Chapter Text
Ever since Shanks was nothing but a tiny, wide-eyed baby, his life had been etched with the rules of the high seas. The vast ocean had become his cradle, rocking him gently amidst the ebb and flow of the waves; the creaking of the wood beneath his feet, the salty tang of the sea air on his lips, and the symphony of seagulls above forming the soundtrack of his early existence. They weren't any strict rules by any means, but it was a paradox, for piracy and rules were, at their essence, diametrically opposed concepts. But he had to follow said rules, for they were always being ingrained into him from the moment he learnt how to walk.
1. Never venture out alone on an island.
2. Never try and fight a Sea King unsupervised.
3. Never miss a training session.
4. Always wear scent blockers and patches when in the presence of others that aren't your crew mates.
And 5. Never, ever, engage into a conflict with another crew when he was by himself.
The rules were etched into the fabric of Shanks' life like grooves on the surface of an ancient poneglyph. And rules were fairly simple to follow, even if Rayleigh has made it nearly impossible for him and Buggy to walk the next day after a particular gruelling session of sword and hand-to-hand combat practice. And although they were rules he would not need to follow after growing up and proving to his Captain that, yes, he can fend for himself without causing trouble thank you very much, there were was still a part of him that irked at doing so.
Maybe it was in his nature from the moment he was born, wanting to be free and to do as he liked. It was as if the sea itself flowed through his veins, urging him to explore the uncharted territories of the world. He longed to venture beyond the ship's confines, to feel the wind caress his face as he stood on the prow, untethered and alive without Rogue reprimanding him that he was being careless. Yearned to dive headfirst into battles with pirates and sea monsters, to taste the thrill of victory and the bitter tang of defeat on his lips without Roger constantly watching his back for even the tiniest mistake.
Or maybe it was simply in his biology as an Alpha to defy. It was a deep part of him, an instinct that clashed with the notion of waiting patiently until he was deemed old enough to face the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of the ship's hull. A primal growl echoing within the walls of his throat, urging him to break free from the shackles. The inch under his skin when the things he wanted were taking away from him because they were too dangerous.
Shanks, by nature or instincts, was someone who did not like following rules.
He tried — and great seas did he try — with hands clenched and teeth gritted, but there were days where the urge to fight off the restrains that were put on him were far too strong. Where the urge to rebel coursed through his veins like a wild current. He should be patient, he told himself every night, to wait until he was eighteen so the rules don't apply anymore, but ultimately he found himself grounded most days because the itch under his skin could not be quelled until he explored an abounded cave when ever he landed on an island.
And in the darkness of his quarters, Shanks would clench jaw, swallowing down a growl when his Captain would scold him, feeling the raw power coursing through his fingers like the currents of the ocean. His teeth gritted in frustration as he battled the restlessness that threatened to consume him. He longed to sail freely, to roam the seas, leaving no harbour unexplored and no horizon untouched.
He understood the rationale behind their actions, knowing that they sought to shield him from the treacherous path of power-hungry Alphas who had left devastation in their wake. Yet, with each passing year, the weight of unnecessary rules pressed down, wanting to sink him into the furthest deepest of the ocean.
Shanks was confident and self-assured, qualities that some might describe as cocky and arrogant, but for Shanks, they were the virtues that had been raised under the tutelage of the Pirate King and his Second in Command. Their influence had shaped him, melded him into a young man who knew the true meaning of strength, honour, and respect.
Shanks stood tall and unyielding, undeterred even in the face of Admirals who came to challenge his Captain's reign. His strength pulsating through his veins, an onslaught of power that set him apart from most kids his age.
Under the Captain's piercing and knowing eyes, Shanks had learned to harness his Alpha instincts, to tame the primal urges that threatened to engulf him like a bad storm.
And then there was Rogue. The Captain's fated mate and wife, a force to be reckoned with, her strength matched only by her compassion.With the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder and the softness in her eyes, she taught him kindness and politeness, shaping him to be a man who would be worthy of his future mate, should he ever find one.
And in Rayleigh's teachings Shanks improved his skills with the blade until he moved with the grace and struck with the precision.
Yet, for all the knowledge they bestowed and the love they showered upon him, it all seemed to pale in comparison when chained down by these stupid rules. The shackles that bound him were not made of iron, but they were no less restrictive, binding him to the deck of the ship even as he yearned to soar with the freedom of the sea birds above.
"You're being dramatic," Buggy scoffed one night when Shanks confessed the inner turmoil he'd been grappling with over the years, "there's only two years left until we're eighteen. We're free to do as we please from then on."
And maybe Shanks was being dramatic. Maybe he was blowing this whole thing out proportion. But Buggy would never understand the feelings that crawled up the redhead's vines — for Buggy didn't understand the primal urge to order, dominate and destroy what came between him and freedom. Couldn't understand the ugly feeling that muddied Shanks' entire being when his heart ached for adventures on the seas, not under his Captain.
It felt wrong. It felt like betrayal. It felt like munity. He shouldn't feel these things because the Roger Pirates were meant to be a crew until the day his Captain breathed his last breathe.
Yet, as he stood upon the deck of the ship, his gaze fixated on the glistening waters stretching endlessly before him, the whispers of temptation grew stronger. What if destiny had different plans for him? What if the vast expanse of the sea, with all its hidden treasures and uncharted territories, was meant for him to claim as his own? What if—
Shanks stopped himself every time, biting down on his tongue before his thoughts ran further into the abyss, anchoring himself in the present. The thoughts would always dance upon the periphery of his consciousness, like an alluring temptation.
It wasn't that he wanted to be Pirate King — no, not by a long shot — that title never appeased him in the slightest even though Roger gave him his beloved straw hat, but there was something. In the confines of his heart, there was this urge — this need — just an arms length away, but never within his grasp. It was like chasing the stars in the night sky, their light beguiling and distant, forever out of reach. And no matter how many times he tried to reach for it, they remained elusive, leaving him with an ache of unfulfilled longing.
And so he would smile instead, biting down the inky darkness that tried to consume his entire being, laughing brightly and agreeing with what Buggy had said.
Nevertheless, there were some unwritten rules amongst the crew that Shanks would gladly comply did. They were, by no means, official rules, but more so common sense. Like how one should never use their pheromones to try and make an Omega submit. (That rule had been instilled into him from the moment Shanks presented. It was a disgusting notion that never even crossed his mind.) And while Shanks may have been impulsive and reckless, he was by no means stupid.
Shanks knew better than to approach Rayleigh when the man was having his afternoon snack, for that quiet semblance of peace was what the swordsman looked forward in the midst of their rumbunctious crew mates. The crew learned early on that interrupting the man during those peaceful moments could result in an impromptu sparring session — one that would leave them half dead by the morning.
He knew to not mess with Rogue's precious hibiscus flowers. She held some weird fondness to the plant that Shanks couldn't quite explain, a bond so deep that she would wear a single flower behind her ear every day without mistake. It was a lesson learnt quickly, for even Roger was terrified of his mate's wrath when even a single petal was plucked by mistake.
And lasty, he knew to never get in Crocus' way when the man was busy making medicine. Shanks could never help himself when he sees the wide vary of chemicals the doctor had within his expense, but he had learned through trial and error that interfering with the man's work was an endeavour that would lead to great consequences.
He'd been at the end off those rule breaks more times than he'd care to admit — whether it was a prank gone awry or a moment of curiosity overpowering his sense of caution — and each time his ass would be swimming with the fish or grounded into next month depending on how severe it was.
It was all accidental at best, but sometimes it was just too difficult to not mess with Rayleigh's favourite almond cookies or to see what kind of reaction Crocus' chemicals would have when mixed with sodium instead of calcium. (He had no idea what those were, but Shanks was absolutely amazed by the colour changes.)
But there was this one rule that was etched into the fabric of the Roger Pirates' existence. One that Shanks would not dare question in fear of his Captain's reaction.
Never interact with the Whitebeard Pirates. Nor should you speak about them.
It was a history plagued in mystery, one that Shanks dared not tread upon. Though he had caught glimpses of the Whitebeard Pirates from afar, their imposing presence left an indelible mark on his memory. He knew Edward Newgate was not a man to be messed with — the strongest man in the seas, they call him, a man whose strength matched the very mountains that stood resolute against the crashing waves. His very existence seemed to defy the laws of nature, standing on par with the illustrious Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, himself. It was a rivalry as timeless as the tides, and one that had shaped the course of history, leaving a wake of awe and fear in its path.
Shanks had seen the transformation in his Captain's demeanour whenever the topic of the Whitebeard Pirates arose. Roger's laughter, once bright and exuberant, would morph into a low growl of disdain.
Shanks didn't know of their past, but the way his Captain's voice would shift from the laughing bright tone to the one that managed to send chills down Shanks' spine was enough to tell him it was not a nice one.
The stories of their clashes had passed into the realm of legends, whispered among pirates with hushed tones and awestruck eyes. The two Captains would cross swords, leaving the echoes of their battles to resonate throughout the annals of history.
And each time they would accidently meet, the air would ignite with tension, a volatile energy that crackled like lightning before a storm, clashing of swords reverberated through the atmosphere. Before a single word could be uttered, the primal instincts of their Alpha natures would flare, growls rumbling from deep within their throats like thunder, and their pheromones would blanket the vicinity, leaving all in its wake entranced and on edge.
Even Buggy, despite being a Beta and particularly being unaffected by pheromones, found himself overwhelmed by the sheer force of their presence. The pungent scent of two Alpha Captains locked in battle was enough to send him retching, his stomach heaving as he struggled to maintain his composure.
Not even Rogue, who was a ferocious Alpha herself, was immune to the effects either. But Shanks was sure it was more due the anger and disgust her mate felt then the situation itself.
The redhead, on the other hand, could not look away. His wide, mesmerized eyes were fixed upon the scene unfolding before him, a mixture of awe and horror in his gaze. To witness the clash of two Alpha Captains was an experience that both terrified and fascinated him.
He watched in amazement as his Captain easily matched up to the monster that was Whitebeard, marvelled at the ease with which Whitebeard countered his Captain's attacks, and gazed in amusement as the Whitebeard pirates would cheer for their Pops from their own ship.
The battle would last for hours, until Rayleigh finally intervened and pried Roger away from the fight. They would set sail without a word, backing away from the furious Alpha that would stomp through the deck and into his quarters. There would be an air of awkwardness, a heavy gust of wind that could heard in the intense silence, before Rogue would sigh in defeat and made her way into their room.
In those moments Shanks would have to hold his tongue once more, trying to keep himself in place as the excitement prickled at his skin. He wanted to bombard Rayleigh with an onslaught of questions, from how Whitebeard managed to evade the Captain's final attack to why the latter attacked head on from the get-go instead of deflecting attacks.
He had so many questions, none of which could have answers.
And once again, like a torrent of sea water during a blizzard, he was drowned in his reality. He was not allowed to speak about the Whitebeard Pirates. An irrevocable fact that he was not allowed to go against.
So many of these rules he was allowed to break upon hitting the age of eighteen, but this one he could never.
He could never ask why Whitebeard's crew consisted mostly of children and young adults. Couldn't questions why, despite their Captain facing off against such a formidable opponent, they looked so happy and rumbled with laugher. Couldn't question who the First Mate of such a powerful pirate was. Couldn't question why they called him Pops instead of Captain.
And most of all, he couldn't question if he was allowed to go up against Whitebeard in the near future.
He would grow older, along side his crew, watch his Captain fight his enemy and wishing that he could too one day. Wishing that sometimes it was him sailing the seas and choosing their next destination. Wishing that it was him people followed instead of him doing the following.
But in the end, that wasn't allowed.
Shanks knew what he had was freedom, yet he felt caged within its confines. He was trapped between the expectations of his crew and the solemn wish in his heart.
So once more he would chock down thorns in his throat, making them jab themselves in his own darkening heart. Only the stars knew his secret, often winking down at him at night like they were mocking him. Not once did he voice his longing out loud, for he knew that it could shatter the balance of the crew. He had witnessed first-hand the consequences of such revelations, and he was not willing to bear the guilt of tearing apart the bonds that held the Roger Pirates together.
Which was why, during a particularly hot summer's day, when Rogue was busy helping out Buggy with his chores, he snuck off the ship to watch his Captain fight Whitebeard from a closer distance.
Him and Buggy were always ordered to stay in the ship during these moments, but there was something in his chest — a gut feeling that compelled him to disobey orders and remain on the island instead of confined to the ship with Buggy. He didn't quiet understand, like it was some unseen force beckoning him to witness the clash of legends from a closer distance.
He snuck away, steps light and cautious, heart pounding along with the vibrations on the ground in his chest. The cool shade of the trees offered some respite from the heat, but his anticipation only intensified with each passing moment. The scent of salt and sea mingled with the tang of tropical foliage, creating a heady aroma that filled the air.
Finally, as he approached a vantage point overlooking the epic confrontation between his Captain and Whitebeard, feeling a mix of trepidation and awe enveloping him like a cloak. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he stood frozen, a witness to the meeting of two people that defied the very boundaries of the world.
The ground beneath him seemed to tremble with the force of their clashing wills, the waves echoing the rhythm of their battle. The world held its breath as if anticipating the outcome.
As Shanks crouched behind the boulder, his heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins, heightening his senses and honing his focus.
He peaked over at Rayleigh, the First Mate's focus unwavering as he observed every move of his opponent. The Alpha could have used observation haki to instantly detect that Shanks was mere meters away from the conflict, but the fervour of the fight seemed to have drawn his attention away from his immediate surroundings. Shanks let go off the breath he was holding, grateful for the moment.
The Alpha Captains exchanged heated words that were lost on Shanks' ears, an incoherent mumble of growls and grumbles amidst the clash of metal. The words held an intensity that was palpable, a hidden history that only they understood, picking at Shanks' curiosity even more.
Whitebeard laughed with great vigour, a deep rumble that resonated through the air. It was not a laughter of joy, and Roger's fury intensifying at the sound, fuelling the fire within him.
The clash of their weapons and haki reverberated against the empty space around them, the echo of their power rippling through the air like waves upon the shore. The tides of the ocean rose and fell in sync with the intensity of their battle, as if nature itself was shifting and transforming around them, whelps and cries of the crew members being carried on the wind.
Sand and dust were kicked up by the force of their blows, making Shanks close his eyes tight, dancing in the air like ethereal particles, and sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees behind Shanks, casting dappled shadows upon the ground.
Shanks blinked his eyes open, a gust of wind carrying the remnants of the sandstorm away, leaving behind a hazy aftermath that obscured his vision. He wiped the grit from his lashes, his gaze scanning the surroundings as he caught a whiff of something. He looked around, trying to sense if anyone else was within his vicinity, but nothing.
The lingering scent hung heavy in the air, making him furrow his brows. A few second later he sniffed the air a couple more times; but this time it was nothing but the smell of two Alpha Captains clashing against each other — thick, acrid, and suffused with unrestrained anger and hatred. His nose wrinkled in disgust, a grimace forming on his lips.
Whitebeard's massive bisento swung down with tremendous force, aimed at Roger's chest with deadly precision. Shanks held his breath, his heart pounding as if he himself stood at the receiving end of that blow. But his Captain's instincts and reflexes were unparalleled, and he moved with an agility that belied his age, narrowly escaping the devastating strike.
A small scratch marked Roger's chest, a tiny trickle of blood emerged from the wound. But Roger's eyes gleamed with determination, and he pressed forward, undeterred by the injury.
The battleground lay in shambles, as if the very foundation of the island needed to be engraved with their cataclysmic confrontation. The land behind them was cut in half, and if there were clouds in the sky, Shanks was sure he'd see them split like the first time he remembered seeing them fight.
And as Roger swung his weapon once more, a torrent of powerful gusts surged through the clearing, rushing towards Shanks like a fierce windstorm. He instinctively used his straw hat to shield his eyes, feeling the force of nature's fury against his skin.
But then, amidst the chaos, the unexpected scent invaded his senses again. Sweet and intoxicating, it pierced through the acrid tang of pheromones that had filled the air before, leaving Shanks both puzzled and intrigued. It was unlike any smell he had ever encountered in the vast seas, more enchanting and alluring than anything his nose had ever encountered.
The scent was fleeting, as if carried on the wind, and yet it left an indelible impression upon Shanks' senses. It sent tingles up his spine, the unfamiliar sensation making his breath hitch with confusion. What fuck was happening?
His attention momentarily drawn away from the battle, Shanks turned his head towards the source of the scent, towards the verdant trees that surrounded the clearing. And there it was, webbed into the earthy fragrance of the forest — the elusive scent of cinnamon. It was like a hidden gem buried within Rogue's jewellery box, a captivating aroma that beckoned him like a siren's call. It was faint, fleeting, yet unmistakable.
But how could this be? In the midst of the clash between two Alpha Captains, how could the delicate fragrance of cinnamon be present?
And then it struck him — this scent, so entwined with sweetness and warmth—
It was the smell of an Omega.
But that was impossible. While he had grown up in a world where the distinctions between secondary genders were known, and his keen sense of smell allowed him to differentiate between Alpha, Beta, and Omega scents, this... this was something beyond anything he had ever encountered. The aroma of cinnamon permeated the air, distinct and powerful despite its faintness, as if it beckoned to him like a shooting star.
And as the world around him rumbled with the vibration from the clash of weapons once more, Shanks entire being stood at a halt.
No. It couldn't be. It just didn't make sense.
He hasn't even reached the age of eighteen yet. And even if he had, the chances were too low. It was one in a million — no — billion. His Captain had the god damn stars plucked from the fucking sky to be able to meet Rogue, his fated mate. The stories of pirates searching for decades without finding a suitable partner were well-known, and finding one's destined mate was considered an almost mythical occurrence.
As the clash of weapons continued to reverberate through the clearing, Shanks found himself torn between the spectacle before him and the inexplicable mystery of the elusive scent of cinnamon. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible, the rational part of him vehemently denying what his senses seemed to suggest.
Yet here, in the midst of battle and chaos, the scent of cinnamon lingered like a tantalizing mystery. It sent shivers down Shanks' spine, his heart pounding, the world around him seeming to blur as his entire being froze, all attention focused on that elusive scent.
However, it was too improbable, too fantastical. He couldn't allow himself to entertain such thoughts, not when the chances were so infinitesimally slim.
But try as he might, the scent of cinnamon continued to weave its spell around him, refusing to be dismissed. The battle was forgotten, the clash of metal fading into the background as he became entranced by the riddle hidden within the forest's depths.
He looked behind him once more, at the face of his Captain, before turning back.
He took a cautious step forward, drawn to the heart of the trees, following the faint traces of cinnamon that lingered in the air. The canopy above seemed to thicken, the shadows deepening as he ventured further into the forest's embrace. The foliage whispered secrets in hushed tones, as if the very trees were aware of the enigma that had captured Shanks' attention.
The world around him felt surreal, as if time had slowed and the present moment existed in a realm of its own. His senses were heightened, attuned to the faintest of scents that danced in the air. Each breath he took was filled with anticipation and unease, for he knew that what he sought might forever alter the course of his life.
He ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, the scent of cinnamon became more pronounced, and with it, a tingling sense of destiny that stirred within him. The trees seemed to part like curtains, revealing a clearing bathed in the golden light of the afternoon sun.
And there, amidst the dappled shadows and gentle breeze, stood a figure that seemed to defy the bounds of reality. Shanks' breath caught in his throat as he gazed upon the presence before him.
He was beautiful.
Unmistakably so, radiating a mesmerizing aura that was both ethereal and grounding. The scent of cinnamon enveloped them like a halo, weaving a tale of fate and serendipity that Shanks couldn't ignore. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Shanks knew that his life would never be the same again.
It like an eternity, each second stretching out in slow motion as Shanks gazed into those mesmerizing, azure eyes, an endless ocean of emotions that tugged at the very core of Shanks' being. It was as if time itself had paused, leaving them suspended in a trance-like connection.
He couldn't tear his gaze away, captivated by the intensity of that gaze, by the hues that seemed to dance and swirl like the vivid blue sea. They shone with a brilliance that rivalled the sun itself, radiating a warmth that reached into the depths of Shanks' soul.
And his skin... his skin seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance, as if bathed in perpetual sunlight. It was a sight that left Shanks in awe, like he was beholding an actual angel who had descended from the heavens above. The urge to reach out and touch that soft, baby-fat cheek became almost overwhelming, a longing that filled him with a mix of tenderness and protectiveness.
He noticed the Omega's smaller stature, a stark contrast to the imposing figures of seasoned pirates. The sight of this delicate creature, with strands of golden hair framing their face like a halo, stirred something profound within Shanks. It was a sight that left him feeling both humbled and enchanted, as if he had stumbled upon a precious treasure hidden amidst the chaos of the world.
The air around them seemed to crackle with an unspoken understanding, an inexplicable connection that drew them closer, like two beings caught in each other's gravitational pull. Their eyes remained locked in a dance of emotions, both curious and cautious, as if they were each exploring uncharted territory.
But the tranquillity of the moment was shattered by the ground shaking beneath them, a reminder of the battle that still raged on in the distance. Reality crashed upon them like a tidal wave, pulling them back from the hypnotised reverie they had shared.
Shanks' eyes darted from the Omega's face to his chest, the dark blue ink catching his attention. Shanks felt a jolt of realization, like a powerful kick to his chest, as he was brought back to the present. The surreal moment had been shattered, replaced by the harsh reality of just... them.
The scent of cinnamon, the brilliance of those eyes, and the allure of the Omega before him were all still there, but now they were entwined with the chaos that was waging in his mind.
Whitebeard's mark.
Shanks' heart thundered in his chest, its rapid beats echoing in his ears like crashing of waves against the shore on a stormy day. It was as if his very soul was entangled in the chaos of the battlefield, torn between the pull of his instincts and the rationality instilled in him by his Captain. His senses were on overdrive, his skin tingling with an inexplicable urgency that demanded him to leave — to run and get out of here — yet his feet remained rooted to the ground as if held by an invisible force.
The Omega before him mirrored his fear, their eyes wide with apprehension, their breaths shallow and unsteady. Shanks could sense the tension in the air, the palpable weight of their shared unease, as if the universe itself held its breath.
Their gazes remained locked, each unable to break away from the other's stare. It was as if the world around them had faded into a blur, leaving only the two of them in this suspended moment of dread, unease and connection.
Every fibber of his being screamed at him to leave, to heed his Captain's warning and retreat from this forbidden encounter. But there was an inexplicable force that bound him to the spot, an invisible thread that drew him closer to the Omega like a moth to a flame. It was a dangerous attraction, one that defied reason and logic, and yet he found himself unable to resist.
The island quaked beneath their feet, the very ground shaking in the aftermath of the battle between Roger and Whitebeard. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating it with its brilliant flashes, causing them to flinch in unison, as if nature itself seemed to be warning them.
This was wrong, he reminded himself, like a mantra repeating in his mind, that staying here could spell disaster for both him and the Omega before him. It was against everything he had been taught, everything he had ever known. Pirates from different crews didn't mingle, especially not those from the Roger and Whitebeard crews.
Theirs was a history fraught with tension and enmity, a history that made their interaction all the more forbidden.
Yet, in the midst of this forbidden encounter, there was an inexplicable bond that seemed to transcend the barriers of their respective crews. It was a connection that defied the rationality of the world, and Shanks found himself questioning everything he had ever known.
The Omega's faint scent of cinnamon hung in the air, sweet and alluring. Their eyes held the reflections of a thousand untold stories, their souls entwined in a dance of fate and chance.
Shanks gulped, swallowing the lump in his throat as the anxiety in his stomach clawed at his insides. Out of all the rules, of all the laws that were etched into every Roger Pirates' being that Shanks' broke at least once, this was one Shanks could never break. One he should never even think about entertaining.
This was wrong. This was so, so wrong. This would be betrayal of the man he considered a father, of the woman he considered a mother, of the man that was his mentor, of the boy that was he considered his best friend. It would be munity at its core.
Never interact with a Whitebeard Pirate.
Never laugh with a Whitebeard Pirate.
Never mingle with a Whitebeard Pirate.
Never talk with a Whitebeard Pirate.
But—
But that scent. Those eyes. That sun-kissed skin. Those chubby cheeks...
"Hi."
The word escaped Shanks' lips before he could even register it, and for a moment, he was taken aback, not realizing he was the one who spoke until he saw the surprise etched across the other boy's face. The atmosphere around them seemed to still, as if the very air held its breath, caught in the wake of Shanks' unexpected words. It was a single word, barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken emotions.
The surprise that flickered across the other boy's face was like a fleeting brushstroke of emotion, a raw and unguarded moment that revealed a vulnerability he hadn't anticipated. The Omega's eyes widened, their cerulean depths shimmering with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, like the reflection of a thousand stars trapped in an endless ocean.
His mouth felt dry, his throat tight with unspoken words that threatened to spill out like the rushing tide. He wanted to take back what he had said, to retreat back to the safety of his own crew, to undo the breach of the unspoken rule.
He wasn't meant to break it. But the word had escaped him, like the freedom that he deeply craved but could never ask for, a slip of the tongue fuelled by a mixture of emotions that he struggled to understand.
Panic surged within him, the fear of the consequences of this forbidden interaction threatening to engulf him like a rising tide. But the Omega's gaze held him in place, like a moth drawn to the flickering flame. It was a gaze that seemed to unravel the layers of his soul, peeling back the façade he hid under so none of his selfish desires could bubble up to the surface.
And just when it felt like the world was ready to take some pity on him, the boy gave a shy smile.
"Hi," he breathed out in an even quieter whisper, like what ever force field was keeping them in place would shatter into a thousand pieces if he spoke louder.
And it was like everything in Shanks' world fell away. As if the rules in his world never existed, the fear and anxiety eating up at him slowly dispersed, for everything disappeared and got engulfed by a kaleidoscope of water colours.
The sun was starting to set, and the distant battle clashes were starting to reduce, yet, like a sailor to a siren, Shanks found it impossible to break out off the trance that befell him. Rogue was going to realise his not on the ship, and Rayleigh was going to sense his presence soon enough. This was a good excuse as any to finally leave, to forget this moment ever occurred and pretend that this boy in front of him was not who he thought he was.
But trees spoke in hushed whispers in the wind, propelling him forward a couple steps towards the boy. The ground beneath him shuddering as if to remind him that his threading on dangerous territory. However, the moment the boy took one step towards as well, Shanks knew he had lost way before he even saw him.
He was an Alpha, someone who took, destroyed and dominated. Whose freedom was not within the walls of his own ship. Who desired to control and not be controlled. To lead and not be led.
Yet, he did all those things for he loved his crew and respected his Captain. He swallowed down his wishes because he did not want to break away the family he had.
But this pull — these instincts — they were as real as the love he held for his family. As real as guilt stained his core for what he was going to do next.
"My name is Shanks," he said with a bright smile, hot air turning a chilling cold, "what's your name?"
Shanks was an Alpha, who, by nature or instincts, was someone who did not like following rules. And for the first time in his life, he officially broke the most dangerous one no one in his crew dared to.