fucking her for years.”

Changbin is in front of him, his hands on his chest, pushing him away from Felix and muttering calming words when Felix delivers the final blow.

“You’re just scared she won’t want you any more when she finally realises what an asshole you are. When she realises there’s someone much nicer out there.”

Minho thinks everyone in the room might hear his heart crack cleanly in two. He shoves Changbin to the side and lunges at Felix again, shoving him into the wall so hard he hears Felix’ head thunk against the wall, hears Felix’ hiss of pain. He can’t see Felix’ face, can barely make out the contours of the kitchen, tears of rage in his eyes blinding him. Changbin grabs him again, his arms locking around Minho’s middle, lifting him off the floor as he carries him away.

“I fucking hate you,” Minho screams, legs thrashing, trying to get out of Changbin’s iron grip. He barely recognises his own voice, so shrill and vengeful. Another tear makes a track down his burning cheeks, “we should’ve fucking left you there.”

The last thing he hears is Felix scoffing out in disbelief before Changbin is dragging him from the kitchen, through the mess and the living room, Minho kicking and screaming in his hold all the way up the first flight of stairs, until Changbin kicks open the door to Minho’s quarters and throws him onto his bed unceremoniously. He crosses his arms and fixes Minho with a look so stern that it makes Minho falter, stare back at him petulantly.

“Minho,” Changbin warns, his face harder than Minho has ever seen it. He suddenly feels very small. “Minho, whatever it is that’s got you so fucked up that you’re fighting your friends, sort it out before you do any more damage. This isn’t cool.”

Minho’s vision is blurry with tears, and he tries, but there’s no way to will them down any more. When he opens his mouth to speak, a pathetic sob tumbles out.

“What is it about Han Jisung that has you all so fucking infatuated?” he chokes out, venom spilling out between the tears that are now running down his cheeks freely, “why is everyone on his fucking side?”

“Huh?! Nobody is on anyone’s side, there are no si–“

“Yes, there are!” Minho screams, sits up enough so he can jab a finger in Changbin’s direction. “Ever since he arrived, he’s been turning everyone against me. Prissy little pretty boy waltzes in and I question his motivations, and you all make me out to be the bad guy? When all I wanted was to keep you safe, keep us safe, like I have done for years. Does that mean nothing to you? Do you know what I’ve given for this crew?”

“Minho, …” Changbin mutters, and Minho thinks he can see a flicker of uncertainty in Changbin’s eyes. It adds fuel to the fire burning him from the inside out.

“It’s good to know what you all fucking think of me. Go canoodle with your new boytoy. I hope he’s as good with a knife as I am because next time one of you gets jumped you better not count on me any more …”

Minho knows it’s extreme, knows deep in his heart that he would never abandon them. But he’s tired. He’s so hurt, his heart feels like it’s bleeding.

“Minho, …” Changbin says again, and it’s even softer this time. “We don’t … we don’t want to choose sides. We don’t hate you. You’re … Minho, our Minho. Yes, you made a wrong call the other day, but we all know why you did it. We never held it against you. We just don’t understand why you hate him so much. He’s a good guy. Actually, I think you two would get along really well, if you just gave it a chance.”

Minho tries to scoff, but it comes out as more of a hiccup. He refuses to look at Changbin, just shakes his head at the floor.

“Well, I’m glad he’s a good guy, hope that works out for you,” he spits, bitterness laced in his voice.

“How is that what you took from what I just said?” Changbin asks, but then gives up. The fact that he does is a dull pang in Minho’s heart. “Fine, we won’t talk about him now. I just need you to know that you’re loved. By us. By all of us. Do you understand?”

Minho hears the allusion to her, but he knows that Changbin’s wrong. Because she doesn’t love him. Not like he loves her. Suddenly, he’s bone tired, his whole body aches with it as he turns away.

“Get some sleep, Min. And tomorrow, you’ll apologise and Felix will apologise and all will be well again.”

There’s silence, like Changbin is waiting to see if Minho will find anything else to say, but he doesn’t. He sniffles into the silence, his body aching with a pain so deep he doesn’t know what to do with it. Before he can even look up, door closes softly and Minho crumbles.

When the captain knocks later that night, calls his name, her voice a soft balm that he wishes he could let soothe him to sleep, he’s still sitting on the floor next to his bed, his limbs shivering with the ache in his chest where his heart should be. He doesn’t respond, lets her think he’s asleep. She leaves after a few minutes and Minho hates himself.

Jisung had never seen Felix angry before and god, he hadn’t thought it could be this bad, not with Felix’s usual soft, sunny demeanour. But no. It was terrifying. His sugary sweet smiles replaced by withering scowls, all turned inwards, muttering curses under his breath.

Jisung had come to dinner and found Felix like that, refusing to speak more than a few words, staring at his plate stony. Jisung was just about to succeed in wordlessly staring at Seungmin for long enough to get him to ask Felix what had happened, when the doors opened and Changbin made his way to their table. His eyebrows were furrowed in worry, and it made Jisung even more worried.

“Did you throw him overboard?” Felix asked, bitterness laced in his voice. Changbin gave him a pointed look and shook his head. Felix scoffed, rolled his eyes. “Too bad.”

Changbin, faced with everyone else’s puzzled eyes boring into him, heaved out a sigh.

“Felix and Minho had … a fight,” he explained, but Felix almost immediately cut him off.

“We didn’t have a fight, Lee Minho barged into my kitchen and picked a fight, there’s very distinct difference,” he spat, but Changbin seemed to have had enough. He slammed a fist onto the table. Felix’ eyes went wide.

“He may have picked the fight, but you also said some more than nasty things, Felix,” he rebuked Felix, a whose face turned an angry red. “And now we are going to stop talking about this, before more people get hurt, got it?”

Felix gave him a nasty glare through the burning of his cheeks but didn’t fight Changbin, only picked up his still mostly full plate and disappeared into the kitchen. Jisung met Hyunjin’s eyes, but even he just shrugged, and Jisung did his best to drop it. Later, he quietly helped Felix do the dishes, ignoring the questions and worry burning on his tongue. Then he quietly followed Felix into their cabin, quietly undressed and got ready for bed, peeking out from behind his book as Felix climbed into his bed and murmured a good night.

But now it’s the morning and whatever Minho had done to upset Felix must’ve cut deep because when Jisung arrives at breakfast, Felix is glaring at the slice of bread on his plate and barely speaks, slamming the kitchen doors closed behind himself when he’s done.

So when Jisung is in the bath later that morning and Minho walks in? The tension in his body pulls tight, and he can feel the confrontation coming from a mile away.

Jisung had chosen the middle one of the three bathtubs in the bathroom today, had washed almost half a bar of the pine scented soap into the water before he sunk into it, his back to the door, letting the hot water soothe the strain right out of his muscles. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears the door open and shut behind him. It was morning, after all, not unusual for the rest of the crew to start washing up. Though when the seconds tick by and there’s no other movement, Jisung starts wondering.

When he turns around, he makes eye contact with Minho, and Jisung’s body tenses up all over again.

He didn’t like being in the same room as Minho on any given day, but being here, in this small room, alone – it was more than uncomfortable. But true to his resolution, Jisung refused to budge, staring back at Minho defiantly, daring him to do something. After a few more seconds, Minho seems to make up his mind, his face hardening as he walks to the low bench and kicks off his boots.

Jisung frowns and settles back into the warmth of the water, sinking in until he can feel it tickle his earlobes. He forces his eyes to shut, but it’s hard when he can hear Minho move around the room, lighting the logs, passing by right behind Jisung to pick up a bar of soap, pouring water from the heater into the tub until he deems it full enough.

Jisung’s pretty sure Minho wouldn’t drown him in the public bathroom, but he can’t help but crack a careful eye open. Minho is facing away from him, testing the water with the tips of his fingers. Jisung is just about to close his eyes again before Minho can catch him, when Minho pulls his shirt over his head and Jisung’s eyes fly wide open.

His back is broad, milky skin pulled taut over planes of muscle that shift as his hands work the strings of his pants. With a shudder he notices the faded red tracks of nails running down from his shoulder blades, between the myriad of small, lighter scars dotted over his skin, and his whole face flushes when Minho shoves down his pants and the red marks trail down over his ass, round, perfect, flexing and jiggling a little as he moves in a way that has Jisung’s brain short-circuit a little bit, and then Minho turns around and …

Oh.

Oh, wow.

Minho’s hung. Even flaccid, his cock hangs hard and heavy and thick between his thick, muscled thighs, and Jisung blinks at it entirely stupidly for entirely too long before he forces his eyes up, past Minho’s abs and chiseled chest and dusty nipples (and a collection of love bites around his collarbones that make Jisung feel lightheaded) until his eyes meet Minho’s, who’s staring straight back at him with a condescending, shit-eating grin. There’s a darkness in his eyes that makes Jisung slightly uneasy, and he flinches, embarrassment flushing his face. But he sets his jaw, pretends he doesn’t care, glares at Minho, dares him to say something, but Minho just quirks an eyebrow and kicks his pants off the rest of the way and gets into the tub – facing him? Jisung blinks stupidly. Why the fuck is he facing him?!

Dumbfounded, Jisung tries not to, but he still watches every movement as Minho throws his leg over the side and gets into the tub, sinking into the hot water with a happy sigh that shoots straight between Jisung’s legs and makes his traitorous cock twitch slightly. Jisung gives Minho one last dirty look before he leans back, closes his eyes again, does his best to look calm and collected as he spends the next five minutes trying to talk down the semi he’s sporting just from looking at Minho. Stupid fucking Minho. Why did he have to be hot?! Though he supposes if the captain was sleeping with anyone, she would be …

The nail marks, the love bites. It confirms it, doesn’t it, Jisung thinks, and there’s an ugly stab of jealousy in his heart. Well, technically, they could be from anyone, but with everything he’s heard … Jisung has to suppress a shudder when his brain conjures up the image of her sinfully beautiful body under Minho, her heat, her soft, plush lips, object of his own wet dreams, wrapping tightly around Minho, fingers digging into his skin as he fucks her deep and hard with those thick thighs and that giant fucking cock of his that would probably feel so good against his prostate …

His traitorous cock responds happily, chubbing up even more, and Jisung huffs out in annoyance.

“Wow, you’re so annoying you’re annoying yourself? Go figure,” Minho ribs from the other tub. Jisung’s eyes fly open. Minho is lying back, annoyingly muscular arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, an annoying smirk on his lips.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Jisung just grumbles out. He closes his eyes, leans back again, affecting an indifference as if his cock isn’t half hard and Felix’ anger isn’t bubbling through his veins.

“What? I’m not the one huffing and puffing at my own thoughts,” Minho says casually and Jisung snaps. He knows this will not end before he even finishes his first sentence.

“What is your problem, actually?!” he hisses, props his arms on the side of the tub and pulls himself up to a relaxed seat. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me, too, like you did with Felix last night?”

Minho’s eyes shoot open at that, and Jisung notes with satisfaction that his confidence wavers for a split second. But before he knows it, Minho’s eyes narrow again, and he leans back, pretending to get comfortable against the wooden wall of the tub.

“Jesus, it’s worse than I thought,” Minho says, “you’re like his little lapdog. Yap yapping away. All bark, no bite.”

Oh, this asshole.

“No bite, huh?” Jisung spits, sits up so fast the water laps against the side of the tub dangerously. At least it gets Minho to finally open his eyes properly. “The bruise on your jaw you carried around with you for two weeks told a different story.”

Minho huffs out a laugh.

“Nothing more than a pin prick. I’ve been stabbed, kid, your little fist hardly did any damage.”

“Well, that’s great to know, then next time I won’t hold back when you pick a fight with my friend.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at Jisung, fixing him with his dark eyes, and it’s a little intimidating, to have Minho’s whole attention like this. But

Jisung stubbornly refuses to waver.

“Your friend?”

Jisung falters, and Minho catches it immediately, digs his finger deeper into his weak spot.

“You’ve hardly been here for three months, you don’t know what friendship means on this ship, princess.”

Jisung is half out of the water before the hated nickname is even fully past Minho’s lips. A wave of water splashes onto the floor and Minho’s eyes seem to dip down to his newly exposed stomach, the dip of his waist, for just a split second. At least Jisung’s not hard any more.

“Fucking stop calling me that,” Jisung hisses. Minho raises both his eyebrows.

“Why? I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

“You know full fucking well, why,” Jisung replies, his fingers digging into the side of the tub almost painfully, “you heard that fucker call me that the day you tried to get me killed, and you still decide to say it. You really are just a bad fucking person.”

Minho blinks at him, his face an unreadable mask. Without another word, he sits up, supports both his hands on the side of the tub and heaves himself out of the water. Jisung is speechless. Is he just going to walk away? He watches Minho towel his hair and scoffs out a disbelieving laugh. There’s no humour in it.

“What? Nothing?”

“I didn’t fucking try to get you killed,” Minho says, quietly, harshly.

Jisung shakes his head, heaves himself out of the tub as well, grabs his towel to wrap around his waist.

“Sure you didn’t,” he scoffs and Minho whips around, stares him down.

“All I do, everything I do, is to protect this ship, the captain, and the crew, okay? I didn’t know if I could trust you, so I kept you somewhere I could keep an eye on you. I was not going to let anything happen to you.”

Minho turns from him again, bending down to pick up his pants. Aggressively, he pulls them over his still damp legs. Jisung’s trembling with rage now, his fist balled at his side.

“Why would I believe you? You let that fucker punch me, you let him touch me.”

Jisung watches as Minho’s movements falter, watches his fingers tremble as he does up his pants. What does he have to be upset about? Jisung takes the moment to grab his own shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders, though it does little to quell the trembling of his body. He feels nauseous. The moist heat of the room makes him dizzy.

“Well, if you would stop fucking flinching away from me like I’m dangerous …” Minho starts, but his sentence trails off. Jisung scoffs in disbelief. He feels poisoned. Poisonous.

“You know, the captain always tells me that everyone on this ship is family, that you … we keep each other safe. Everyone keeps saying that you keep them safe. But I don’t feel safe.”

The sentence tumbles into the silence of the room, and Minho freezes. He looks like he’s been slapped. But Jisung isn’t done yet, the heaviness in his chest finally abating a little bit with every word of this he finally gets off his chest.

“I know you didn’t like me when I arrived. And that’s fine. But ever since then, you’ve shut down every single attempt of mine to bridge the gap between us. And then you tried to kill me …”

“I didn’t …” Minho whispers, but Jisung interrupts him, roughly.

“… you torment me by calling me what he called me, you leave every room I enter, refuse to even fucking look at me.”

Jisung would laugh at the fact that Minho even refuses to look at him now, only blinks at the floor, but there is no humour in this situation at all. Jisung feels broken open, red, and raw, in front of the guy who’s been making his life a living hell. Suddenly, Minho turns, grabs his shirt and pushes past Jisung. He shoves his feet into his boots and Jisung angrily realises that he just plans on leaving.

“Say something, you coward,” he curses, and Minho finally looks up at him. He looks devastated.

“I didn’t try to kill you, I … I didn’t realise that’s what that fucker called you … after my … after Felix … I … fuck, I_gut_ people like that, I cut them limb from limb, I would never … fuck,” he curses and rips open the door, makes down the hallway without even bothering to put his shirt on. Jisung follows him before he can think better of it.

He catches up with Minho only a few feet down the hallway, pulls him back by his arm and pushes him into the wall, hard.

“No, you don’t run away from this,” he spits and stares up at Minho, who’s unfortunately still a few inches taller than him. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Minho blinks at him, his lips slightly parted in surprise, bunny teeth peeking out from underneath his top lip in a way that makes him altogether less intimidating and then clamps his lips shut, furrows his eyebrows, stares at Jisung with a frustrated desperation in his eyes.

“I don’t fucking hate you!” he hisses out, “You’re one of us now, and I would give my life for you just like I would for every other person on this ship, but you hate me because you’re scared of me and I can’t even blame you because everything I do somehow … ends up wrong with you.”

Now it’s Jisung’s turn to stare blankly and Minho shoves him back until Jisung’s back hits the wall. Except this time, it doesn’t feel threatening, not when there are tears of frustration glistening in Minho’s eyes. He lifts his hand, jabs his index finger into Jisung’s chest, his erratic breath fanning over Jisung’s face and Jisung’s heart rabbits in his chest. A drop of water drips from Minho’s raven locks, runs down his neck, pools in the dip of his collarbone.

“I don’t know what it is about you, but you drive me fucking crazy,” Minho breathes out and Jisung’s body moves before he can even realise what he’s doing.

Both of his hands wrap around the back of Minho’s neck, and he pulls him down, straight into his own parted lips. Minho makes a choked sound in the back of his throat, but Jisung doesn’t let up, digs his fingernails into the skin of Minho’s neck, presses his lips against Minho’s harder. When his brain catches up to his body, he tries to pull away, but Minho doesn’t let him, pushes closer, crowds him against the wall, trapping Jisung’s body between his strong arms and slipping his tongue into Jisung’s mouth. Molten hot need bubbles in Jisung’s gut and he moans pathetically. One of his hands skates down Minho’s chest, smoothes over his hot skin, thumb catching on Minho’s nipple and Minho hisses into his mouth. But it seems to shock Minho out of whatever it is they’re doing because suddenly, he pulls back, stumbles back a few steps and stares at Jisung with wide eyes.

Where Jisung is flushed and embarrassingly hard underneath the towel around his waist, Minho is deathly pale, and he doesn’t look okay at all. Jisung’s stomach drops.

“Minho?” he whispers, as gentle as he can.

Minho blinks rapidly, shakes his head, takes a few shaky steps backwards, before he turns and flees, runs up the stairs.

Hurried footsteps sound behind you as you push open the door to your office. You whirl around and come face to face with a flushed, wide-eyed Chan.

“Jesus, is everything okay?” you ask, your heart in your throat at how panicked Chan looks.

“Captain, I …” he starts, before he turns around, checking if there’s anyone behind him, “you have to promise me you won’t be angry with me for telling you this, but I can’t not tell you. Like, you’re our captain, you have the right to know, even though he will kill me for this.”

There’s a blind panic running through your veins as you stare at Chan.

“Chan, if you don’t tell me right now…”

“I saw Minho and Jisung kiss. Downstairs. Outside of the baths."

< chapter IV - chapter VI (coming: friday, april 12, 3pm CET) >

series masterlist // skzms masterlist // kofi

🔖 series taglist and general taglist open! be 18+ and have your age in bio when you ask to be added

taglist part 1: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @laylasbunbunny @minsflannelwrap148 @caitlyn98s @straystays2345 @3rachasninja @maximumkillshot @sungprotector @stayconnecteed @mellhwang @chlodavids @kookiesbunny @noellllslut @warren-thedarkangel @kidrauhlschik @anyhow-everything @krishastumblernow @cutiespaghetti @hobi-szn @usagi---mochi @stolasisyourparent @steadysuitenthusiast @queen-in-the-shadows

@ayoitschannie @starsandrqindrops @redstayrosie @vitrealisbunny @seukijeuxq @bakedlilgoonie @bookworm731 @jazziwritesthings @katsukis1wife @minhos4thkitty @gbskzlover @armystay89 @chuwii3o @foivetimesacharm @palindrome969 @luvyev @binnies-binna @gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @staysinbloom @f1wh0r3 @mnwrld @linocz @linosssss

#YOOOOOOO #TOO GOOD THIS IS TOO GOOD #MINHO POV??? LOVE IT #the drama the tension the ESCALATION #THE CLIFFHANGER #i literally cannot wait til next friday i need to know the update Now #SO GOOD MAY IM LOVE THIS #s: sea may rise sky may fall

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like-a-diamondinthesky · 2 months

Text

🌊 ೃ‧₊◜ sea may rise, sky may fall chapter I

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: fate delivers you han jisung on a silver platter – he's the key to finally taking down your worst enemy, his uncle, the governor Han Yujun. You're ready to force what you need out of him by any means necessary, but it quickly becomes clear that you might not have to.

word count: 8k words

author's note: oh my god!! it's here!! this series has been in the works for 4 months and has its origin in this ask my love @stayconnecteed sent me. the beginning is even still similar, though I did edit it, so I recommend reading it again, even if you're familiar. this is a big story, about love, yes, but also about trauma and chosen family and how to go on despite it all. and I hope you will love them all as much as I do. but enough waffling, here we go!!!!

warnings: mentions of physical violence, mentions of past sexual assault. if either of these things are big triggers for you, please note these will be themes in this story. heed the series warnings in the masterlist!

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

<;- epigraph - chapter II (coming march 15, 3pm CET) ->

It doesn't make sense. It's all you can think as you drag your tired eyes over the same perfectly drawn, painstakingly decorated map over and over again. One of your own, Seungmin’s own, always impeccable handiwork, one that looked similar, but just not the same lies abandoned to your left.

"Penny for your thoughts, Captain?"

You had forgotten he was still here. When you look up, his feline eyes are boring into yours, deep and dark and permeating. He was too attractive for his own good, standing there with his hips cocked to the side, his white shirt half undone, wiping the leftover grime and blood from his bruised knuckles.

“Nothing, just wondering if I’m missing something,” you murmur, your eyes falling back down to the paper in front of you. The wood of the ship creaks, the floor swaying under your feet. It was going to be a stormy night.

Minho sighs, dropping the bloodied and dirty rag onto the floor, which you send him a dirty glare for. But he leaves it there, instead rounding the big, heavy table to stand behind you.

His hands slide over your hips confidently but gently, caressing your hip bones before sliding up to wrap around your waist. Then he steps closer, presses his solid chest against your back, hooking his chin over your shoulder to look down at what you're seeing. One of his hands slips under the material of your shirt, runs over your skin in a way that makes your focus slip. But the frustration persists.

"This map seems like nonsense," you sigh out, turning the strange map over again. "Maybe that bloodbath today was for nothing."

The bloodbath that was the hijacking of a government ship from the man you’ve been trying to take down for years. You had killed them all, except for a handful of them, sending them sailing north in their shoddy lifeboats.

Minho scoffs behind you as his hand splays over your lower belly and presses you closer against his body.

"Then we still got to off some of those government pigs, that's a win in my book," he grumbles out darkly before he presses a wet kiss to the side of your neck. "Plus, we still have him."

Right. Him.

Minho's lips drag over your neck gently, sensually, soft and hot, making heat pool deep in your abdomen. His hands caress your body, and you can feel him starting to fill out against your ass. You know where this is leading, but you have work to do yet.

"Tell Chan to get him."

Minho's lips stop their journey over your skin with the barest perceptible sigh before he makes his way over to the door, sticking his head out to speak to the man standing sentry in front of your office. You may be fucking your second in command, but he still would never dare disobey captain's orders. Minho's good like that; otherwise you would've never let him get this close to you.

Chan's heavy footsteps disappear down the corridor and Minho closes the door softly, makes his way back over to you. His hands come back to your hips, squeezing the flesh softly.

"Any plans for the questioning? Should I get the kit?"

You raise an eyebrow at him.

"He's the governor's nephew, I doubt we need to resort to physical violence to get him to speak."

Minho smirks at you, visibly pleased that he finally has your attention because he leans in slightly, rubbing his nose over your cheek.

"Oh, we'll break him so quickly," he whispers with a dark smile. He's staring down at your lips as he pulls you closer, tentatively brushing his lips against yours at first, as if to see if you'll pull away, before he finally kisses you properly. Parting your lips, you swallow the little moan that falls from his lips when your tongue slides against his. But the kiss is cut short when heavy footfall and angry voices sound from the hallway. Minho pulls away reluctantly. He swipes some spit off the corner of your mouth with his thumb, but doesn't move his hand from where it’s resting against your waist, even as the door opens. It's an open secret, the fact that he's closer to you than even a second in command should be, though nobody dares acknowledge it.

Occasionally, Minho liked to stake his claim like this – and you let him. After all, Minho was also known as the man who would carve the skin from any man's bones if they so much as dared to look at you the wrong way.

The door slams open, revealing Chan and Changbin, their faces angry as they drag in a bundle of green silk and floppy brown hair. The young man is cursing and thrashing around wildly, throwing insults with a surprising venom, until his eyes fall on you and Minho. He falters slightly, eyes blinking rapidly, before they narrow again, and he goes back to kicking out.

"I suggest we tie this one to a chair, he's feral," Changbin spits out, and you just nod, gesturing for them to proceed. Minho's thumb rubs smooth circles over your hipbone. It’s a soothing action, entirely at odds with the chaos in front of you. Sometimes you wonder how he does it.

"Get your hands off me, you brutes," the young man snarls as Changbin shoves him down onto a chair. Chan kneels down to secure his leg, but the guy kicks out, the tip of his expensive brown leather boot almost catching Chan in the chin.

Within seconds, Minho disappears from your side, walks over and cracks the back of his hand across the man's round cheek, making his head snap to the side. He freezes like that before he lifts his head and stares up at Minho, eyes wide in shock, blinking up at him through a curtain of his hair. You think you see Minho hesitate, before he turns around and walks back to your side. But it seems to have taken some wind from his sails because he stops resisting so much, only haphazardly tugging at his restraints as Chan and Changbin finish tying him down.

A bright red hand mark remains on the man's cheek where Minho struck him, and you can't help but think that it's almost a shame to deface such a pretty face.

Because that's what the man is. Pretty. Soft brown, mid-length hair that falls a little past his ears, falling over his big, dark eyes constantly, which seems to irk him because he keeps tossing his head to get it out of the way. His cheeks are round, look like they would be soft to the touch, and his lips are pink and plump and small and almost constantly pursed into a pout of disapproval.

And he's dressed well: a green silk coat, that probably cost as much as the ship you just sank, draping over his wide shoulders. He wears nothing but a simple white tank underneath it, exposing honeyed skin stretching over defined collarbones. There's a little silver cross dangling from his neck.

"Fucking finally," Chan curses out as he secures the last knot.

"Thank you. You may leave," you say, your voice as calm and collected as ever. Chan and Changbin nod and plod out of the room. When the door falls closed, there's silence.

"You're the captain?" the man asks, surprise on his face. Your eyes narrow. Oh, great. Another one.

"I am. Is that a problem?" you ask, icily, and feel Minho's hand sneak around your waist. The man's eyes follow the movement, too, and then a faint blush creeps up his neck. He shakes his head.

"Now," you say as you slowly make your way around the big desk, leaning yourself against it and crossing your arms as you keep an eye on the man in front of you. Minho follows you, coming to stand a few feet next to you, hand on the handle of his knife.

"What is your name?"

"Han," the man mumbles out, "Han Jisung."

The name confirms it. You really did somehow manage to abduct Han Yujun’s nephew. Jackpot. You don’t even try to hide the triumphant grin that tugs at your lips. It seems to unsettle him.

"How’s your uncle?" you ask casually and the man, Jisung, narrows his eyes.

"How would I know? He put me on that stupid ship weeks ago, even though I told him it was a bad idea. But he never listens, does he," Jisung rambles, his eyebrows knitted together. You throw a glance at Minho, who looks back at you, perplexed. This may turn out to be your easiest job yet.

"Why was it a bad idea?" you ask gently, taking a step closer to Jisung. He’s still scowling, a dangerous glint in his eyes that’s entirely at odds with the way he’s rambling, seemingly without a filter.

"B-because I hate him. I hate him and his stupid cronies who always touch my ass and his corrupt fucking government. Like, do you have any idea how many people are starving in our city?"

He's still rambling when you slowly crouch down in front of him. The fact that you're suddenly below his eye level makes Jisung’s monologue stutter to a halt. He exhales a shaky breath."If you hate it

all so much, why are you sitting in front of us dressed in green silk?" you purr and Jisung's pink lips part slightly. It’s a bait question, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He tugs at his restraints, and the movement makes Minho take a cautious step closer to you. But there’s no real intent behind his movements.

"Well, I still had a ship to commandeer, a reputation to uphold. The men already didn't respect me. Had to lock my door every night, and they still tried to break it down …"

You can feel Minho fidget next to you.

"Did you not have a second-in-command?" Minho snarls out from beside you, and Jisung looks up at him, a cynical smile on his face. "Sent him over the gangplank on day three because he assaulted me. It's just been me ever since."

You watch carefully as Minho scoffs, affecting indifference, but you don’t miss the way his knuckles turn white on the handle of his knife.

You look at Minho and Minho looks at you, and a wordless moment later, Minho leans down into Jisung's space. Jisung sucks in a breath and straightens his back, trying to move away as Minho leans closer and closer. Minho supports his hand on the chair behind Jisung's back and watches closely as Jisung blinks up at him and then throws you a panicky glance.

"Are you gonna kill me?" he whispers, his eyes big and round and watery.

You chuckle and Minho's lips curl into a devious smile.

"We won't kill you," you say. "Instead, I'd like to make you an offer." Minho stands back up and Jisung’s body relaxes slightly, though he stays alert, shifting uncertainly when Minho starts pacing around him.

“If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, I’m sorry to disappoint, but my uncle will probably not even bail me out. A tragedy in the family would play right into his campaign right now,” Jisung says bitterly, his lips pulled into an ironic snarl, “or he would bail me out only to drown me in the harbour.”

You raise an eyebrow, cocking your head to the side as you watch Jisung for any sign of a lie. Though, again, there is none. Strange boy.

“Just how much do you hate your uncle?” you ask quietly, and Jisung’s snarl deepens.

“More than you can even imagine. And he hates me just as much.”

You blink at him for a beat before you decide to take the leap. You stand up. Jisung’s eyes follow you up automatically.

“I want to offer for you to join us,” you say calmly, and Jisung freezes, staring at you with wide eyes. “If you hate your uncle as much as you say you do, and you’re really that against what he’s doing, then you’re on the right ship. We’ve been working to take him down for years.”

Jisung’s face gives nothing away as he ponders your offer, and you realise you may have underestimated him slightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Minho shift his weight from one foot to the other. So he’s feeling it, too.

“And what if I don’t? Want to join you, I mean,” Jisung asks carefully, and you smile at him and shrug, but you can feel the darkness swirl in your chest. You let some of it filter into your smile, and Jisung tenses in response. Perceptive. Definitely underestimated him.

“Then you can rot in our cell until we dock at our next safe harbour in about two months. And we’ll see if we can get some money out of your uncle, what he does with you after, I don’t care,” you say casually and look up at Minho who’s smiling at you. There’s a dark glint to his eyes that you know all too well.

“And if your uncle doesn’t pay, I’m sure someone else will. Pretty boy like you should fetch an equally pretty price,” Minho adds, looking down at Jisung with an eery smile, as his eyes flit all over the younger man’s flushed face.

You know Minho is bluffing, but Jisung doesn’t, and his pokerface is slipping now, his red cheeks not helping his case as his eyes race around the room like he’s trying to weigh his options. You decide to let him stew in it for a bit.

“Chan!” you yell, relishing in the way Jisung nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden sound. Chan walks in and you motion towards Jisung vaguely.

“Han Jisung, take your time to think over our offer. When you’ve decided, let Chan know, and he’ll arrange for us to see each other again. Otherwise, I will see you in two months, to hand you off to the highest bidder.”

You have to rip your eyes away from the spectacle that is Jisung’s flushed, panicked face and nod at Chan.

“Take him back to his cell.”

Chan complies, untying Jisung’s feet from the chair. This time, the young man doesn’t fight it, just sits there, his brows furrowed, his eyes trained on you, and it’s like you can see the gears turning in his head. He’s still staring at you as Chan tugs him to his feet and drags him to the door.

You wait for the footsteps to fade down the hall before you turn to Minho. He’s already looking at you.

“Do you think that offer is a mistake?” you ask him, and he purses his lips, thinks for a second. Then he shakes his head.

“I think the boy’s got nowhere else to go,” he responds, “and isn’t that how most of us found our way here?”

He gives you a crooked smile, eyes trailing over your face, and you remember the first time you met Minho.

It was a stormy day, brutal winds, howling around the sails, whipping ice-cold drops of rain into your freezing face. You were ambushed, stupidly, all your fault, really, getting into strange waters during a storm like this. As so often, Jeongin and his perfect eyesight saved you, flying down the sails in the late afternoon gloom, raising the alarms as quietly and quickly as he possibly could.

Now, you and your men were fighting tooth and nail, your 25 against the other ship’s 20, and you were winning – the last part wasn’t a surprise. Everyone in these waters knew not to fuck with you. You and your crew were the undisputed masters, and only fools would ever cross you. Turns out, these were fools. But they were paying for it now.

You took a moment to escape to the quarterdeck to survey the scene. Chan and Changbin, the muscle of the ship, were on the other ship, taking down pirates easily, brutally, efficiently. Your plank was protected by Hyunjin, your first mate, but coincidentally also the best shot in the seven seas. Your other men were dotted around, fighting wherever they found the enemy, beating the other crew by a mile. Good.

You saw something glint from the corner of your eye and started, whipped your head up in alarm. Up in the fighting top of the main mast of the enemy ship sat a man about your age. He sat up there, away from the action, looking the picture of relaxation, kicking his legs, twirling a knife between his nimble fingers. His hat sat next to him on the wood, his head uncovered, shaggy black hair slicked back with the rain, revealing an angular, criminally handsome face, and intelligent, feline looking eyes.

He didn’t look away, not breaking eye contact even for a second as he watched you, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away, something about him–

You felt the air shift around you before you heard him, the heavy, lumbering brute that was charging at you. Unsurprisingly, he was not just lumbering but also predictable, pulling his fist too far back so you easily dodged his first punch, then the predictable other one. It took you about 20 seconds, two hard punches to the ears, a knife in the stomach and a kick to his gut to take care of him, tipping him over the side of the ship unceremoniously, and when you looked up, the man was still looking at you, and he was as calm as before, seemingly unaffected by the fact that you had just killed one of his mates, potentially one of his friends. Your eyebrows furrowed further, but again, you were interrupted, and this time all thought of the stranger left your head when your navigator, Seungmin’s panicked voice rung from the fray on the main deck.

“Captain!” he yelled, his voice full of panic, and your head snapped over to where he was leaning over Jeongin, who was holding his shoulder, dark blood seeping through his fingers. Ice-cold panic surged through your entire body.

“Shit,” you breathed, your cutlass clattering to the floor as you vaulted over the railing of the quarterdeck, weaving through the fighting to get to them as fast as you could. The bleeding was bad, Jeongin’s face an unhealthy shade of white, but it looked like he might survive. You needed him to survive. You helped Seungmin drag Jeongin’s shivering body into the hallway below the deck, barricading the door behind you, so nobody could follow you, and ran for your surgeon.

As soon as Jeongin was somewhat stable, you and Seungmin left him and made your way back above deck, where your crew had rounded up the last four pirates from the enemy ship on their deck. The man you had seen on the top wasn’t among them, and you felt a stab of disappointment and, if you didn’t know any better, grief.

Changbin gave you a small bow as you walked over.

“What should we do with these men, captain?”

You took a long look at them, watching calmly as one of them gathered spit in his mouth and spat at you, a thick glob of it landing on your boot. You looked at the spit, then the man, then Changbin.

“That one? In a boat, alone, no provisions,” you ordered and Chan was already moving, dragging him up and over to one of the lifeboats.

“The others,” you said slowly, watching the rest of the men cower in fear, avoiding your eyes, “You have the option to join my crew. If you choose not to, I’m feeling nice. Boat, enough provisions for a few days. Under the condition that you never, ever draw your sword against me or mine ever again.”

But none of the men took your offer, so you let your crew deposit them into a boat and send them off. They would probably be fine, the sun was set to rise on a clear day in the morning, and if they were smart, they could find their way back to land. If they weren’t, well, then you were glad they didn’t take your offer. There was no margin for error out here. Davey Jones took no prisoners.

You watched calmly as Chan and Changbin set about looting what they could from the ship, standing in the drizzling rain of the waning storm as they hauled crates upstairs, stuck around until they doused the ship in oil and set fire to it. The remaining raindrops crackled in the flames, the heat of the burning ship barely warming you, only making you more aware of the chill that sat deep in your shaking limbs and aching bones. When the ship was mostly burned, you nodded to your men, spoke a word of congratulations, and turned towards your cabin. But before you could open the heavy door that led below deck, a heavy thump of something hitting the deck sounded behind you, followed by the sound of yelling and the metallic swish of 20 swords being drawn.

You whipped around and came face to face with the man from the top, his features even more striking, his eyes even darker, more dangerous up close. An undeniable relief washed through you at the sight of him. Something told you that it would have been a shame if he had just been killed. But instead, he must’ve hid in Jeongin’s abandoned lookout post before he jumped from your main mast onto the deck. A bold move, considering the 25 men that immediately surrounded him, swords and knives drawn.

But the man didn’t seem to care. He stood there, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling with even breaths, his feline eyes boring into yours, unreadable, deep, beautiful. Then he drew his knife from his scabbard, placed it in his upward-facing palms and got on his knee, bowing his head.

Your whole crew was stunned into silence.

“What’s your name?” you asked loudly.

“Lee Minho,” the stranger answered, without lifting his head, his voice muffled by the material of his coat.

“What are you expecting from joining this crew?”

“A captain who cares for their crew, a captain who stands for something,” the man, Minho, said resolutely and without hesitation, and you blinked your eyes in surprise.

“So you know me?”

“I heard much of you, captain,” his answer came immediately, his voice still as sure as it was in the beginning, “I was hoping I would meet you one day, to see if the rumours were true.”

“What rumours have you heard then?” you said with a smirk, and some of your crew laughed, easing the tension. You made eye contact with Hyunjin over to your left, who raised an eyebrow at you, then Chan, who looked puzzled.

“That you’re ruthless, but fair. That you protect your crew like family. That you fight the good fight,” Minho said, and then nobody was chuckling any more. He was serious.

You walked over to the man until you were sure he could see the tips of your boots in his vision, waited for a second. But he didn’t raise his head, a sign of obedience that spoke of the truth of his words more than any promise ever could. Slowly, leisurely, you reached down and tapped his cheek, prompting him to raise his head. It was only when his gaze met yours again, that you suddenly realised what you’d missed these last few minutes. Something red-hot shivered down your spine. Danger. Sparks. Heat.

“What role were you hoping to get on my ship? I have to tell you, we’re pretty fully staffed.”

You weren’t, but he didn’t have to know that. He was still staring into your eyes. Something about the way he looked at you set you on fire, like your soul knew him already. It took everything in you to keep your steady eyes on him.

“I want to be your second-in-command,” he stated, and surprised murmurs broke out all around you. You raised your hand to silence them and nodded for Minho to continue.

“I saw you out there, you were all alone. A captain should always have someone to have their back.”

You cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him darkly, feigning a confidence that you could feel only the barest remnant of after this big battle, the excruciating wet and cold in your bones. But feigning it helped, distracted you from the sheer power he seemed to have over you.

“If you saw me, I think you saw I can handle myself just fine. Or do you disagree?”

Your men were chuckling all around you again. Lee Minho wasn’t. He shook his head, his eyes dipping down to your shoes briefly, in a sign of submission.

“You can defend yourself, but I think you shouldn’t have to. You’re here to lead, not to fight. Let me fight for you.”

He raised the knife he was still brandishing on his upturned palms higher. A shiver racked down your spine and weariness tugged at your eyes. You didn’t have any fight left in you. And something about him seemed … right. He was different, clearly very intelligent and independent. Despite the heat, the sparks, the danger, your intuition told you to accept him.

So you nodded.

“You can stay. But you will have to earn our trust in order to even be considered for a position that close to me. I don’t fancy getting stabbed in my sleep.”

Lee Minho nodded, still on his knee.

You turned around and nodded to your first mate, Hyunjin.“Hyune,

make sure he gets something to eat and a cabin to sleep in.”

Hyunjin nodded with a slight bow, and you turned around without another word, leaving Minho kneeling in the middle of the deck, in the drizzle, surrounded by your crew.

The man you had just made that same offer, to join your crew, was very different from the type of people you usually accepted. Lee Minho had joined your crew of outsiders almost easily, falling into easy companionship into the group of weirdos, outcasts from society, people who didn’t have anywhere else to go because they were trapped, by people, governments, creditors, pimps. They were all people who were mistreated by the very people, like Han Yujun, you knew from the very first day would be your life’s mission to take down.

Han Jisung was not without means, he was not an outcast in the traditional sense, although the way he spoke about his uncle, the quiet determination in his pretty eyes, his steadfast self-respect, it didn’t feel at all like all the other rich government assholes you had met. No, in a very real way, it all felt … achingly familiar. Like looking into a slightly skewed mirror.

But you forced yourself to be patient, to let him stew until he made his own decision. Though you asked Chan to take him to the baths, to wash his clothes for you and bring him some proper food.

Lee Minho, back when he first joined, managed to worm his way into your crew’s good graces in just a few short weeks. Oddly enough, it felt like he fit right in. And despite his closed off demeanour, his serious, feline eyes, it turned out that the real Lee Minho was a lot gentler. Also observant, steadfast, loyal, honest.

But he was also strong and merciless. The first fight you got involved in, even if you hadn’t appointed him, Minho never left your side, fighting your attackers with a ferocity and precision, a grace in his strong limbs, you had never seen in a pirate before. And he remained by your side when the fight was over, when you crossed the plank to the other ship, when you forced the enemy captain to his knees, when you interrogated and even when you dealt with him afterwards – through all of it, Minho stood two paces behind you on your right, his hand on his knife. The look on his face was determined, yet neutral, never questioning; you felt it that day for the first time, something that you would come to learn was one of the most important things about Minho: his support felt unconditional.

Before you parted ways that night, caked in blood and your hair and clothes reeking of the smoke of the burning enemy ship, his strong hands, the ones that had killed and mauled in your name, found your shoulders with a gentle, yet firm grip. He didn’t speak, just stood there looking at you, searchingly, inquisitively, until you gave him a tired smile. When he seemed satisfied that you were okay, he let his hands fall from your shoulders, bowed and turned on his heels, heading for the crew cabins downstairs. Something small and fragile in you wished he would’ve stayed. It felt dangerously nice to be so cared for.

You appointed Minho your second-in-command not much later.

You have to wait for two days before Chan knocks on the door to your cabin and finally announces that Jisung is asking to see you. You briefly weigh the risk of being alone with your captive, whether you should send Chan to find Minho up on deck – but you figure you will be able to defend yourself, no matter how feisty he was the other day. Plus, you have a feeling this one might need a bit of a gentler hand.

So you ask Chan to get him and wait, patiently, leaning against the front of your heavy desk, dark brown booted feet crossed at your ankles. The footsteps that walk up to your door this time are much calmer, one set of heavy steps you easily identify as Chan, the other much softer, more meandering in the way they find their footing.

There’s a low muttering exchange of words before Chan knocks and enters, pushing Jisung in front of him.

“Do we need to tie you to a chair again or are you going to be a good boy?” you ask Jisung, in lieu of a hello, and he narrows his eyes slightly, nose tipping skywards.

“I- I’m perfectly fine like this, thank you.”

You quirk one eyebrow at him, make a show of shrugging at Chan before you dismiss him. But Chan hesitates by the door.

“Are you sure? Should I get …” he starts, but you raise your hand to cut him off. His mouth snaps shut immediately.

“I’m sure. I would prefer it if you didn’t question my ability to question my captive. Leave us.”

Chan nods tersely, face burning as he bows.

“I’ll be right out here,” he says loudly, throwing a warning glance at Jisung before closing the door behind him.

You let your eyes finally fully fall on the young man in front of you.

He’s still in the same clothes from the day you captured, but they look like they have been washed. He looks fine, too, clean and well-rested, his soft brown hair still falling into his eyes in messy waves. Still pretty, you observe. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for you to speak with his lips pursed into his indomitable pout.

“You look like they’ve been taking care of you well, just like I asked,” you say finally and watch him blink at you warily.

“They have …” he says cautiously, and you raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing around your lips.

“What? Do you have any complaints? Surely, it’s not the food,” you ask in an effort to make him lighten up, but Jisung doesn’t respond, only jerkily shakes his head.

“Where’s your guard dog?” he suddenly asks, too sharply, too loudly.

Both of your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, annoyance starting to lick at your neck.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you say calmly, but dangerously, giving Jisung another chance to change his approach before you shove him right back into his cell, this time without such courtesy as you’ve shown him so far. Jisung falters briefly, before he bristles again.

“About your height, anger issues, looks like a greasy cat, smells like one, too,” Jisung supplies feistily.

Irritation starts to bubble deep in your gut, and you try hard to swallow it down, though the tremor in your voice is impossible to control.

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the power dynamics in a situation like this, pretty boy,” you start icily, taking very slow, calculated steps towards Jisung, “but I’m the one who told my men to allow you to bathe, I’m the one who told them to bring you some of their food, and I’m the one who will decide whether I send you to starve in a boat by yourself tonight, sell you to a slave master in two months, or kill you myself. right. now.”

By now, you’re face to face with him, so close your breath puffs against his skin with every exhale, your eyes roving over his flushed cheeks, the little birthmark next to his mouth. When he still doesn’t say anything, you place a gentle hand on his chest before you shove him, suddenly, and with all your strength-

Jisung reels, stumbles backwards, eyes widening as he trips over his own feet, and you watch coldly as he slams into the hard floor with a loud thud and a groan. The door flies open and Chan is in the room within milliseconds, knife drawn and ready. He gives you a panicked once-over, then glares at Jisung, who’s still groaning on the floor.

“Take him back,” you say coldly and Chan automatically straightens up when he hears the ice in your voice, “and this time? Give the spoiled brat the regular treatment.”

Chan hauls Jisung to his feet without another word, his grip on his arm more than painful if Jisung’s hiss is anything to judge by. He drags Jisung to the door unceremoniously, but Jisung struggles.

“Wait!” he yells, but Chan keeps moving. Good to know your station as captain is still intact. “Wait, wait, captain, please.”

Captain. You look at Jisung expectantly as he is being dragged away.

“I’m sorry, wait, please,” he stammers out, louder, yanking at his restraints, tries to get his arm out of Chan’s grip, though it clearly hurts him. He looks at you pleadingly, and you don’t know what possesses you, but you decide to hear him out.

“Chan, stop,” you order, and Chan does so immediately. Jisung stops struggling and breathes out a sigh of relief. He winces when he tries to move his arm, his breathing laboured from his struggle.

“Captain,” he says, with emphatically, slightly bowing his head, “I … I want to join you.”

He … what?! You huff out a shocked laugh. Even Chan snorts, staring at the young man like he lost his mind.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you breathe out and Jisung grimaces, but stays silent. “You come in here with an attitude like that and then only change your mind at the prospect of shitting into a bucket for the next two months, and you expect me to believe you?!”

“Fuck,” Jisung curses, and you laugh again.

“Yeah, fuck’s about right. Should’ve thought this through.”

Jisung shakes his head. Chan starts tugging at his arm and Jisung starts talking, his words so fast you can barely make them out.

“No, no, I already … I’m … I’m not good at this, okay, scratch that, I’m bad at it. Always been bad at diplomacy. My uncle never failed to tell me, trust me. But in my defence, I have never been abducted before and,” Jisung starts babbling and both you and Chan watch him, blinking stupidly. “And yes, the prospect of shitting in a bucket is horrible, but even before that, the food wasn’t lost on me, okay. Neither was the bath. I’m just not used to being tied up, at least not in these circumstances,” a nervous laugh, “but my mother has always said my big mouth will get me in trouble one day.”

You look at Chan and Chan looks at you, and you slowly raise your hand, to wave for him to wait outside. He once again hesitates, but you glare at him and wave him off again. He relinquishes his hold on Jisung’s arm, who grimaces in relief while his mouth is still going a mile a minute, scuffing the toes of his boots into the uneven planks under his feet.

“… and besides, I wouldn’t have worn this outfit if I had known. But that’s beside the point. What I wanted to say was, I want to accept your offer.”

When he finally raises his head and looks at you, his face is no longer flushed, instead you can see the smooth planes of his chipmunk-like cheeks, watch as his eyebrows furrow with determination. He tosses his head back, shakes the hair from his eyes, meets your gaze with his own, shockingly honest one. Something in your gut is telling you to trust this man, and it feels oddly similar to the feeling you had with Chan and Jeongin, and the same feeling you had with Minho.

Jisung watches you carefully as you un-sheath your knife from where it’s hanging at your hip and take a step towards him. His eyes widen, his mouth drawing into a perfect little o as he stumbles back, almost tumbling to the floor all over again.

“I’m sorry, okay, I thought I made it clear I didn’t mean it – I- Please don’t kill me!”

He squeaks when his back hits the wall, and he cowers in on himself. How he could go from so feisty and angry to so cute and anxious is beyond you. He’s … very different from the rest of you, and you briefly wonder how much trouble that alone could land you in. But then again, you had never turned anyone away just because they were weird. Quite the opposite, it’s what had kept you all stuck together like this.

He’s still cowering, squeaking again when he feels the cold metal press against his thin shirt. You slice through the rope, and he jumps, his arms sliding from where they had been crossed against his back.

His eyes fly open when he realises he’s no longer bound, and he blinks up at you, eyes wide and cheeks puffed out in shock, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at just how ridiculous he looks. Like someone drew him.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you say quietly before you re-sheath your knife and turn around, walking back to your desk and leaning against it again, just like you had when he had first entered. For all intents and purposes, to anyone, even Chan, it would probably look like you were the picture of relaxation. But your whole body was pulled taut as soon as you turned your back on him. Just because your gut feeling tells you to trust him doesn’t mean you’re an idiot.

But the only thing Han Jisung does is walk closer to you one you’re settled against your desk, rubbing the red marks of the ropes on his wrists, the spot where Chan had grabbed him so roughly, a slightly disgruntled look on his face.

“So, you said you wanted to join us?” you say carefully and Jisung straightens up and nods, bowing slightly.

“I want to join you, Captain, if you’ll have me.”

So polite.

“Why?” you ask simply, and he blinks at you. You nod for him to go on.

“Because … because I’m bad at politics, especially the one my uncle is so good at. Like, I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m a pretty bad liar, and I’m pretty sure that’s all my uncle does. Besides, I don’t want to be good at his kind of politics, the kind that starves people and runs them out of their homes and …” he swallows thickly, and you watch him closely. Still, you couldn’t find a single indication that he was lying.

“And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” Jisung adds, suddenly overly interested in the shining leather of his boots, “my uncle might kill me or put me on another ship with men whose only interest is my ass, I have no friends because all I ever did was politics, and my parents are fucking dead.”

His voice breaks slightly at the end, before he chuckles, humourlessly, tosses his head nonchalantly.

“It’s probably stupid that I’m laying out all my cards like this, but like you just reminded me, you hold all the power here.”

He raises his head and when he looks at you now, his big brown eyes are glassy, though his lips are pursed resolutely. There it is again. You make up your mind then.

“We’re all in a similar boat here, pun intended,” you offer carefully. He chuckles slightly and sniffles once, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. He’s so … cute. The thought of anyone touching him without his consent made a familiar, ugly hatred burn deep in your gut.

“None of us had anywhere else to go when we first joined, but now we have found a sense of belonging. The others will tell you their own stories on their own time if they wish to, but rest assured, we were all lost once. Lost and angry and wronged.”

Jisung nods, his eyes glued to yours so attentively it almost made you nervous.

“And …,” you hesitate, something that feels foreign to you, “you’ll be safe here. Nobody will … try to hurt you here, in any way, or … touch you without your consent.”

“Yeah?” Jisung asks, his face still determined, but his voice a quiet, hopeful thing. God, you swear your heart would crack if you still felt like you had one.

You nod gently.

“We’re a family, family should never hurt each other.” The dark, cynical disappointment buried deep in his eyes is painfully familiar. You wonder if he can see it in your eyes, too. You clear your throat, assuming your ‘captain voice’ again.

“Let’s leave it here for today,” you announce, and it’s like Jisung shakes himself out of it, stands up straighter and nods again. Cute little bobblehead, you think. “And tomorrow, I think we should have a long conversation about how far you’re willing to go against your uncle. Because I know family can be a bit–“

You’re interrupted by the door flying open so hard that it rattles on its hinges. Minho barges in, his eyes wild, his shoulders squared, fists balled by his sides. His gaze falls to Jisung’s untied hands, panic all over his face for a brief, unguarded second, before he collects himself. His eyes race over your body, inspect you for any sign of injury or discomfort, but the relief when he comes up empty does nothing to assuage his panic. He walks to your side, his hands reaching towards you before falling helplessly at his side.

“Are you fucking insane?” he hisses out, his breath coming out in short bursts. He looks wild, and yet his eyes are so much softer than he ever allows himself in front of people. “Why is he untied? Why are you alone with him? Why didn’t you tell Chan to get me?”

Your heart soars, plummets, constricts deep in your chest, the panic in Minho’s eyes mingled with something you can’t think too much about, let alone name, making your head swim. You have to take a steadying breath. Then you do what you have to do.

“Minho,” you say coldly and Minho takes a step back as if wounded, his face slipping into his cold pokerface, though the pain that flashes through his eyes feels like it’s stabbing you in the heart. “I will interrogate who I wish, how I wish it. Chan didn’t get you because I asked him not to. Understood?”

Minho nods mechanically, eyes glued to yours as he searches and searches your gaze for any of the warmth that’s usually there. You keep it locked away and it aches. His gaze falls on Jisung and his eyes narrow.

“You,” he spits out and Jisung jumps slightly, going pale under Minho’s wrathful glare.

“Jisung is one of us now,” you say matter-of-factly, and Minho’s gaze snaps back to yours, widening in surprise.

“You just made that decision,” Minho says, as is his habit, sounding out a question like it's a statement.

“He just had a conversation with his captain and said captain made that decision, yes,” you say drily, and Minho swallows before lacing his hands behind his back and straightening his back. He’s no longer looking at you, eyes fixed vaguely on the wall behind you, but you can see his hands shaking. You want to throw up. You chance a brief glance at Jisung and to your relief, he doesn’t seem to be aware of all the implications crackling through the air, the only thing he seems to see is his new captain putting her crew in their place.

“Then the captain has made her decision,” Minho says calmly, and you nod and suffocate the tendril of tenderness and regret in your chest that makes you want to reach out and trace the delicate curve of his clenched jaw until it relaxes under your touch.

You turn back to Jisung, who’s staring up at Minho with something between awe and fear in his eyes. You clear your throat, and he drags his eyes away from Minho back to you.

“I realise I never introduced you. This is Lee Minho, my second-in-command, my right hand,” you say and Minho briefly nods at Jisung, eyes stony.

“Now,” you add and call for Chan, who walks into the room calmly, though he avoids looking at Minho. He must’ve heard. Great. “Chan will take you to the mess, where you can introduce yourself to some of the other boys. And tomorrow we talk about the other thing.”

Jisung nods at you, throws a nervous glance at Minho, before he turns around and gives Chan a tentative smile, one that Chan half reciprocates before he ushers him out the door, closing it behind him softly.

The silence that follows is deafening. Minho doesn’t budge an inch, eyes still glued to the wall opposite him, even when you turn to him and cross your arms over your chest.

“I can’t have you questioning my authority like that, Min,” you say calmly, gently. Minho eyes flutter slightly, but he doesn’t acknowledge you. “Not in front of the crew or Chan, and especially not in front of the new guy. You hear me?”

Minho nods again, his eyes blinking rapidly now.

“Talk to me, please? Is it because I didn’t let you know that I was talking to him? Is it because I made the decision without you?”

It’s like Minho breaks, disbelief swimming in his beautiful eyes when he stares at you.

“That’s what you think this is about?”

No.

“Yes?” you offer, withering under his gaze. But you stay strong, though where you pull the strength from is beyond you.

“You can make any decision you want. You’re the captain. I trust you,” he says, and you can tell he means it, but you can also see much more than you’re able to handle.

“Then what was that?” you ask even though you know the answer.

“Y/N …” Minho breathes out your name like a promise and a sob threatens to scratch itself out of your throat, “I … You … You have to …”

You bitterly realise just how good you’ve become at your poker face when he stops himself, running his hands through his hair with a choked sigh.

“If you don’t know, then …” he starts again before he shakes his head hard and makes for the door. “It was nothing, captain, nothing at all.” He leaves without looking back, letting the door fall shut behind him. When the silence envelops you, you finally allow yourself to crumble.

<;- epigraph - chapter II (coming march 15, 3pm CET) ->

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