Im A Hollow Shell Of Myself - Tumblr Posts

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

pairing: lee know x f!reader x han jisung

summary: when it rains, it pours

word count: 7.2k

warnings: IF YOU WANT/NEED SPOILERS (FOR YOUR OWN PEACE OF MIND OR ANY OTHER REASON) ABOUT MAIN CHARACTER DEATH PLEASE READ THE SERIES WARNINGS! implied main character death; graphic description of a panic attack; violence; blood; knives; mentions of unprotected sex; mxm action

author's note: okay uh so ... this one's gonna hurt. I'm sorry in advance. please read the warnings carefully! everything I write will end with the characters healing, I promise. but if you need a spoiler about MCD please check the series warnings, I put the answer in there for those who need it (I know how it is, I need to know these things in advance, too askjdfh)

this series is 🔞, so minors, please DNI

series masterlist // skzms masterlist

< chapter VIII - interlude (and chapter X coming friday, may 10, 3pm CET) >

Minho has never been addicted to anything.

The first time he witnessed addiction was as a kid, when his mother turned to drinking to numb the pain. Then he saw it in Changbin, a few years ago, when things got rough for him, and it got so bad that he nearly got himself killed, and the crew had to stage an intervention.

His mother hadn’t lived long enough to see the consequences, and Changbin got better. But Minho had never been addicted to anything. He smokes tobacco every now and again, drinks when they go on land, and he can be sure that either Chan or Changbin are staying with the captain to keep her safe. Even when things got bad, right after his mother died, and he drank more than he should’ve, addiction never caught him. He just stopped one day.

But now, Minho thinks he knows what it feels like.

Minho thought sleeping with Jisung would maybe, just maybe, rid him of his stupid, confusing obsession with him. A one and done type deal, fuck him good and hard and mean and then go back to the way things were meant to be.

But then Jisung wandered back into his arms the day after their night together, all bloodshot eyes and shy glances that asked Minho wordlessly if it was all just for that one night and Minho’s arms pulled him closer, slotted his lips against Jisung’s sweetly, soothed his own over Jisung’s pouty bottom lip, across the corner of his mouth until he could kiss the cute little mole right on his cheek. He bit Jisung’s earlobe right after, trying to distract him from just how gentle he just was. Jisung’s startled little gasp went straight to his dick.

He took him to the captain’s quarters, watched as the captain stared from Jisung to him, her eyes lingering on him with a quiet question.

They hadn’t even fucked the night before, after Jisung left. They spent the evening in bed, lazing around, talking, swapping kisses that made Minho’s already bruised lips and his heart ache until night fell, and he watched her doze off into a deeper sleep. The room, completely quiet, only the lapping of the waves against the wood, the sound of the crew far away, a candlewick crackling. He wanted to stay here forever, in this moment, with her.

Then she fluttered her eyes open, looked right back at him and smiled. He smiled back, hoped it wasn’t written all over his face. When her eyebrows furrowed, he panicked for a brief moment that it was.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, softly.

Relief, then nerves. They had avoided talking about Jisung all night, their conversations like everything was normal. Come to think of it, maybe it’s what Minho, what maybe she also needed. Reassurance that nothing changed, even though everything had.

He watched her closely, briefly tried to figure out what she was thinking, but he gave up just as quickly. No matter how well he knew her, her poker face was too good even for him.

So he opted for the truth. He shook his head.

She watched him, her dark eyes boring into his so intensely, before she hummed, let her eyes slip closed again.

“Me neither,” she simply said.

And that had been the end of it. She had stretched out her hand, lazily tugging Minho closer until his head was next to hers on her pillow, his body folded around her, until she could press sweet, sleepy kisses to his shoulder that made Minho smile, kiss her back just as sweetly, even after they blew out the candle, their lips finding each other in the dark again and again and again until they fell asleep.

It’s not like they didn’t do that. She would kiss him sweetly every now and again, let her fingertips skate up his bare arms when he was holding her. Sometimes, a few drops of his devotion would slip past the tight seal he had on his heart and spill into his kisses, make him do stupid things like whisper “I adore you” into her sweaty hair or let his hand linger on her waist while they were on deck.

But they never did this. Spend the night together, in bed, without fucking. They kissed, sure, but they never kissed like that, for hours and hours, giggling in the dark, kissing just for the sake of it, even when their bruised lips ached and their breaths came ragged. But something had changed. Jisung had changed them, and Minho wasn’t even remotely ready to face the extent of what that meant.

He watched senselessly, then, the day after, after he had kissed Jisung in the hallway where anyone could've seen, with an echo of the captain’s kisses from the night before, before he took him to the her quarters. Watched senselessly as Jisung walked up to her, blinking at her with stars in his eyes, mumbling out the question he hadn’t been ready to ask Minho.

“W-would you want me again?”

And Minho got to watch the captain’s face soften, her beautiful eyes widen, her soft, gentle fingers wrapping around Jisung’s wrists, dragging his hands up until Jisung took the hint and cupped her face. Jisung let his forehead tip forward against hers, eyes fluttered shut, his thumbs soothing over her cheek.

“How could I not want you,” he heard the captain whisper, quietly, painfully honestly, before pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was so gentle, yet turned into tremblingly hungry so quickly it made Minho reel.

He thinks that’s the moment he got addicted. Addicted, in a sick sort of way, to the way Han Jisung touched. Because when Han Jisung touched the captain, it was nothing short of reverential.

He kissed her like he couldn’t believe his own luck, smoothed his hands over her body, from her calves up to her face, like he wanted to drag every ounce of pleasure out of her skin, sank his hands into her hair to pull her closer and closer and closer like he wanted her to climb into his skin and make herself a home there forever.

And just when Minho thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jisung would turn, would look up at Minho with an almost dangerous softness in his eyes, and kiss him with the captain’s taste still on his lips, baring himself to him, always ready to take and take and take whatever Minho gave him, the reverential hands he watched on the captain now skating over his chest, down his abs, scratching at his happy trail until Minho had to suppress the tremor that shuddered through his limbs.

Jisung’s hands. Minho found himself slowly but surely haunted by the image of them. Big and strong, nails neatly kept, veiny and knobby in all the right places, usually adorned with a collection of pretty silver rings that made shivers rack down Minho’s spine when they touched his bare skin.

But it wasn’t even just his hands – no, Han Jisung’s whole body seemed to be made by whatever Gods were out there, to be naked, golden, and smoothed against a lover’s. He kissed with his whole body, an ankle hooking over Minho’s as he caressed his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his fingers lacing with whichever one of theirs he could reach whenever he was about to come, a thigh wedged in between the captain’s as he pressed his chest to hers.

God, his thighs. Minho had spent the better part of an hour a few days into their trip to San Salvador between Jisung’s legs, sucking the supple, impossibly soft golden skin between his teeth until they were littered in pretty purple marks. If he dug his fingers into them every time he kissed him just to hear him gasp, that was between him and God.

Minho was addicted to Han Jisung. And he was terrified.

He was terrified because he couldn’t deny it, the way he made his whole body tremble with every touch, his heart beating in his throat whenever he smiled at him. He was terrified because he had never felt like this for anyone. Not even the captain. And that scared him even more, terrified that somehow, something had irrevocably changed.

But then, she walked up to him, smoothed her thumb over the crease in his brow in the way he usually did to her and pressed a sloppy kiss to his jaw, and his whole body sang with his devotion to her. Then he knew again, with unshakeable certainty, that what he felt for her was untouchable – and somehow entirely intertwined, but also entirely separate from what he felt for Jisung.

But he didn’t know what that meant for them. For him. For Jisung. He could accommodate the fact of how he felt for both of them, just barely, the pressure of the crew’s eyes on him and his heart already stretched so thin with so many unspoken words that at times he had to force himself to look away. And he knew that Jisung could, his heart on his sleeve, every single one of his actions evidence of just how much he wanted them both – but he didn’t know if she could. If she was willing to.

What if Jisung’s was the kind of love she truly wanted?

She opened up for Jisung in a way she had never done for him. Something in Jisung’s eyes made her soften, unravel, reciprocate Jisung’s affectionate words, shakily, but with determination. More affection than she had ever shown Minho. She had grown softer with him, too, yes, and Changbin had told him, back then, though indirectly, that everyone thought she loved him, but Minho couldn’t help but see everything he wasn’t to her. And he was scared.

But he couldn’t do anything. The trip from Nassau to San Salvador wasn’t a long one. Even in bad conditions, it was barely more than a few days of slow sailing around the numerous islands and sandbanks of the region that kept mostly Seungmin and whoever was manning the sails busy. And at the end of the trip loomed the first step in their plan to finally end their mission, secure their legacy. To take down Han Yujun.

Minho couldn’t get distracted now. At least not more than he already was by the sheer perfection of the two beings that would find him, between hastily closed doors and around the bend of hallways, soft, slick lips and wandering hands and so greedy for Minho and his pleasure. So he holds on. Lets himself feel it all, the fear, the devotion, the unimaginable pleasure they caress out of his body; buries his worries between his captain’s legs, deep inside of Han Jisung’s soft hot mouth.

He will deal with this when Han Yujun hangs. He can’t wait for Han Yujun to hang.

When you dock in San Salvador, nobody stops you. That should have been your first warning.

There is no local police, no coast guard waiting. They let you dock, even though it’s clear that you’re not a registered ship, but privateers, and when you request for you, Minho, and Jisung to come ashore, they just … agree. That should’ve been your second warning.

But as it is, the three of you step onto land, allow Jisung, now dressed in his green silk jacket, the one he wore when he arrived on the ship, to lead you through the small, sleepy coastal town. Jisung’s hair is slightly longer now, his face a healthier colour. But most notably is how he carries himself – calm, confident, his shoulders squared, eyebrows set in a determined scowl. He’s different from the insecure, scared young man that Chan and Changbin dragged into your cabin a few months ago. This life seems to suit him almost naturally – an odd thought, when the rest of you had been thrown into it by circumstance, by necessity, whether you wanted it or not. But Han Jisung seemed to be born for it.

Jisung leads you through the centre of town, past fancy shops boasting luxurious fabrics that you know Hyunjin would love to have taken a look at, past taverns and butcher’s and cheesemongers and flower shops. Past many elegantly dressed townspeople, men in top hats and women in big, expensive dresses, who stare at you unabashedly, a hint of distaste and fear in their powdered faces. But you don’t mind them.

Jisung stops in front of a big, metal-wrought gate, leading into a lushly planted but meticulously landscaped garden. There are palm trees and succulents, but also all shades of expensive English roses, meticulously cut into abundant bushes. A perfectly raked path of pebbles leads up to what you can only describe as a mansion. It’s painted a pale yellow, dark green shutters framing the many, big windows. All around the house, there are tall, white pillars with ornate designs carved into the top and the bottom of them. Two of them hold up the portico that hovers majestically over the gigantic front door, making it look like the entrance to a castle.

The well-oiled gate opens with only the barest hint of a creak when Jisung pushes it open and motions for you to follow him. You can see the uneasiness in Minho’s set jaw, the hesitation in his steps when he follows Jisung in. You trail after them, taking in the garden, still. The feeling that something is off comes back with full force, and you stare at the roses as if they have the answer that eludes you. They only sway in the breeze, wordlessly.

When you reach the door, Jisung doesn’t hesitate. He lifts the heavy brass knocker and drops it against the wood once, twice, three times.

The sound echoes through the house, then it’s quiet. Not even footsteps. Then, there’s a lock being turned, and a surly older British man stares back at them.

“Oh,” he breathes, momentarily forgetting his training, evidence of his surprise written all over his wrinkled, English face, before he catches himself, schools it into a snobbish, condescending half-smile.

“Mr Han! What a surprise to see you here. Do come in.”

He takes a step back and holds the doors open for you, allowing you to enter into a high entryway tiled in light stone, before carefully shutting the door, and asking you to follow him.

The room he leads you to is on the other side of the house, through two stately, Victorian sitting rooms with fake stucco and dark wood and fireplaces that you doubt would have much use in the humid island weather. It’s a smaller room, with only four chairs and two tall windows looking out towards the ocean on one side, a set of heavy oak doors on the other.

“I will let Mr Trott know that you’re here. Please be so kind as to wait here for a moment.”

With that, he disappears through the two wooden doors.

You look at Minho and Minho looks at you.

“I don’t like this,” you say, and Minho shakes his head. The apprehension in his eyes mirrors yours. Something feels off.

Jisung fidgets, visibly nervous where he’s perched on the arm of one of the armchairs.

“I’m sure it’s fine, these places are always uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that it’s …”

You’re interrupted by something light blue fluttering in the corner of your vision. When you whirl around, you’re faced with a pretty, petite doll of a girl. She can’t be much older than 20, you think, her cheeks rosy and her eyes big and wide and glassy. She’s wearing a fluttery baby blue dress, her brown hair falling over her bare shoulders in perfect dark brown curls.

Jisung shoots to his feet, nearly topples over with the speed of it. Something ugly buzzes in your fingertips.

“Miss Trott,” Jisung mumbles and bows absentmindedly, seemingly automatically, before he catches himself. He throws you and Minho an embarrassed look. You don’t let your face give anything away.

“Jisung …” she returns, deliberately forgoing his attempt at politeness, “what are you doing here?”

Jisung’s eyes widen, and he chuckles nervously, his gaze ping ponging around the room restlessly.

“I came to talk to your father,” he says, before belatedly adding, “… about business.”

The girl nods, her eyes leisurely sweeping first over Minho, then you, giving you a cold once over, before looking back at Jisung. She tosses her head, the delicate gold necklace on her perfectly smooth, white neck glimmering in the sun, and gives him a honeyed smile. You suddenly feel violently out of place in this room, this house. Big and clumsy and dirty in a world where girls are sweet and petite and pale like fairies. The insecurity makes you reel for a moment.

“Will you be coming more often again? Like the old times?” the girl asks Jisung, coquettishly, blinking her big, pretty eyes at him. Her voice drops a register. “We had so much fun, didn’t we?”

Oh. You understand now. Was he meant to marry her? Did they … sleep with each other? The thought of his lips on her neck, his golden skin in contrast with her untouched ivory, sends a violent wave of ugly, petty jealousy through your veins. Your eyes turn venomous, but the girl doesn’t condescend to spare you another glance. Your fist balls where it’s hanging next to you.

Jisung laughs nervously again, ducks his head. The discomfort is radiating off him in waves.

“Hah, no, I will not be coming more often,” he tells her, the polite grimace on his face slipping slowly, like it’s getting too hard to uphold. His eyes dart to you, and you tear your eyes away from hers. Jisung’s eyes linger on you, searching, puzzled. Minho, behind you, steps closer to him, crosses his arms over his chest as he looks down at Jisung.

Suddenly, Jisung laughs, a real laugh this time. His cheeks flush, his shoulders relax slowly.

“As a matter of fact, I hope this will be the last time I ever have to come to this godawful place.”

The girl’s mask slips and there’s shock, then anger, pulling her angelic features into an ugly scowl. She opens her mouth, but turns and disappears without another word when the heavy wood doors open and the servant appears again.

“Mr Trott will see you now,” he mumbles, haughtily, and gestures for them to come in.

Minho’s hand smoothes over Jisung’s lower back as he guides him inside.

Nicholas Trott’s office is darker than the rest of the house. Almost entirely panelled in dark oak, you think this is what an English study would look like. There’s another fireplace, crowded bookcases lining the walls, in front of one of which sits a big heavy desk. Behind it, is a tall, skinny man of around 50. His hair is unfashionably long, and he doesn’t wear a moustache, like so many others. His eyes have a dangerous glint to them that you immediately distrust.

Trott doesn’t spare you and Minho more than a glance, allowing you to look around the room. One window, but it’s latched tightly shut. Behind Trott at his desk stands an armed guard, pistol and a glimmering cutlass sheathed at his belt. When you turn, you realise the door is shut and there are two more guards behind you, flanking you and Minho perfectly. You’re outnumbered. Alarm shivers through you, but you calm it. You need to keep a clear head. All of your lives depend on it. Han Yujun’s demise depends on it.

Trott gives Jisung a fake smile that doesn’t even pretend to be real. His teeth are bad.

“Han Jisung,” he drawls, “what a surprise to see you here … and alive. Your uncle told us your ship went missing. You were presumed dead.”

Jisung smiles coldly, the muscles in his shoulders jump when he crosses his arms over his chest. Minho next to you shifts his weight from one foot to the other. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Well, I’m not,” Jisung quips, juts out his chin. There’s the defensive arrogance again. But Trott’s smile doesn’t waver.

“I’m sure your uncle will be overjoyed to hear it.”

Something cold shivers down your spine at his tone, alarm bells going off in your head.

Trott’s eyes catch on yours. His eyebrows fly up, and an ugly little grin spreads over his face.

“And you’ve brought the famous captain Y/N,” he snarls. Minho takes a step closer to you on instinct. Trott notes it with a little chuckle. “What an honor to have you in my house.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction, just return his gaze steadily.

Jisung breaks the silence. His voice is cold and hard.

“Enough with the chitchat,” he says, and the man visibly bristles at his tone. “We have something to speak to you about.”

You take this as your cue. You step forward, fix Trott with the most neutral gaze you can muster, with the unexplained dread still prickling on your neck.

“Mr Trott,” you pronounce slowly. Your voice doesn’t conceal what you think of the title, “you may not think this now, but I think we have a common enemy. Maybe we can be of use to one another.”

Trott motions for you to go on. He looks slightly on edge, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Good.

“But first, to sweeten the deal, so to speak,” you say sweetly, a dangerous smile on your lips, “I think it’s important that you know that we have proof of your and Han Yujun’s plans to sell your territories to the Spanish for a premium, before staging a coup and claiming independence. And we both know, that should this evidence reach the crown …”

You watch closely and see Trott’s pupils shake. You got the jump on him. It improves your odds. Before he can ask a question, you continue. You need to get out of here.

“But we also intercepted another message. This one was for Lord Dunmore. Han Yujun is playing with you, Mr Trott, promising Lord Dunmore a lot of money and his protection – for your head.”

Trott’s face shutters, his eyes boring into yours.

“So, you see how we might come to an agreement here,” you finish, a lazy smile on your lips. You tap the tip of your boot against the floor. Suddenly, Trott laughs. It takes you by surprise.

“What kind of proof could you possibly have?” he scoffs, leans back in his chair nonchalantly. “How would you have come across it.”

Jisung speaks before you can stop him.

“We found them on two of my uncle’s ships we intercepted. The coded maps, one for you, one for Lord Dunmore.”

Trott laughs again.

A nameless panic drips down your spine. This is wrong. All wrong.

“Mr Han, I get told many crazy stories every day, this one really takes it. Coded maps, you say?”

You notice what he’s doing just a beat too late to stop Jisung, who is already in motion. Jisung’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth and blurts it right out.

“We can show them to you, we have them right here.”

Nicholas Trott looks at him then, his smile no longer playful, but almost eery.

He raises a singular hand, and before you can react, a blade is pressed to your neck. You suck in a breath, your eyes twitching to Minho, but he’s in the same position, the guard on his side holding him in an iron grasp, his cutlass pressed against Minho’s Adam’s apple.

The man behind Trott’s desk has managed to capture Jisung in the same type of hold, guiding him slowly but surely until he’s standing behind Trott’s desk, facing you and Minho. He looks petrified, his eyes huge and panicked as he looks from you to Minho. He starts squirming so violently you’re scared he will hurt himself, so you lift a hand, motioning for him to calm down. He does, instantly.

Trott fixes you with his horribly triumphant smile before he gets up, slowly rounds the table. He saunters over, comes to stand so close to you that you can smell the stale cigar on his breath. He smiles down at you, lets his filthy gaze drag shamelessly over your face, down your body. Minho next to you, trashes in the guard’s hold and lets out something akin to a growl.

“I assume they’re in here?” he asks, playfully nonchalantly, as he pops open the button of your satchel without giving you the reprieve of moving away. If your odds weren’t so bad, you would’ve tried, and probably managed to, get out of the grasp of the man behind you already. But with Minho and Jisung with blades to their throat? You can’t risk it.

You watch helplessly as he pulls the two maps and Yeji’s note, your final, big chance to finally take down Han Yujun, out of your satchel like it’s nothing. The satisfaction on his face is sickening. He pats your cheek patronisingly, and you bite down the urge to spit in his face.

“Such a pretty face, such a shame that you’re such a dirty little pirate whore,” he hums, lets his fingers drag down your face. They feel like they’re leaving dirty streaks in their wake.

Minho next to you jerks violently in his captor’s hands.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growls, and Trott looks over at him with wide eyes – and laughs. You hear Minho curse, and struggle more.

Your hand shoots out in his direction, a gesture of calm, of ‘I’m okay’.

“Ah, she knows what’s good for her, too,” Trott coos, and this time you don’t hold back. You stare right at Trott, collect a big glob of spit in your mouth, and launch it onto the floor somewhere to your left.

The guard’s grip on you tightens, and you can feel a stinging pain on your neck, before warmth trickles down your skin. The blade nicked your skin. Jisung makes a strangled noise from where he’s watching you.

Trott just shakes his head, almost pityingly, and smiles again, before he turns around and places his newfound evidence on his desk.

“Now, …” he muses, letting his gaze wander over the three of you, “I could let you all go, but that would be stupid. But it would be really convenient if your dirty little gang of misfits could get to Han Yujun first. Soften him up a bit, maybe even do the dirty work for me.”

Then he turns to Jisung.

“But I’m going to keep this one. Who knows, maybe you’ll buy me something yet. And I think your uncle would be very upset with me if I let his supposedly dead nephew get away from me … alive.”

Your stomach drops. Jisung stares at Trott, his eyebrows furrowed. He looks angry, petulant, determined, but somewhere beneath it all you can see his fear, the one he tries so hard to hide. The need to protect him flares in your gut, makes you strain against the knife until more blood trickles down your neck. Minho next to you hisses out your name in warning.

“We’re not leaving without him,” you snarl.

Jisung’s head whips over to you. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes.

But Trott laughs.

“How sweet. But you are, actually. I’ll make sure of that,” he purrs, and turns to his guards, “escort them back onto their ship, make sure they get on it and sail away before you come back.”

No, no, no, no, no. This is all wrong. The man jostles you, and you try to resist, desperately fighting against the way the blade digs into your skin.

“Jisung …” you breathe out, and God, Jisung looks so sad. You can’t bear it. And yet, he forces a brave smile. It’s almost worse.

“Go,” he tells you, “I’ll find you again.”

The man pulls at you, and you huff in despair.

“Jisung,” you say again, but he just keeps looking at you. “Be careful, okay? Don’t be stupid.”

He tries to nod, but that’s all you see before you’re harshly tugged backwards and out of the room. You feel like a part of you is left behind.

Minho doesn’t speak until you’re being shoved down the garden path, now with the barrel of a gun digging into your back instead of knives against your throat.

“He’ll be alright,” Minho says, quietly.

You look over at him, your brows furrowing in irritation.

“What do you mean ‘he’ll be alright’?”

Minho grimaces, avoids your eyes.

“He can defend himself. We’ll find him again. What’s important is that we get you and the crew out of here alive.”

You blink at him, almost stop dead in the middle of the English roses, but the barrel pressed to your back keeps you moving.

“We don’t trade lives like that, Minho,” you hiss, “I’ve never left anyone behind. Ever. And now … him …”

You don’t know what else to say, not within earshot of the guards.

“He’ll be alright,” Minho just says again, and it makes anger bubble in your gut. But you swallow it down, ignore the loaded silence between you until you hit the quays, half your crew watching from the ship as you and Minho are shoved in front of the two guards, the cold metal still pressing into your back bruisingly.

They’re true to their master’s word. They stay, watch grimly as you board your ship and still make no move to leave.

Hyunjin is the first to help you over the railing, and he stares at you, his eyes pleading.

“Captain, where’s Jisung?”

Your heart threatens to break.

“They took him,” is the only thing you can manage to say before you have to shove past him.

“Seungmin,” you order, “get us out of here. Straight to Andros Island.”

“But Jisung …” Hyunjin says, but Minho interrupts him.

“He’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘he’ll be fine’?” Felix pipes up, “what are they going to do with him?”

“Ship him back to his uncle, probably,” Minho mumbles. The knowledge that you have no idea what they’ll do to him makes the kraken wake up. It roils and undulates and reaches into every crevice of your ribcage it can reach.

“That is not fine!” Felix yells. He's panicking. You can hear it in his voice. You flinch, your throat threatening to close up.

“He can defend himself! He will have to,” Minho barks back. You see red, whirl around.

“Shut the fuck up,” you scream at him, and the blank violence of it makes Minho recoil. “You don’t get to talk like that. Not when I’ve never … we’ve never left anyone … when … Jisung …”

The kraken roars, winds its tentacles around your ribs, crushes bone, tissue, grips your lungs and squeezes and pulls like it’s trying to tear you apart from the inside.

“Seungmin, away from here. Andros Island,” you order, before you turn to Felix. Your throat is closing in around itself. You have to force your next words out through shaky gasps. “Felix? I promise, we’ll find him again. We will not abandon … him. I swear, I’ll make … this right.”

You push past them, and into the hallway, manage to make it into your quarters and lock the door behind you before you fall to your knees. Your vision dots with black as the kraken roars and screams and wreaks havoc inside of you. Aborted breaths and sobs tear their thorny way out of your throat, your whole body shaking, the thought of Jisung, back with his tormentors, not safe and here and wrapped around you, unbearable. You failed, you failed, you failed …

Distantly you hear pounding on your door, Minho’s panicked yells of your name, the rattle of the doorknob.

But you ignore him as your body starts shaking more and more.

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself across the floor, your knees scraping across the wood, and you barely make it onto your bed, drag a pillow close enough so you can stifle your gasps and sobs, before your vision blacks out.

You can still smell Jisung on the sheets

They come later that night, sometime just before the sky starts brightening with the coming sunrise, when even Jeongin has fallen asleep in his lookout. Perfectly planned. Perfectly executed. 

You’re jostled awake by the sound of wood splintering when the first cannonball hits the side of your ship.

But despite, that reality only comes into focus sluggishly. You’re still fully clothed, collapsed at the foot of the bed, clutching your pillow so hard your fingers ache.

Then there’s another hit, this one even louder. Cold, unadulterated panic zips through your body.

You stumble to your feet, have to catch yourself on the bedpost when the world around you spins. Your head hurts, and you’re shaking; not trembling but shaking, fully body tremors wracking through you and your stomach aches with hunger, your throat raw and painful from the sobs, and you’re so unbelievably cold.

You stand there only for a few seconds, but it feels like a millennium, trying to catch your breath, trying to will your body back under your control so you can go and do what needs to be done.

It’s the thought of your crew that gets you there. It centres you, clears the haze, makes you take the first step, then the second. By the time you reach the door to your cabin, your legs no longer wobble.

It’s only a few minutes after that first hit when you stumble onto the deck, but the fastest of your men are already loading the cannons, and getting themselves armed.

Minho’s there, catching your eye across the ship, softness, regret, then a deep worry in his eyes when his eyes take you in. You can only imagine the state you’re in. He doesn’t even hesitate, waves whoever is talking to him off and approaches you. You want to tear your eyes away from him, but you can’t. But the closer he gets, the clearer the concern swimming in his eyes becomes. You feel bile rise to your throat. He looks tired, too. Unfocused, upset. You want to cry. Scream. Something. But there are more important things to deal with. You swallow it all, ignore the pain and the anger, as he debriefs you.

“It’s an ambush. Han Yujun’s men. They shot straight through our storage area. Not low enough for water to get in, thank God. San and Hwa are already patching it. It seems like it was a warning because they’ve stopped now. But they’re close already, they’ll be ready to board in a few minutes, and we’re barely armed.”

You look at the ship approaching in the dusk, an ominous feeling in your gut that makes dread creep up your spine. You’re not in any condition for this fight.

“How could this happen …” you whisper.

Minho looks at you. He reaches out, but his fingertips only graze the back of your hand before he pulls it back. Like he just remembered you’re mad at him. Your head swims and you have to blink the haze from your eyes again.“They probably were in San Salvador while we

were, we just didn’t see them. And then they followed us. Trott must have been another step ahead of us.”

You curse, try to control the senseless panic in your guts. You’re so fucking angry. At everyone, at no one. At Jisung for falling for Trott’s trap and getting taken from you, at Minho for just letting it happen and treating it so casually, but mostly, and this you know, at yourself for failing to protect them and to win this goddamn fight that should’ve been, was supposed to be easy. You had it all right in front you!

“Get everyone ready as fast as possible,” you order, “and be careful, I have a bad feeling about this.”

And with that, you turn around, try to quell the nausea of dread in your stomach by helping your men lug up weapons, before you come to stand on the bow of the ship, facing Han Yujun’s ship as it inevitably comes closer.

“Captain Y/N,” someone, undoubtedly their captain, yells once the ships are only about 20 yards away from each other. “I’m giving you a chance to give up now. You’re not winning this one.”

You scoff. Their captain sends you an ugly grin that makes shivers run down your spine. You don’t let it show. Your body settles. The pain fades. You know how to do this part.

“We already have one of yours, one that Mr Han will be more than happy to be able to dispose of himself. Do you really want to lose more?”

You raise an eyebrow, and raise your middle finger into their direction, the man cackles out a cocky “suit yourself.”

And then they’re close enough to throw their gang plank, and they’re coming.

It’s chaos, your men as good at fighting as always, but still rumpled from sleep, destabilised by the loss of Jisung, by your almost public breakdown. You watch Minho sink his knife into a pirate’s neck, and you realise you haven’t slept alone in a week. Since Nassau.

Two, big, burly cronies approach you at once. A dirty move. You spring into action. But they put up too much of a fight. You manage to disarm one of them, dodge the other’s knife and then another fist, but it’s taking too long. Your muscles already start to ache, your lungs burn, your eyes have trouble focusing. You land a well-placed punch in the face of the one you managed to disarm, but it takes you just a second too long to turn around, and all of a sudden, you feel the searing pain of a knife slicing the skin of your leg. You yelp before you can stop yourself. Minho’s head shoots up towards you, and the man he’s fighting with takes the opportunity to sink his fist into Minho’s face, hitting him straight in the eye. It makes a sickening sound and there’s so much blood that your mind blanks in panic.

And then the whole scene freezes – because the ugly, smug captain of their ship stands in the middle of yours, in the middle of your men, holding a bomb in one hand and a torch in the other.

You’re frozen, your mind going a million miles a minute, running through one scenario after another, trying to figure out what to do, how to save this, to save your men, to save Minho, who’s bleeding so much, so so much, oh God. But there’s nothing you can do except … watch.

“Anybody moves, and I’m lighting this thing,” the man with the bomb yells, and your breath hitches.

You know your men won’t move if you don’t. They’re your men. But you hold up a calming hand anyway, without taking your eyes off the stranger. He looks so smug when he realises he has the upper hand. You want his head.

“Men, fall back,” he orders before he motions towards Minho and grins at you again. “But we’re taking this one with us. He has killed a few too many of our men over the years.”

You step forward before you can even think.

“Why not take me, then?” you ask, your voice shaky. “I think I’ve killed more. And loved every second of it.”

The man laughs. It’s raspy and wet and disgusting.

“Boss’ orders,” he snarls, and you nearly growl.

“Bullshit,” you hiss, “come on, coward, take me. Fucking try me.”

“Y/N."

Your name. Not your title. Minho’s voice is calm, insistent, and when you meet his eyes you know why. He’s made up his mind. “Let me go, they need you.”

You shake your head at him, the dread filling your body with a dull pain. The kraken seems to grow and grow and grow.

Their captain laughs, motions for his men to go, and they do. File over the plank one by one, laughing and cheering and making obscene gestures at your men. Chan looks like he is one second away from shooting one of them right between the eyes. When you catch his eyes and shake your head, he takes a deep breath. You catch Hyunjin’s eyes next to him, see the question in his eyes as his hand hovers over his revolver. But there’s no guarantee, even if he shoots at their captain and doesn’t miss, that the bomb and the torch falling won’t light the fuse. Or that your ship won’t catch fire. Or that one of their men will not pick them up and do it themselves. They’re too many.

So you shake your head at him, too. His eyebrows furrow, his lips curl into a scowl. It’s desperate, pleading, grows increasingly more so when two of their men drag Minho towards and over the plank. You just shake your head again, screw your lips shut. You can’t. There are too many of their lives at stake. And you know Minho knows that, too.

He goes without resistance, his head held high, still bleeding from his eye, and you hope to God they will at least patch him up.

Minho turns, resists, looks at you before he’s pushed below deck, and it’s like time slows down for a second. He stares, blinks, something in his eyes like he’s trying to tell you something, or like he’s trying to commit your face to memory. The light of the rising sun shimmers over his skin, he blinks, and then he’s out of your sight. Your whole body is trembling. You can’t even hide it. You know your whole crew can see it. So can their captain.

He grins at you. As soon as the last of his crew is off the ship, their navigator at the helm, their sails unfurling and gathering wind, he bows without breaking eye contact. Then he grins.

“Boss is waiting for you,” he says and touches the torch to the bomb.

The fuse sizzles, he drops it, makes a run for a rope his crew have thrown him and leaps onto his own ship.

On your ship, several people leap for the bomb, but Chan gets to it first, picks it up without a second’s hesitation, though the fuse is shortening alarmingly fast.

He throws his arm back and hurls it, as hard as he possibly can, at the enemy ship. But their ship is smaller, just a Brigantine, so much faster than yours could ever be, even faster than Chan could be. It has already turned, managed to manoeuvre their exposed side away from you.

The bomb flies, but it falls short. It plops into the ocean. The fuse fizzles out, and the bomb sinks out of sight within mere seconds, as if it had never been there in the first place. As if it didn’t just threaten everything you had. As if it didn’t just make you lose Minho.

There’s a dead silence as you all watch them sail away. Nobody moves. There is no hope that you could catch them. Your whole body is shivering, and you feel someone’s hand on your shoulder.

Then it echoes across the water.

A single gunshot.

Your world goes up in flames.

You manage to stumble towards the edge of the ship before your stomach turns.

Someone screams, high and loud and mad. You realise after a second that it’s you.

Then everything goes dark.

< chapter VIII - interlude (and chapter X coming friday, may 10, 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

@gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @staysinbloom @f1wh0r3

@mnwrld @linocz @linosssss

---