Chapter Text
Chains rub together in a loud symphony of metal. They hit each other and click as its captives move at a consistent pace.
“Move it along!”
Though not at a good pace it seems.
The one in front of you yelped as her cuffs were pulled roughly, sending her crashing onto the floor. You managed to control the sudden jolt of the connected chains and barely remained on your feet. Her body shook at the impact, one so harsh there was the high chance she was going to gain a new bruise, but no protest nor complaint left her shut mouth as she stood right back onto her weak legs. Had she remained on the floor a second longer a new bruise wasn't all that she was going to get.
The man who had pulled at the cuffs sneered, refraining from inflicting any further punishment. “We're in a rush, damn tramps!” He shouted, loud enough that a couple of the people behind you had begun to cry in emotional distress. You were no better. After all, it was all hopeless.
After your capture and kidnapping three weeks ago, you had been subjected to cruelty you've never imagined before.
The warmth of the homemade meals you had no longer filled your stomach and you could only yearn when your eyes are closed. Now, your stomach churned at the mere thought of feeding time. Swallowing anything they gave you was more punishment than reward. Your tastebuds were dulling and you swore everything began to taste like the exact same thing.
The clothes you had worn have become dirtied and damaged, not having been replaced at all for all of those three weeks. Three weeks of neglect had twisted them beyond recognition, soaked through with sweat and the occasional spatter of blood, not all of it your own. You didn’t know whose. You didn’t want to know.
You had never seen the face of war or faced the dark side of life, never experienced real struggle outside the occasional illness or financial struggle. You had never fought anyone, never raised a fist in anger because you never had to, and yet now your body was marred with cuts and bruises from top to bottom.
You missed your siblings. You missed home terribly. You missed the petty little arguments and jabs. You missed agonizing over burnt pastries and failed recipes because feeling upset over them meant that you could do it again and feel joy in accomplishing something. And yet, every waking moment of your life in this hell felt like you were being mocked because one way or another, the end result was going to be the same.
You were going to be owned by someone. Your choices are no longer your own.
You lived in relative peace; isolated. It wasn’t a daily occurrence for you to be in the presence of other people long enough to acclimate to their second labels. Had you never stepped into the market that morning, none of this would’ve happened. You replayed that day again and again, wishing to find some fork in the road you could've avoided. You agonized over the details, the possibilities, the choices made for a simple supply run that day.
But you just couldn’t have known. None of your siblings stopped you because it was a normal day, you didn’t hesitate to leave because you were excited to try a new pastry, you lingered in town because you wanted to see what new dairy stock came from the merchant ships. You just couldn’t have done that day any different.
Alphas, betas, omegas, it had all just been labels to you, never something that meant much in your daily life. And yet, when that pair of kidnappers had grabbed you and drugged you, the first thing you had smelled aside from the chloroform was their pungent scents. They were no alphas, definitely betas.
The transition from no exposure to heavy scents to becoming absolutely covered in an amalgamation of random ones caused your body to create many unnatural reactions. It had frightened you, confused you; your body reacting in unfamiliar responses was an unwelcomed change; sudden flushes of heat, tremors, unexplained nausea. You had no anchor. No control. Each reaction terrified you because you didn’t know what your body was doing.
This experience was further worsened when you had been poked and prodded; assessed like livestock by the people who wanted to sell you. The elastic surface of their invasive hands lingered in your skin like disgusting bugs. They had paid particular attention to the space between your legs, your scent gland, your breasts, and your face.
“A real omega! It’s too bad we’re not allowed to smell her!” Their victorious laughter haunts you. "We're gonna be rich! How much will a Celestial Dragon buy her for!?"
Back in your hometown, there were many betas and only a handful of alphas. And even then they were an overwhelming presence. This percentage was true for all of the corners of the seas.
Omegas? Omegas were rare. They were a precious commodity.
Which was why there was a massive underground black market for them. In fact, there were two types of omega trafficking. The harder and much more precious type was the trafficking of real omegas and underground auctioning.
And the other was the production of pseudo devil fruit that could replicate omega qualities. Which would often than not be forcefully fed to unwilling victims. The side effects were tremendously frightening, with only a 5% chance the fruit would work as intended. And even then, it couldn't ever hope to replicate the true essence of an omega. Those who failed to gain those qualities would be subjected to any if not all: increased sensitivity, destroyed sense of coordination, uncontrollable emotions, uncontrollable mood swings, physical alterations of the endocrine and reproductive system, and many more.
The worst it could be would be the accumulation of them all, essentially overloading their bodies until they burn out completely: comatosing them. You had overheard enough to know that someone named Joker was behind these pseudo devil fruits.
“Oi! Be careful with the merchandise. These ones are top-grade!” Another one of the slave trader workers gets in the face of the first one before eventually descending into a petty screaming fight full of hands. The label shakes you violently to your core. Top-grade, they have been calling you that since they've taken you. The other four people who were bound together with you were also labeled as ‘top-grade’.
Word had traveled quickly after silence for two weeks, two weeks of nothing but eating and sleeping, news had spread amongst the rest of the slaves that the organization finally made a move and were arranging an underground auction in the New World. It was reminiscent of the walk criminals took when they're sentenced to the guillotine, the possibility of other people owning any one of you was basically a death sentence.
The seawater harshly hits against the hull of the pirate ship disguised as a simple sailor ship. It was a restless night even for the sea and the weather in the dark distant horizon held no well-meaning prospects for any sort of sailing currently. The slave traders seemed to be in a rush to set sail despite the fact.
A large hulking man is quick to hold onto the lead of the chain, the iron bite of the collar tugged you forward, forcing your body to stumble down the creaking, slick stairs of the ship’s deck. He barked something out, a mix of sentences that sound mumbled in your ears.
The lower deck hit you like a physical force. The air was rank; stagnant sweat, moldy wood, saltwater, and worse. Only a handful of weak lanterns glowed in the darkness, painting the space in a dim light that cast grotesque shadows across the walls. The space was only occupied by the muffled whimpering and crying echo throughout the space, the rows of sea-prism cages lined up against the ship's wall.
Groups of ten people were each crammed into each of the cells as you passed by. Gruesomely, there were many young faces and even more faces who were clearly feeling the bad effects of the pseudo omega fruits: fatigue, discomfort, disgust, fear. You could only force yourself to look away before the disgusting meal they had served you at dinner resurfaced back up.
The only empty cell left is pried open and locked once more after the five of you filter in.
As the footsteps of the large trader finally bound back upstairs, many of the muffled crying had finally unwound into sobbing.
A few stray hot tears roll down the skin of your cheeks, but you stubbornly bite down on your bottom lip to refrain from allowing your cries to leave your throat. The reality of your future prospects have finally settled in your gut. You had been hoping, praying, that the navy, or anyone really, would have seen this ‘loading of cargo’ and rescue you all. It was a fleeting thing, but it had at least given you a reason to keep going.
And yet here you are in a cage bound for Sabaody.
You were afraid. So afraid.
Your body violently flinched when the man behind you falls slightly forward and grazes the skin of your arm. A gasp had left you just then, but it quickly died in your throat as you regard your companion on the floor. “P-Pau?” His name leaves your mouth pathetically. With hands hovering just beyond the possibility of touching his face, you wordlessly ask him to lift his face up to you. But he couldn’t. Droplets of tears began to drop onto the palm of your hands.
“Pau has the worst reaction to the fruit amongst us five,” Helen breathes out an observation. “T-The others in the other cells must be even worse..” No one speaks a word. The cries of the others confirm that statement.
You’ve had these pitiful conversations for more than a week, what needed to be discussed has already been done so, repeating them now at this particular moment was just salt in a deep infected wound.
Your jaw tightens at the mention of the fruit. Helen had just counted you as one of them and it imbued a deep sense of guilt inside you.
You couldn’t bear to tell them that you hadn’t been given the fruit.
Even in this hell you all came together and formed a sense of companionship. You’ve grown to care for them just as they did with you. You told them about where you came from and they did too. Their origins had surprised you because not everyone was from the East, some of them were far in the other side of the world. Which only suggested that this whole organization was far-reaching and old if they managed to operate so casually.
You refrain from physically touching Pau but even without words, you were able to ascertain that he welcomed your contact. With your back against the damp ship wall, you guide him by his shoulders and settle his head on your chest. Carefully you slot his small figure in between your bound arms and wrap them around his shoulders to cradle him gently. He grunts and cries as you do so and he only responds by moving his own bound hands to the side where it doesn’t hit your waist.
Deep and calm vibrations rumble out from your chest, and Pau tenses for only a second before completely melting into your steady purring. You could feel your top half of clothing dampening from his tears. The traffickers may have suppressed your glands and urges but they couldn’t possibly snuff out your ability to comfort others. Purring was such a method, your siblings used to do it all the time for you. Unfortunately, it wasn’t an inherent skill for anyone other than alphas and omegas. Even more not so for betas or alphas who were forced to become omegas.
The others had finally settled on the floor much like you and Pau had and joined the little pile you had made to listen to your purring. Eventually, you were draped over by the rest of them like a huge blanket and they held onto you as if you were a dying light in the middle of the void.
After the adrenaline from the move had finally subsided, the numb pain from the medicinal shots to your antecubital fossa begin to pulsate and twist, clawing up your arms and towards your hands. Even in the darkness of the room, you could see your hands tremble in pain.
You stare up at the dimly lit ceiling, your vision forcefully shifting the dark brown to what you remembered your hometown’s skies to be. Soft, cirrocumulus would float high up in the sky, extremely beyond your reach. The smell of the stale air shifts into the fresh breeze the sea blew in, salty and refreshing either way. You then began to stroke someone’s hair nearby your hands, attempting to imitate the warmth of your siblings’ embrace.
The ship jumps to a shuddering start. It seems like they finally have everything to disembark.
The crying from the other prisoners had not ceased, only slightly drowned out by the thrashing of the sea’s waves. Your eyelids have become further weighed by your emotions and your fatigue. The warmth of the little cuddle pile was beginning to take you to the lull of sleep as well. But you persistently kept them open, you needed to keep comforting them until they all fell asleep.
It doesn’t take long before exhaustion takes you.
…
“Man, this is so scary.”
Thatch whispered with a heavy grimace on his face as another man is flung up to the height of the mainmast before falling hard on the hardwood deck, no longer moving. From death or from unconsciousness? No one was stepping up to check at the moment.
Ace couldn’t help but slowly allow his head to bob up and down in agreement, hissing as another man was thrown easily to the side with one arm, screaming all the while falling into the endless ocean. Filled with flesh-eating ocean life. Twice the size of the Moby Dick. Not to mention, it’s getting dark. So help from another ship would be highly unlikely.
“Hush you two,” Izou hissed from his spot in front of them, face impassive despite the gruesome scene in front of them. This sort of scene might not have been the worst the crew has seen per se, but it was an alarming one. Considering the fact that the only solution to this problem was miles away from their current position, if it even existed at all. “If he hears you, it’ll only worsen his mood.”
The ‘He’ they were referring to would be their very own First division commander, Marco, who was going through a line of people on their knees with an expression that was deceptively casual. The Whitebeard crew had just finished raiding a smaller pirate ship that had happened to be at the wrong place in the ocean, at the wrong time, and the wrong company. And right now, Marco the phoenix was picking through them like food, dismissing the ones who didn’t fit his liking.
Izou continued, “And if that happens, we won’t ever see the end of it. If he gets into his rutt without the proper mates he’ll come out of it even worse.”
Ace whistled low, still thinking back to the revelation he’s been told a few days before after witnessing the older man’s increasing levels of broodiness. “Marco’s stamina really is insane, I can’t believe he needs at least two people for his rutts. I mean, I’ve never heard of something like that before.” When he asked Thatch about it, he didn’t expect it to be connected to Marco’s rutt . He even entertained the idea that Marco was dying! Ace hasn’t gone through a violent rutt so he wouldn’t know.
"Well, expand your world view, kid. It’s pretty narrow and the sea’s wide.” The jab from Thatch has Ace immediately turning his head around with an indignant glare, one that the older man doesn’t humor. “But I get what you mean. I think the worst one was when Marco needed five people to satiate his rut. The only good part about it is that he always manages to get them to be willing by the time they start, which is probably more a testament to how charming Marco is than anything.”
Ace snorted at the word ‘charming’ as he leaned back on his elbows. It rolled around in his head for a second. He couldn’t really believe that when nothing about Marco is anything close to charming when he’s in a bad mood. He’s always got that scary ticked look that was made even worse by his physique that was as every bit as imposing as it was impressive. Scary, maybe. Terrifying, absolutely. Dangerous would’ve been even more fitting.
But if he thought about it—really thought about it—maybe attractive is more appropriate? A dominating alpha who knew his way in bed with strength and stamina to prove it would probably get anyone’s panty in a twist. It didn’t help that Marco was one of the best lovers on the ship, or so he’s been told by certain people.
Yeah, Ace nodded along, he could understand.
Another woman is flung to the side as Marco nears the end of the line. Ace compartmentalised those thoughts away for a moment as he whispered, “But this is just sad. How picky is he?”
Thatch shook his head with a sigh. “He isn’t. Marco doesn’t go through rutts often at all. I’d go as far to say that they’re pretty rare. As long as his partners got an agreeable personality, Marco is fine with ‘em.”
Ace could feel his facial features twist down in confusion. “Then why can’t we just ask some of the nurses? Pretty sure some of them would jump at the opportunity. I vaguely remember them having the hots for the first division comman—” Thatch knocked Ace over the head without restraint, creating a noise that vaguely sounds like Ace had nothing going up there. The younger man barely managed to bite down on his tongue before he could release a yelp that would have definitely interrupted Marco.
He turned to Thatch with an even fiercer glare, mouth opened up with a nasty snarl, and held up a fist that sparked to life in a very clear display to threaten. Thatch met the glare head-on with only a single eyebrow ticked down to show annoyance. “ Because that’s a rule Pops made years ago, probably before you were even born. No one touches the nurses unless it’s to pursue them in commitment, not some rut satiation.”
Ace blinked, momentarily thrown by the seriousness in Thatch’s voice. It wasn’t often the usually easygoing fourth division commander upped the seriousness of his tone.
“They’re betas, Ace,” Thatch continued, more steadily now. “Every single one of the nurses. That wasn’t an accident. Pops made sure of it.”
“…So?” Ace said slowly, still clearly not understanding.
“So,” Thatch snapped, “They don't feel the biological obligation to sate or fight alphas, which this crew has plenty of. They’re to be treated with a little more respect.”
Ace hummed in response, taking it in despite the simmering anger still in his system.
“Besides,” Thatch continued, his eyes still trained on the expanse of Marco’s back. ”With how things are turning out, it’s not guaranteed that Marco’s gonna like any of our nurses. He’s looking for something.”
One of the guests suddenly bolted from her position, barrelling through the deck with force that could have only been possible from adrenaline. She even had enough energy to push through some of their crewmates who had gathered as a crowd, built like bricks as they were. Marco wasn’t so bothered by her taking off, probably because he wasn’t interested in taking her either. But a single clean shot from Izou’s flintlock was enough to subdue the small ordeal. When did he draw that out?
As Izou tucked his flintlock back into the collar fold of his every day kimono, he didn’t need to signal anyone to have them already move the body off before the deck was stained with any more matter. The remainder of the opposing pirate crew didn’t attempt the same thing after, the only thing it managed to do was plummet the remaining morale and hope they had.
Ace began mumbling some of his own observations. “I guess this is just one of the prices to being an Apex alpha. Is that why they’re really only suited for omegas? Has he tried an omega partner before?”
Thatch was the one to answer again, his posture changing from stiff to more relaxed as he draped both of his arms over his legs. “If he did, I doubt he’dve let them go. When was the last time you’ve ever heard of an unclaimed omega?”
Ace actually tries to think back on it. Hearing of a real omega, period, might as well be as rare as the one piece. He doubted there was a single one back in East Blue. “.. Guess not.” He concluded, but then his thoughts drifted over to the the other sort of omega, the devil fruit-made sort. It wasn’t too much of a taboo topic, but not everyone agreed with allowing pseudo omegas to exist. More often than not the people who become one didn’t want to be one in the first place.
“What about, y’know, the pseudo omegas?” He asked, even though he already had an inkling of what he would say.
“To put it lightly,” Izou bluntly intercepted, “He said they smelled rank and their biologic senses were all over the place, he said they felt unnatural.”
“Wow.” The freckled young man breathed in disbelief. “And that’s putting it lightly?”
“Indeed.”
Marco stood over the last member of the pirate ship they had completely plundered. The blonde man was cowering on his knees, hands bound behind his back, and his forehead now pressed firmly against the floor of the ship as silent sobs escaped him. It was a sad display of fear and cowardice from an alpha, now stripped of all pretense, but even an alpha could see how unmatched he was in comparison, most especially now that his crew was gone.
He doesn’t believe he had any words to exchange with him. He didn’t even have the energy to ask him or his crewmates any other crucial questions. He flicked a single wrist in motion, and in a second he’d be joining the rest of his ship.
Marco recognized that he was being cruel and unnecessarily violent. There was no reason to be so hard on such a weak pirate crew, but a deep irritation that settled deep in the back of his head that was hard to scratch. It was making him think irrationally, move irrationally. The only way to scratch it was to find an appropriate partner with a pleasant smell. That’s how it always was during his rutts.
So why was he acting out right now? He didn’t know, and that was worse than any answer. Mostly because most of his decisions and actions were being driven by instinct. His very tightly-wound up instincts.
Nothing and nobody was satisfying his criteria, and he’s been so patient with himself and with the other people leading up to this point. The Whitebeard pirates had already gone through an entire island. From the brothels to the civilians, hell, Marco was desperate enough to sniff through the marines, to no avail. And now he’s just agitated by everything; the work, the lack of partners, his own body was working against him. Everything was pissing him off.
And currently, this single alpha by his feet was less than appealing. He hasn’t even crouched and yet he could already smell the hint of whiskey tinged with fear and despondence from his overrun scent glands. It immediately made his stomach churn.
He’s beginning to believe that sedating himself before the rutt happens might be the best solution.
“Marco,” Whitebeard’s grounding voice called out, knocking him out from another tizzy over a new course of action. The commander stopped mid-step before he could truly begin walking away, his spine all-too straight to be recognized as his usual relaxed posture. Despite the prickling from the deep agitation inside himself, Marco kept it together. He released a silent breath through his nose, and turned his body around to give his captain the respect he deserved.
His hands slid into the pockets of his pants just so that it wouldn’t do anything without his knowing, his shoulders dropping into a lazy posture that didn't quite match his mood. “Yeah, Pops?”
The large man had been sitting on his spot during the entirety of the scene. Although there wasn’t judgement in his gaze, what was left was concern, arguably even worse for his current mood. He felt terrible for stressing the old man. “You can’t keep doing this forever. You’re burning yourself and your crew.” It was even worse when he’s being blunt about it.
He doesn’t let the comment phase him, he’s sure the crew can handle a little temper tantrum from him every now and then. But again, he understood he couldn’t extend this tantrum on forever. “I understand, yoi.” He does, he really does, but that doesn’t mean anything when the one making decisions wasn’t logic but instinct. “If I can’t figure it out on the next ship or island, I’ll probably sedate myself to get through it.”
The grimace on Whitebeard’s face showed how disapproving he was of the idea. Considering how their captain was an Apex alpha himself, he understood better than anyone how those instincts were probably killing Marco, theoretically of course, and the idea of having to sedate someone through a strong rutt sounded like a nightmare.
It wouldn’t be one shot, no. It’d have to take multiple shots of sedatives to get someone through an entire rutt. Even worse, they’d have to barricade him in his own room and continually send food to him in a safe way.
But what could Whitebeard say to that? No? It was already the best solution they have save for picking some people from the crew to help their division commander. Or well, it would be if only Marco himself wasn’t being selective with his options.
So instead, Whitebeard sighed. “The next ship it is then, boy. We can’t drift from our course because we’re already three days behind our schedule, understand?” And again, Marco obediently nodded his head, all the while sighing into himself over the possibilities of the options presented to himself, which wasn’t a lot.
The delay had been his fault. The schedule was set back because of his searching from the previous island trip, where he took time going through all the residents for a partner. It was probably proper that he suffered the consequences of his own obsessive searching.
That was a disaster.
“FISHING SHIP TO THE EAST!”
Marco felt the anger he had forcefully stamped down with his previous show of violence swell back up with tremendous power. It was sort of dizzying because of how sudden the shift was. All he could think about, however, was the fact that out of any sort of ship that could have appeared in the middle of the great grand oceans, in this specific stretch of the ocean, it had to be a fishing vessel? More often than not, a fishing vessel would be full of alphas and betas.
Okay.
Maybe Marco had been lying.
For a while, he did understand what was wrong with him, or rather, what he was looking for. And he knew why he was choosing to personally inspect each minor ship they came across, even the ones clearly beneath his notice.
An omega.
His instincts were screaming at him to find one no matter how impossible the chances were. And though it was a little shameful to be so picky with a partner when his past set-up romps worked well enough, his instincts were telling him there was nothing else in the entire seas he wanted more than that.
It’s been a festering desire for a month now, one that he thought about and attempted to satiate through more casual arrangements. But it was no use, because it wasn’t just the sexual satisfaction that he was looking for—what his entire being —was looking for. It was the scent, the intimacy, the instincts, the everything from an omega unparalleled by anything else.
Which was silly, Marco originally thought. How would he know that if he had never held an omega before? And yet here he is, obsessing, yearning, actively searching and destroying whatever kept him from one. Looks like he wouldn’t know until he finds out.
Marco bit back the growl bubbling up from his chest. Looks like he’s reserving himself to a rutt full of sedatives.
“Permission to board, cap?” Marco asked without turning. Whitebeard released a grunt that could only be translated to a ‘do whatever you want’.
“Looks like that’s our cue!” Their ever-energetic second division commander piped up from his spot on the deck, finally making a move to interact with Marco. He got up with his arms stretched above his head, his neck audibly cracking as he turned his neck in a circle. “I wanna stretch my legs, take striker out for a good spin.”
Marco began walking over to the east side of the Moby Dick, rotating his own shoulders in preparation for the flight that was about to take place. “It’ll just be a fishing vessel, yoi. It won’t be as exciting as you think.” He said in hopes of dissuading Ace from coming along. He wanted and could take the fishing vessel out with one strike, the wood and the metal would bend so easily.
Ace coming along would mean he’d have to hold his urges. And Marco really wanted one thing to go his way at least once today.
“Maybe, maybe not.” The freckled alpha shook his head before looking back up with a glint in his eyes. “But think about it, what if they fished up something real good for lunch? I have to inspect every net!” Well, having a disappointed and hungry Ace on board is just as bad as a bridled Marco. And the crew had enough strong personalities to deal with as it was.
“Shouldn’t Thatch be the one to come with me then?” Marco haphazardly threw the idea out there.
“No thanks, Marco!” The fourth division commander immediately piped up from his unmoved spot by the inner circle of the deck. “I may be able to swim if you accidentally break the ship to pieces, but I can’t guarantee my own safety when you’re like this.” Thatch may not have intended it, but that statement was another jab at Marco’s weakening control over his emotions. A skill he’d mastered for over thirty years.
He felt a draft of wind pass over, and Marco took another breath to calm himself down again. “.. Alright, Ace.” He spoke in finality. “Take striker out then.”
…
A loud bang violently pulls you all from slumber. Your breathing wavers in panic as another loud blast not only blares from the top floor but also dents the floor enough to leave a hole. An explosion.
Screaming voices erupts from the other cells as the ship rocks harshly from another round of explosions. Shouting comes from above, something reminiscent of barking orders and fearful retaliation. People were frantically moving up above while sounds of wood breaking and screaming echoed throughout. What was this? A raid? Deep in your gut a sprout of hope began to grow. If this was the navy then..!
A seed of hope takes root deep in your gut, fragile and desperate, but it’s more life than you've dared to feel in weeks.
You unwrap your arms off of Pau and you immediately took note of his face. Fear was etched into his facial features, the same emotion was causing his entire being to tremble against your own. Your eyes shoot up to the ceiling once more as gun shots fire consecutively in the fray upstairs. Fortunately, there were no additional rounds of cannon fire from the opposing force but this trafficking vessel was shooting its own rounds of cannon fire.
Everyone holds their breath for a second, simply listening to the carnage. Men shouting, guns blazing, cannons firing, bodies dropping.. and suddenly nothing.
Glances exchange between all of you, clearly uncertain of the situation to be. A loud thud from the deck above captures your attention once more.
“Those guys were screaming about precious cargo,” The voice of an unfamiliar man seeps through the holes created from the aftermath of the fight. Your eyes widen in suspense. “Should we inspect the bottom deck?” You almost screamed out a ‘please’ as if to answer their question.
Instead of a response, the question was answered by a sudden breach of the deck floor again. A cannonball!? You thought, but it was quickly debunked when the roof above your heads suddenly began to convex upwards, in the motion suggesting that someone was pulling it. A loud crack comes as the deck boards snap free. Harsh winds begin to vacuum into the enclosed damp space, razzling not only your hair but also your companions who disliked the sudden moisture difference.
Your vision distorts as it adjusts in the darkness of the night, though it wasn’t long before some smaller people who looked like chess pieces held up light sources. Standing atop the deck were two men, their silhouettes clearly not belonging to any of the men who owned the vessel. One was shirtless despite the cold and wet weather, a bright orange hat sat atop his head while a gleam of red shimmered from his neck. The other was more striking in features simply because of the brilliant blue wings that were attached to where his arms were supposed to be.
They were not the navy.
You suck a breath in. Pirates, these were pirates. Even worse was that they were highly likely to be alphas, their presence alone was heavy and thick.
Something suddenly chokes you and you gag as your system reacts to it, making you keel over from the unanticipated scent. It was strong enough to cut through the thick blankets of your companions’ pheromones and even through the salty smell of the sea. It was tropical and acidic. Which, to your horror, smelt sweet and pleasant..
Against your better judgement, your eyes dart between the two men in an attempt to determine which of them it belongs to. Where your eyes fail, your instincts manage to tell you that there was something different about the one with wings. And he was glorious; bright brilliant blue flames that burned out into golden yellow. He was tall—no, large—and was carrying himself with an easy posture.
No one among the enslaved spoke a single word or made a single sound.
“Holy shit.” The man with the orange hat released an audible breath out. “Is this an omega trafficking scheme?” An audible inhale came from the same man, who grimaced from the amount of mixed scents that could probably only be described as wrong. “Oh fuck, right. This probably smells awful to you, huh? You could head back for now, Marco. We can pick through ‘em real quick.”
Pick through them? Your heart clenched painfully.
Maybe fate truly was look down on you. To be passed from cruel people to even crueler people who could only see merchandise with value that they could pick through, there was just no other way your situation could get any worse. You couldn’t stop the bitter shiver from crawling up your spine. Perhaps if you begged, perhaps if you offered something in return, maybe..!
You weren’t aware you were staring at the man that was called Marco, not until his glowing irises connected with yours. As if gravity increased instantaneously, something forces you to lower your head, burying itself onto Pau’s shoulder. The beat of your heart presses against your eardrums while your breathing falters from its consistent pace.
Apex alpha.
There was no doubt about it. Every sense and conscious thought of your body was screaming so: that this man was special, even more so than the other alpha next to him. His presence alone was doing things to your body, things that only began to happen after the trafficking scientists put you under an unnamed medication. You were going dizzy with sensations unfamiliar to you.
“No need.” The impassive tone of his voice didn’t mask the weight of his strength. Pau jolts under your hold from the mere sound of his voice. It would seem as though everyone else was affected by him too from the way the bodies around you trembled. You had no bravado in you to lift your head and meet his gaze again. The hope that he would simply ignore you and move on was shattered as he says, “I already see one I want.”
The blood in your veins run cold.
It could be anyone. You’re sure.
But then again, it’s too cruel for it to be anyone at all.
“Wait, seriously?” The shorter man barked out in surprise before letting out a laugh of disbelief bordering relief. “Great! Point ‘em out!”
You can’t look, your body refuses to move anymore.
You jolt when a pair of soles land on the hardwood floor right in front of the cage you were all crammed into. It must have been a coincidence, he’ll begin walking away you’re sure—
“Look at me, yoi.” Your muscles flinched at the command, and your body shook with effort to keep your head down even though every muscle in you was begging to obey. The command came from ‘Marco’, the more overwhelming one of the pair. His voice had a lazy drawl to it, ending in a vocal quip that was quite unique.
The bodies all around you moved in unison, no doubt following as they were told. The dull souring scents was sending your head spiraling, making it even harder to form coherent thoughts. The fear and the command were all becoming too much. Cold sweat began to drip from your forehead.
“I said..” A prickle made your neck jolt. The floorboards creak louder as someone took another step forward, the words brushing over your skin and causing your hair to stand tall. “Look. At.”
“Me.”
You did.
Your face lifted on its own accord and your gaze met his.
Brilliant blues that seemed to glow in the growing darkness of the day, the sun already meeting the horizon, allowing the night to swallow in. Again, you are faced with the fact that he was larger, a head taller than the other alpha next to him, his body rippled with muscles that probably didn’t experience any difficulty ripping the deck away from its nailed state. It was scary. Impressive. Out of anything and everything, however, you couldn’t look away from his face.
He was strikingly attractive, his eyes especially were drawing you in with an intensity that was disparate from the ease on his features. He probably had a few years above you given the slight wrinkles under his eyes. His posture was relaxed which was, again, not in tune with the current mood of the situation.
“That one, huh. Not bad.” The other man was freckled and rougish, another alpha with eyes full of energy and body just as impressive.
You swallowed hard. They weren’t like the men who used to drag you and the others around like cargo, they had a level of power that came easily. “This entire thing is covered head to toe in seastone. Hell, the chains they’re wearing is probably seatone too.” His eyes flicked down to the thick, blackened cuffs around your wrists. “Maybe you really should have brought Thatch along.”
The words he had spoken finally registered in your brain and you forced yourself to look away from the blonde man to the other, finding that his eyes were trained directly at you as well. You felt yourself jolt back slightly, disrupting your bound companions as your heart hammered harshly against the ribcage of your chest. Your head feels too heavy to keep up once more. You bit down on your trembling lower lip, trapping the trembling breaths from your lungs.
They.. do they know? Could they smell you? No, it was impossible. The medication that were given to you through shots were still going strong, clogging your scent glands.
Heat was prickling at your eyes as you pray that you were mistaken.
“Thatch won’t be able to do anything if we can’t find the keys first.” Marco surmised, still keeping his eyes on this particular ‘omega’ amongst the bundle of bodies basically huddled together. His gaze hasn’t left you, not even for a second since he’d found you amongst the crowd. The smell in the air was putrid, only serviced enough because of how dulled it had been, no doubt from synthetic suppresants that made sure it stayed that way. In fact, this dull smell was the reason why he didn’t simply blow the entire vessel to bits at first.
The first division commander had every intention of doing just that until he realized that the smell that was coming from the fishing vessel was unnatural, and that there was no possibility that any dead fish had the ability to mimic what a pseudo omega smelled like, no matter how rotten it would be.
‘Lo and behold, they uncovered an entire underground black market. Though, the more Marco had thought it over, the stranger the thought process was. A fishing vessel this far out into the ocean with no island in sight to make port with was already suspicious, and even in the event of a pirate plunder, they didn’t have many faculties of defense aside from a few standard cannons, guns, and swords. There was no chance for them to win against any pirate ship in the new world.
Not to mention, being able to obtain this many pseudo fruits for trafficking was astounding, the amount of pseudo omegas this vessel had was outrageous, no matter how bad their conditions were. So this had to be sponsored by a bigger organization, or rather, is a part of a bigger organization and they happen to have stumbled upon their new carg—
—A soft scent broke through the muddle of the rest, enticing his instincts.
Well, the circumstances don’t really matter. Only the results mattered. And the results were even better than he could have anticipated. In a fake dingy fishing ship that could have only been full of pseudo omegas, he found a scent that was agreeable . Maybe even sweet, salivating, enticing. Better than anything he’s smelled in months.
So, even if you ended up being a pseudo which was the highly likely scenario, it would be amiss of him to leave you behind when you’re already the most refreshing thing he’s laid his eyes upon in months.
With a bit of effort, he finally released his gaze on you, cricking his neck to look down at Ace who was looking around with clear curiosity on his face. “I’ll go grab Thatch and have Namur push this vessel into the Moby’s course. There are a lot of valuable things here.” Ace nodded along without much thought, occupied with examining the state the people who have been given pseudo fruits were in. “You’re staying here to look for that key.”
“WHA!?” Ace couldn’t release another word out before Marco was already back in the air. “HALF OF THE GUYS ARE ALREADY IN THE OCEAN!”
…
“By the seas, look at all this sea stone.” The barrel-chested man commented with a whistl,e eyes sweeping over the scattered mess of wood and bodily matter. The things he was commenting on were large and sizable, a wonder considering how seastone is only really readily available to the navy. “We really could probably use some of these back in the Moby, real useful.”
“I could have chosen to bring anyone else along, yoi.” Marco’s came out dry and unimpressed as he took a few steps behind him. “Prove that I made the right choice.”
Thatch whipped his head back over his shoulder, staring at the right-hand man with an incredulous look. “Sheesh, is this some kind of punishment? Relax Marco, no one’s going anywhere.”
“It’s a threat, if you wanted clarification.”
When Marco had first provided a brief explanation of the situation to Whitebeard, their captain had immediately made the decision to leave the ‘cargo’ alone save for the one Marco had wanted. Too many pseudos on board would be a disaster, and Whitebeard had no intention of keeping any on board because of their biologically disastrous and unexpected nature.
However, it wasn’t like they were going to be left completely marooned. It was a small mercy in the face of the sea, the Whitebeard pirates were kind enough to spare a bit of supplies that could last them until they’d inevitably drift to an island. It wasn’t much, but it was better if not the best than what most other pirates would have offered or done.
“Exchange the goods with the seastone cages. We’ll need ‘em,” were the direct orders given to the crew. The crew made quick work of the sails to keep them from speeding past the vessel, Namur and a couple fishmen under his division immediately submerged underwater to move the vessel while Curiel and Blenheim’s divisions were asked to make space below the deck for some new special cells in the possibility of some special prisoners.
Marco picked Thatch up after a bit of complaints from the latter. Though, there wasn’t much complaining could do when Marco simply grabbed him by his shoulders and flew him right over the ocean.
They landed with a loud thud, Marco lowering him before folding his wings back into nothingness again. Thatch cracked his shoulders. rolling his arms around to loosen the soreness after being held by his upper body for a time.
“And besides! It won’t be my fault if Ace wouldn’t be able to fi—”
“Found it!” Just in time, Ace walked over to the pair while holding up ring with three or so keys, swinging it tauntingly in the air. “Luckily it’s not made of seastone, and I found it in the captain’s quarters under a drawer. Classic.” The youngeer man snickered as Thatch opened his palm wordlessly, expression deadpan as Ace dropped the ring into it with flourish. Then he walked away, mentioning wanting to rummage through a few of their belongings for a little longer.
“.. It’s not guaranteed to be the cuff keys, alright?” Thatch mumbled in defeat as his fingers wrap around the small item. He peeks under his lashes, eyeing the first mate who was patiently watching. “So, don’t get mad, Marco.”
Marco doesn’t do anything much other than a noncommittal hum. Thatch turns back to the bundle of bodies ahead of him, grimacing at the unsavory sight of prisoners who were huddled like little fawns. They only seem to huddle together into an even tighter ball as he approached and stood in front of the door. This wasn’t the first time Thatch had seen a pseudo omega, not by a long shot. There was a concerning amount of normal people who are capable of getting their hands on one of the damned fruits and eating it themselves.
Omegas were desired enough that people wanted to be them, no matter the price. It didn’t matter if it was tagged with berri or their own body.
Much to his relief, one of the keys in the ring opened the cage. Given how there was only a limited amount of keys, this single one probably opened every single one of them. Fossa could probably make a copy of these keys no problem.
The reaction was instantaneous as soon as the door creaked open, one of them had begun to silently sob under their breath. Multiple terrified eyes were staring up at him, and Thatch could only sigh out the last nerves he had in order to exude as calm of a scent as possible.
“Hey.” Thatch finally addressed the bundle of people, slowly crouching down and low to the floor to make himself look less imposing and frightening, softly addressing them as if they were wild animals. The many eyes followed his move but they don’t respond to his greeting, which is understandable.
“None of you have to say anything, just know that we’re here for one of you,” He carefully began, hooking an arm over his bent leg to settle calmly. The dreary atmosphere doesn’t dampen the easy smile growing on Thatch’s face. “So, if you could all cooperate with us a little longer, we’ll make this trip quick and be out of your hair.”
“Could you all take a seat in a line in front of me?” The way Thatch said those words may have been kind, kinder than anyone has spoken to any of you in forever, but you all understood that it was still a command ; a command you could not deny no matter what from a pirate who was far stronger than any of your previous captors. Everyone around you also understood that.
So it didn’t come as a surprise when you all slowly and hesitantly begin to untangle from your knot of limbs and chains, obediently sitting down in an arrangement where the chain didn’t tangle over the other. Though, you were still huddled together, pressed side-to-side to seek the physical comfort of one another with hands still entangled. No one was looking ahead or above. No one spoke a word either.
Thatch looked over his shoulder and to Marco who was intently watching everything, asking the question in his head without a word uttered. Marco’s blue eyes flit over to a particular one, briefly, and Thatch immediately understood.
“You there.” You flinched when Thatch turned back around, and when you slowly raised your head to confirm, you were horrified to find that the alpha’s gaze directly pointed at you .
Tears were lining your lashes, probably from how inevitable everything felt now.
As if not noticing your increasing distress, or rather choosing not to, Thatch inched towards you while raising the ring of keys in his hands. He grinned, “You’ll be coming with us.” Final. No question or option asked. The next orders to raise your hands at the junction of your elbow so he could unlock the cuffs came through one ear and out the other, but your body manages to follow the instruction out of fear. The chains rattled noisily when your weak arms lifted them up to level with your head.
The weight of the cuffs dropped as soon as the key was inserted and turned clockwise. And yet
The longer Thatch stared at you, the more he understood Marco’s very sudden and very direct interest. Where there should have been a distressing visage was overshadowed by another emotion. You look so sweet, in a way unexplainable. It wouldn’t be too much of a long shot to even say that you had this atmosphere of real cuteness around you. Under all that grime and mistreatment, he had no doubt that you were a real eye candy either. And the way that you were looking at him: doe-eyed and afraid.
You looked like a little rabbit. So cute.
“Come here, sweetheart.” The large man beckoned you over, no doubt earning himself a scalding look from Marco given how hot the back of his head felt. Nonetheless, he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you begin to slowly move to stand. Your legs were visibly shaking. From the weight, the fear, the hunger, or everything? His gaze was on you like a beam of heat, and suddenly, everything in you seemed to tremble.
The large man extended his hands over to you, allowing them to hang in the air as possible supports in the case that you couldn’t handle it. He was hovering over you, waiting for you to walk over on your own terms. Your gait was unsteady as you finally took a step forward.
Just as expected, the movement sent a rush of blood up and into your brain, depriving your body of its energy, and causing you to stumble on your feet and trip forward.
“Woah there!”
Your arms flounder, and despite the pain from your injuries, attempted to find stability on his body. “I-I’m sorry!” Your puny voice was barely audible in your gasp. You hurriedly move to push yourself from him. But your mind was reeling and your senses are all over the place, so much so that your legs were buckling under your own weight. The hands that were hovering just over your arms were quick to latch back on, holding you steady.
Everything stills for a few seconds and nothing moves as you took life-saving breaths. It helped that every breath was filled with a scent reminiscent of a warm kitchen, alike the kitchen you grew up with. Second by second, your body finally catches up, and you’re feeling a little better. While not by much, it was enough to keep you standing.
“U-Uhm..” Your weak voice comes out ragged and small, unused to speaking. Your eyes trail from your hands and up to the man’s forearms that looked to be larger and healthier than your arms and legs. You had to say something, and the only appropriate response was to thank any act of kindness, no matter how small.
“Than-”
You jolt. The eyes that were looking down at you were no longer friendly, and instead, were looking at you with an intensity that sent tremors all over your body. His eyes were looking directly at you, maybe even through you, as if he could see something that wasn’t there before. The gentle hands that caught you hardened, although not gripping you, you could tell he was having a hard time restraining himself.
That look.. he couldn’t possibly..
“Give her to me.” Thatch jolted as well as if he caught himself. The barrel-chested man was a little bigger than the other men, and yet, Marco was far more terrifying in comparison. Especially now.
“Marco, she’s—” Thatch began as his head whipped up to look at the other man.
“Even more reason to.” Marco concluded without letting Thatch finish. You could see Thatch force himself to swallow; his pride or his saliva, you’re not sure, but it’s the only thing he does before carefully guiding you with an assertive tug. Keeping your eyes pointed to the ground, to your bare feet, you walked with deliberate purpose. You stepped over the chain that had bound you, toward Thatch’s shoes, and then back over the entrance of the cage,
Until sandaled feet appeared in your vision.
Your fingers tremble in Thatch’s hand. A breath of air passed before you see a large hand lift up towards your face. You involuntarily flinch away right before he could touch you. Your lip shake as your hands fly out from Thatch’s hands and toward the front of your body, clutching the filthy cloth of your poor dress like it would lessen the impact of whatever would come next.
Only, it didn’t.
Because what came next wasn’t pain.
Marco’s fingers are soft when they pressed against your cheek, surprising you. The unexpected tenderness had your heart beating in confusion. They continue to be gentle as his palm engulfs the entirety of your face’s side.
You’ve already looked at his face before and you’ve already formed your opinions about him. And yet, now that you were much closer, calling him handsome might have dpne him a disservice. He was captivating, demanding your attention with his blue eyes that reminded you of the sky. He was at least a head and a half taller, you’re pretty sure he was already bending his back a little to accommodate you.
—That sweet scent. It really was from him. You could smell it from his wrist. It was pleasant.
You stare at one another for a moment as if taking each other in.
“I am Marco. First division commander to the Whitebeard pirates, yoi,” his voice comes out low and is accompanied by a drawl. You could only blink in response.
“And as of now, you will be boarding the Moby Dick under me. Understand?” His index fingers gently moved to caress the tear that slipped from your eyes. When did you begin crying?
He could feel you bob your head into a nod, but he immediately caught your jaw to keep you from doing so. “Use your words.”
Your eyes shot open. “Y-Yes.” The words were barely audible, your tone wobbling as if a sob was right behind it.
“Yes, Marco.” He corrected sternly.
More tears slipped free, pooling hot on your cheeks and soaking into the hand still cupping you. The sudden sharpness from him was confounding, an abrupt switch from the gentleness he was offering. It left you dazed, heart racing, and the fear you’d managed to suppress earlier now surged back with vengeance. “Yes, M-Marco..!”
Thatch was quick to interfere from the background, huffing out in protest. “C’mon, Marco, she’s already being so sweet! Don’t be so hard on her!”
“I want her to be as obedient as possible. It’ll be easier.” It wasn’t even said with malice, but with a resigned edge that was probably impatience.
But you didn’t know that. Instead, his words felt like another blade against your already wounded heart.
You broke the eye contact by averting your eyes downward, heart wrenching painfully as you admonish yourself for falling for the tenderness so easily. Stupid, stupid . Your lips pressed thin as you allowed a deep frown to overtake your expression, your eyebrows pinching together. But you don’t allow the sobs to escape you in fear of dampening Marco’s mood.
“I-I will, Marco..” You cried and whispered lowly, not realizing that the previous statement he made wasn’t directed towards you. Marco silently held you like that, searching for the eyes that looked up at him in a bright way, but you do not look back up. You might not have had the ability to when your eyes only continued to flood with tears.
“Look at what you did.” Thatch tsked loudly from the background to purposefully voice his displeasure, but Marco didn’t respond, he could only stare at you after you uttered words with heartbreak and fear clearly caught in your throat. Your scent, although masked by a synthetic, was in the precipice of sweetness, only for it to plummet back into nothing.
Then, Thach sighed, dangling the ring of keys he had used in his hands. “We have to get going, Jozu and Namur’s divisions are coming to recover the cages soon.”
Your face pointed down to the floor as soon as he retracted his hand, wringing your hands into your clothes. Now that he had a better look on your hands, he could see the bruises that were formed around your wrists from the chains and cuffs that held you, the bruise that you were attempting to hide in your skirt.
“Hold your hands out.” Hesitance, then obedience, although they’re trembling harshly when you lift them palms-up. He placed a single hand under your arms, the length of his palm from pinky to thumb was large enough to encapsulate both your wrists. The skin was tender and was beginning to develop into a bruise that went the entirety around your arm like bracelets. Marco’s expression darkened.
Thankfully you weren’t looking up at him to see it, it would have probably worsened your mood even more. His fingers tightened in their hold around you to secure you in place. You do not struggle, but you do jolt back when the familiar blue flames that you have been admiring before suddenly burst to life where his skin touched you. He watched your face intently, watched as the initial fear from his flames spread throughout your face before melting back into trepidation when his flames didn’t harm you like you had expected.
The lovely blue reflected from your irises and your dwindling tears before extinguishing to a small flickering flame. He pulled away slowly as if any sudden movements would scare you any further. You were still looking at your hands, now looking at it more with wide eyes.
The bruises and the pain was gone.
“.. Good girl.” Marco whispered, placing the palm he used to hold your face on your head. The praise translated well, your tears finally subsided.
He then took a step back, disentangling his fingers from your hair that he longed to brush through, and allowed his arms to be swept with his flames, turning his arms back into his brilliant wings.
Ah, and there it was again, the look of astonishment in your eyes. Although more hesitant to appear this time.
“Wha-I know I said we should probably leave but I wanna introduce myself properly too!”