Chapter Text
Reader pov
It was an ordinary day on your ordinary island with its ordinary spring season.
Which meant you went to the beach for your ordinary morning walk.
Because sure, living in a cottage away from the main city and the harbour meant grocery shopping was a pain, but the peace of nature surrounding you was worth it. Besides, as an herborist, it made it a lot easier for you to collect all the things you needed for your trade if you lived directly in the forest.
So you went for your morning walk, and noted the sky was a little grey with clouds, which made sense since a storm had unfolded the previous night, leaving the air crisp and a little colder than usual.
The sand on the beach was a little wet as well, but since you had had the good sense to wear boots instead of sandals, you were all set. And so you walked along the shore, enjoying the rolling sound of the waves, the bristling of the breeze, and the unique smell of the sea that came from a horizon that never failed to fill you with longing.
If only I had the courage to go out there.
Yet you were too aware of your own limits to take that risk. You were a single woman with no fighting skills or knowledge about sailing beyond the very basics, and while you had a little more medical experience than most, you were still an herborist, not a doctor.
That made you pretty useless in a world where pirate crews seemed to be more numerous by the day. Your curiousity and longing were not enough to overcome your will to live, so you stayed on the island you had been born, took over your aunt's herboristery business after she passed, mourned your parents as well when an accident took them, and kept dreaming about exploring the vast world beyond your island.
As you walked, you suddenly noticed something on the shore, a pretty big spot of black washed up by the tide that made you curious.
Upon getting closer, you realised it was fabric, and you grabbed it curiously.
"Huh. Looks like someone lost his cloak at sea," you commented to yourself.
The material was thick and sturdy, yet surprisingly soft and well worn, clearly something someone had been wearing on a very regular basis and taken great care of. Despite having spend probably a long time in the sea, it still looked in excellent condition, so even if it was clearly meant for someone a lot taller and broader than yourself, you decided to bring it back to your home.
With a good wash and a little adjustement, you could definitely use it to protect yourself on rainy days, so there was no reason to let it go to waste on the beach.
You brought the cloak back to your home, lavished it in soap and clear water, dried it in the sun during the afternoon, then got your sewing kit with every intention to make a decent hem.
Yet the second you sat in your sofa with the fabric on your lap, a needle in your hands, and your black thread ready to be put to good use, an uneasy feeling settled in your chest. Suddenly it felt wrong to alter the cloak. You could not explain why, but your gut feeling was screaming that altering this in any way was something you should not be doing.
You hesitated, but ultimately decided to listen to your instincts with a loud sigh.
"Fine. No sewing today," you huffed to yourself, feeling a bit silly to renounce to a new free and useful addition to your wardrobe just because it felt wrong to sew a hem on a cloak.
Oh well.
After long consideration, you decided to let it on your sofa and use it as a blanket for the evenings where you rested there with a good book and a cup of tea.
And so for weeks, that was how you used the cloak. As a blanket you got under every evening, enjoying the way it retained warmth fast and made you feel comfy and safe. You even fell asleep more than a few times only to wake up bundled in it like a protective cocoon, which made you smile or chuckled to yourself everytime.
Then the weather got a little warmer, which was usually the indicator that your island was about to enter its version of summer, and you folded the cloak carefully to put it in the linen cupboard with the rest of your blankets, sheets, and other linens.
As you did so, though, you briefly wonder once more who it had belonged to and what had happened to that person for their cloak to wash up on your shore.
-o-oOo-o-
A couple of months earlier
-o-oOo-o-
Shanks pov
Shanks woke up when a wave splashed on his face and immediately sat up with groan.
Then an awful combination of nausea and headache made him heave, and the fearsome Emperor turned on his side to throw up. The content of his stomach very unceremoniously left him for the next minute, but once it was done, the red-head felt a little more clear-headed.
As he looked around him and found he was on a beach, the rest of his crew was dead asleep in more or less dignified positions further on the sand, a mess of empty bottles and tankards and half-eaten food were scattered all around, and the Red Force was proudly resting in the natural creek they had stopped at.
Right. They had dropped the anchor the previous day because rumour had it a pirate who had lived a couple centuries earlier had hidden a secret stash of his best booze on the island, and that was the kind of treasure Shanks simply had to find.
He had found it.
And the rest, as it often went, was history.
Which was a nice way to say everything after the first bottle of rum was a complete blank.
Must've been a good party.
Shanks grinned and stretched his arm as he fell back on the beach, with the sand rubbing on his skin and-
Wait.
He could feel sand on his skin.
Shanks jolted upright and looked behind him in immediate panic, only to turn whiter than a ghost.
No trace of his cloak.
He looked around himself and quickly came to the realisation that he was naked, which was normal if he had decided to go for a swim, but his cloak was nowhere to be seen, which was absolutely terrible news.
"Shit. Shit shit shit fuck shit !" the Emperor seethed then stood up, still dizzy from the hangover but still too panicked to care, and began to look all around for his cloak.
In under two minutes, his rummaging and panicked searching roused several of his crewmates from sleep. Shanks did not give a single flying shit, and completely ignored their groans about not needing to see his dick first thing in the morning.
"What the-" his first mate groaned with his voice even rougher than usual.
"Beck, I can't find my cloak !" Shanks told him in complete terror.
His closest friend jolted awake at once, and Lucky and Yasopp did the same not far away.
"Oh fuck !" the sniper cursed.
"OI EVERYONE !" Beckman shouted around. "Look for the Captain's cloak, and if you find it, don't fuckin' touch it ! Just call !"
"I hope the tide didn't take it," Lucky winced in a mumble.
The possibility turned Shanks' blood to ice, and he forced himself to ignore it and keep looking for his cloak, forcing his mind to remember what had happened the previous night and where he could have left this essential piece of himself.
Because as a selkie, losing his skin was pretty much the worst possible thing that could happen to him.
Of course, no one in his crew save from his three closest friends knew Shanks was a selkie and how important his cloak truly was, because he was not stupid enough to broadcast that kind of information to the world at large.
Not because he was ashamed of having inherited his mother's species, but because of what it meant in terms of consequences if anyone touched his skin. Well, cloak.
If someone took a selkie's skin and gave it back to them, it automatically created a magic bond between them, basically the equivalent of marriage, but much, much, much more serious. The unbreakable-until-death-do-us-part kind of bond. And it meant Shanks would also have to choose between giving his mate the ability to turn into a seal but then he would get hurt every time they got hurt, or renounce forever to the ability to turn into a seal.
Hence why the one unbreakable rule on his ship was to never touch the Captain's cloak. As far as everyone believed, it was because Shanks was stupidly possessive about his things – which was not entirely wrong – and that was it.
Even when they stopped ashore, Shanks was extremely careful about his one-night-stands and where he put his cloak once he got into bed with a lady, just in case.
So when it became clear that he had not been careful enough after coming back from his nightly swim and his cloak had drifted away with the tide, Shanks very much felt like the stupidest moron in existence.
And then he put on some clothes before taking Snake and Beckman aside for an emergency meeting in order to study the currents in the area and calculate every single trajectory his skin might have taken in the sea. The red-haired selkie was not going to give up so easily, so if the Sea wanted to challenge him, then he was damn well going to rise to said challenge and get his skin back.
-o-oOo-o-
Beckman pov
Never before had Beckman seen his Captain so anxious and determined in equal measure. Even when he had saved Luffy, Shanks' feelings had not been so intense. It was to the point where his Haki was constantly thrumming around him, which coincidentally was pretty good training for the whole crew.
Resisting one harsh wave of Conqueror Haki was one thing, but the constant pressure of a will on your mind was another kind of challenge, and beckman was of the opinion that it was good to let their newest members build some resistance to their Captain's strength.
It also meant some people passed out randomly every now and then, but nothing that could not be handled.
No, what was truly worrying Beckman was the dangerous unknown of what had happened to Shanks' skin, and what it could meant for the red-head if it fell in the wrong hands.
Because damaging that skin would have a direct effect on Shanks' health, and destroying it would both severely injure him and prevent him from ever turning back into a seal ever again. For someone who loved the sea as much as Shanks did, it was a horrifying fate that might send him into madness on the long run.
Hence why the Red-Haired Pirates were on a quest to find a black cloak lost in the waves of the New World.
Arguably a weird quest, but at this point, weird was already part of their lives.
Then one morning, while they were all in the galley, Shanks suddenly went through a full body shiver and dropped his spoon.
"Shit," he cursed between his teeth.
Beckman's eyes zeroed in on his expression, and he turned to address all the people gathered there for breakfast.
"Everyone out," the first mate ordered sternly. "Take your breakfast with you."
The galley emptied in the next fifteen seconds, and Beckman looked at his friend who was glaring at the table with his teeth clenched.
"Someone found my skin," Shanks admitted reluctantly. "I can feel their hands on it."
"Anythin' that can help us ?" the grey-haired pirate asked dutifully, though he already had an inkling of the reply.
"No."
"Then we start lookin' for someone who found a black cloak brought by the tide," Beckman said confidently.
"If they know what they're holding-" Shanks said anxiously.
"Then you can steal it," Beckman completed seriously. "No magic happening if you take it back yourself, right ?"
His Captain took a deep breath at that, like he was forcing himself to stay calm.
"Right. And they probably don't know what they've got anyway."
"That's the spirit," Beckman nodded with his hand clasping Shanks' shoulder. "Worst case scenario, I'll kill whoever got your skin. Dead people can't give anything to anyone."
Shanks snorted, but relaxed anyway and finally laid back a little just as his Haki receded.
"I just hope they'll keep it intact until I find them."
And that was the end of the discussion.
Then four hours later, Limejuice walked past Shanks and stopped a moment with a confused expression.
"When did you take a bath ? I thought you'd been out on deck all morning ? And wait, is that- is that mint ?" the blonde asked incredulously after taking a deep sniff, and burst out laughing. "Since when do you use scented soap, Captain !?"
Beckman watched as his Captain blinked in confusion, sniffed himself, and then a flicker of understanding flashed in his eyes and he smoothly changed his expression into something more cocky.
"Got to try things at sea before using them on the ladies," Shanks grinned with wiggling eyebrows. "So nice of you to notice the change, Lime."
Everyone burst out laughing at that, and the event was promptly put aside as Shanks being Shanks. Beckman mentally noted that whoever had found his Captain's skin, they had apparently decided it needed to be cleaned with mint soap, which seemed to indicate they would not destroy it at the very least.
A pretty encouraging thing to know.
Then that night, Shanks stiffened minutely and Yasopp quickly began to spin a tale to keep the whole crew's attention away from the red-head's reaction. Thankfully, it only lasted a few minutes before whatever had happened disappeared and Shanks relaxed again.
Beckman exchanged a look with his friend, and the red-head smiled in relief before nodding his head discreetly. Nothing had happened and all was well.
In the following weeks, however, Beckman noticed a new pattern. As soon as the evening rolled around, Shanks seemed to relax more than usual, and also look like he was feeling warmer than the weather warranted. At least for a few hours, after which he would suddenly feel a little colder again.
One night, when they were partying on deck, Shanks even got drunk enough to grin at Beckman.
"I think they're usin' it like a blanket," the dumbass slurred like it was the most hilarious thing ever. "Always feel so warm and comfy."
"Only you would lose your skin to someone who'd wash it with mint soap and use it as a blanket," Beckman smirked, equally amused at the idea.
Seemed like Shanks' infamous luck was holding on even in these circumstances.
"Maybe it's a hot gal who's waitin' for a big strong pirate to sweep her off her feet and sail into the sunset," the red-head burst out laughing. "Damn, if that's how she takes care of a cloak, I bet she'd be even more caring with her husband."
"For all you know it's an eighty-year-old grandma who collects garden gnomes and spends her evenings knitting pull-overs for her forty cats," Beckman countered, and upon Shanks' disgusted expression, he burst out laughing.
"Ugh, why're you ruinin' my fantasies like that !? Not nice, Beck !" Shanks pouted like a petulant child.
"Cause even your luck has limits, dumbass," the first mate snorted.
"Oh yeah ? Then what if I'm right and it's a hot girl who's just waitin' for me to get married and live a life of adventures on the sea ?" the red-head challenged him with a grin.
"Then I'll pay all your drinks for a month," Beckman replied with absolute confidence.
Shanks' jaw dropped and then he pouted even harder, which made the grey-haired pirate smirk.
No one in the crew was crazy enough to bet buying Shanks' drinks for any length of time beyond one day, because the budget required for that was enough to make anyone go broke, Beckman included. Well, anyone but Shanks himself, and the dumbass was a literal Emperor of the Sea. So they only ever bet something like that when they were absolutely certain to win.
"I'm tellin' Yas and Lucky you said that," his Captain huffed petulantly before walking away.
Beckman smirked and let his friend leave with all the energy of an angry kitten, then lit up a cigarette and looked at the horizon. They still had a dozen more islands to visit where the currents might have dragged Shanks' skin, hopefully one of them would be the correct one and they could get that damn cloak back without anyone getting hurt in the process.
The first mate would hate to kill a grandma using mint-scented soap and knitting ugly sweaters for her cats, after all.
-o-oOo-o-
Reader pov
One month after putting the cloak back into the cupboard, you finished another ordinary day with a little frown on your face and a grown. Out of all the things you could have running out of in your inventory, it had to be sand.
And you could not properly rub the herbs you needed without sand, because nothing had quite the same grating properties to enhance the effect you wanted for your decoction.
So with a heavy sigh and a few very unkind words for your past self, you grabbed a bag and walked decisively to the bech, fully intending to take just enough for what you needed to finish your current task and then go back the next morning to fully replenish your stock.
You arrived on the beach, quickly found a patch where shells, rocks, and other feathers from seagulls were mostly absent, then crouched down to fill the clean contenant you had put in your bag. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps startled you and you turned around to see a man barge in running from the other side of the beach.
The pistol in his hand and the golden hooks in his ears were not making you feel inclined to believe this blond unkept man wearing brown and black clothes was an honest man lost and looking for direction.
So you stood up and when he ran toward you, you took a step back in reflex.
"Sir, what-"
"Shut up bitch, you're gonna hide me however long it takes for those damn assholes to leave !" the man spat while getting closer.
You frowned, but kept your eyes on the pistol. It was not pointed at you, but you knew how fast that could change and that you had to act very carefully. You would worry about who he was running from later.
"Sorry, but I don't intend to-"
"I wasn't asking," the man – likely pirate – interrupted you again, which was pretty rude and definitely confirming you were better off not trusting him at all.
Then he seemed to get a good look at you and smirked while suddenly grabbing your left wrist in his free hand.
"And I think we're gonna have a great way to pass the time together, sugar," he leered. "Now be a good girl and-"
You did not wait for him to finish.
You closed your right hand in a fist just like your father had taught you and threw all your strength in the movement to punch him straight in the face.
His nose cracked with a very audible noise at the same time he shouted in pain and fell on his ass after slipping on the sand while taking an involuntary step back under your attack.
"YOU FUCKIN' BITCH !" he yelled.
Then he pointed his weapon toward you and fear seized your heart, because you could not escape a bullet. Maybe if you jumped to the side he would miss you or not touch anything vital-
A bust of wind suddenly made your hair fly behind you and the next second, there was a tall red-haired man with a white shirt standing between you and the other man. When the gunshot echoed and you gasped in fear, it was immediately followed by a metallic clang and the man in front of you remained standing like the bullet had not touched him.
"It's not very nice to shoot at a lady, you know ?"
His voice was low, with a touch of roughness to it, and rolling like the waves around the words in a way that flustered you a little.
Then the man moved forward, slashed the air with the sword he was holding in his right hand in a lightning-fast movement, and suddenly the blond man that was now hidden from your sight garbled a sound that strongly suggested something sharp had been introduced to a very fleshy part that was not designed to handle it.
The red-haired man sheathed his sword, which was when you realised he seemed to not have a left arm at all since his white shirt was knotted pretty high on the sleeve. You stared, speechless and frozen, as he bent down, grabbed the other man, and in one effortless motion, sent him flying so far away in the sea that you doubted the tide would bring the body before some predators would devour it.
Then he turned around and ran his hand through his hair with a charming grin that did things to your stomach at least as much as the sight of his incredibly muscled chest barely hidden by his mostly open white shirt. Jawline sharp enough to cut, tanned skin, a little stubble that only added to his roguish style, he was so handsome that you could even look past the awful cargo pants with purple palm trees and equally awful black sandals.
"Sorry 'bout that, sweetheart. You okay ?" he asked you with a smile, looking completely at ease.
And then your brain finally caught up with your eyes, and you realised the man standing in front of you was the Emperor of the Sea Akagami no Shanks, looking for all intents and purposes like his presence here and now was a completely normal thing.
"You-" you started, then your throat refused to produce more words, and you were left flailing your arms in his general direction, which made him laugh, a sound full of joy.
"Yeah, someone in town saw one of those guys run away and told us there was a little lady living alone in that direction, I figured I'd go check. Not sure you really needed it though," he grinned again and even winked at you. "That's a mean right hook you got there, princess. I'm Shanks, by the way, pleasure to meet you."
"Uh, thanks. I'm Y/N," you managed to say without stuttering too much. "Why- why is an Emperor here ? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful that you saved me, but erm, it's not exactly an interesting island, and-"
Your floundering seemed to amuse him, and he stepped closer to you.
"Just stopping by to resupply and thought I'd lend my hand when I saw some assholes were trying to rampage this place," he said lightly, then moved to grab a strand of your hair and replace it behind your ear while looking you straight in the eyes. "But now I think I might stay a little longer."
A blush exploded on your cheeks at his smooth statement, and you averted your eyes to the side, which was when you noticed a little trickle of blood on his wrist.
"What- you're injured !" you exclaimed.
"Huh ? Oh, just a scratch from when the bullet bounced of my sword," he brushed off. "Nothing-"
"It could get infected," you said as you grabbed his hand and frowned at the admittedly minor injury. "Come with me, I've got medical supplies at my place."
Then you turned around while still holding his hand in yours and started walking in direction of your home, only taking the time to bend and grab your bag on the sand before leading the red-head away from the beach.
It was only when he shifted your hold to mingle your fingers that you turned around in time to notice his bright amused grin and realised that you were ordering around one of the most infamous pirates to sail the seas.
Even more embarrassing, he did not seem to mind.