#torrential downpour thunderstorm followed by clouds

[sometimesraven]

uk weather today really said "it's uh,,, Seasons" today huh

[eat-limes-bitches]

Southern Cookin'

PAIRING: Female Reader x FATWS!Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: When Bucky and Sam get stranded in a Storm, they go to the nearest place they can, Bucky’s country home, but what happens when Walker shows up at the front door too?

WARNINGS: Fluff! Touch of angst, angry southern woman (this is a definite warning, if you've lived with one, you know."

Word Count: 1844

A/N: It's been storming its butt off here down south and as I was baking brownies this idea popped into my head and made me giggle, so I hope yall get a chuckle out of it too! Stay safe out there <3

Enjoy! <3

Dividers by Rookthorne

The mission was a disaster. Not only had they just got their asses kicked, but they also had to deal with the Bullshit from John Walker and then the country sky opened up with an early summer thunderstorm, drenching the two men with its torrential downpour.  

“We are hours away from the nearest safe house.” Sam sighed, looking at the database.

 Bucky looked over at his teammate, Sam was suppressing a shiver each time the wind blew. His split lip and bruised cheek getting more gnarly with each passing minute. He looked up at the sky, the dark swirling clouds showing no signs of letting up any time soon. Fearing for Sam's health and with no other option in sight, Bucky let out a sigh. 

“I know a place.” Sam raised a curious eyebrow but didn't ask any questions, the idea of a warm shelter too tempting to risk Bucky changing his mind. Bucky looked around for a moment, to Sam it almost seemed like he was calculating his location based on the landmarks before giving a little nod.

“Should be just on the other side of this field. 15-minute walk give or take.” Bucky concluded, making his way through the field, Sam not far behind him. 

Soon, the pair found themselves on the front porch of an old country farmhouse, the white porch swing swaying violently as the storm picked up. Bucky reached for the doorknob before pausing and looking over his shoulder at Sam, fixing him in his infamous glare before uttering a low warning. 

“Not a word of this to anyone. You hear me?”

Sam was used to Bucky’s gruffness at this point in their partnership but this was a new level of protectiveness that he hadn’t seen before. He raised his hands in a placating motion before agreeing.  The tension that seemed to be permanently engraved in Bucky’s form disappeared as soon as he stepped through the door. The sound of their entrance caused a woof to erupt from a room on the other side of the downstairs. Bucky toed off his boots, motioning for Sam to do the same when a rusty-colored dog came rushing into the room through a dog door barking his head off.  Bucky let out a chuckle, catching Sam by surprise, watching as Bucky then crouched down to greet the dog.

“Hey whiskey, it’s just me bubba.” Bucky cooed, scratching the pup behind his pointy ears.

“Where’s your momma little man?” Bucky asked the pup, removing his hand as the dog darted off back through the dog door before poking his head back through, watching the two men. 

Bucky stood, and followed after the dog, waving Sam along with him. The pair walked through a second door and they were both hit with a wave of warmth, causing Sam to let out a little sigh. The house smelled of cocoa and sugar, the sound of the storm outside blending into the calming atmosphere while a record played in the background. Just as Bucky was about to walk through a little hallway, Sam caught his shoulder, turning Bucky to look at him.

“Man, where the hell are we?” He asked, and then nearly fell out when he saw pink flush the ex assassins cheeks. 

“Uh, this is my home. I uh, I live here.” Bucky mumbled shyly refusing to look Sam in the face. Sam raised an eyebrow.

“You live here on your own?” He pressed a little further. Bucky shook his head.

“Nah, I live here with my girl.” 

A person appeared from around the hall corner as if on cue, the little red dog hot on her heels. She looked at the two men, her gaze fixing on Bucky. She smiled at him sweetly, brushing her hands off on her apron, leaving floury handprints in her wake. 

“Bucky! You’re home!” She waltzed over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, pulling back realizing how cold his skin was. 

“James you’re freezin’ and gettin’ water all over my hardwood floor.” She scolded him a country accent slipping out as she spoke. She then noticed Sam standing behind him and pursed her lips before fixing Bucky in a glare.

“You brought company over here in an even more sorry state than you and haven’t offered him anything to dry himself off or a fresh change of clothes!” She proceeded to chase the two men up the stairs giving strict instructions to change and dry off while she put a pot of coffee on. 

Sam let out a chuckle as the woman made her way back to where he presumed the kitchen was as the pair made their way upstairs. 

“She’s a spitfire huh?” Sam asked, taking the change of clothes from Bucky who just shrugged slightly, a soft smile decorating his features.

“Yeah, you could say that. 

Now in dry clothes, the two men wandered into the kitchen right as she pulled two batches of brownies out of the oven. She looked up after setting the brownies on the counter, giving a nod of approval seeing the men in a more presentable state. She wandered over to a cabinet throwing it open and reaching for the coffee cups on the top shelf, just out of her reach when Bucky appeared behind her, pulling them down from the shelf and placing them in her hands.

She smiled sweetly up at him before standing up on her toes and planting a quick kiss on his lips. 

“Thank you darlin’” She smiled softly.

“Of course doll.” Bucky smiled right back, stepping out of her way as she moved away to pour the coffee. 

“Sam? How do you want your coffee honey?”  She called out, pulling out the cream and sugar. 

“Uh, just black is fine. Thank you-” His words faded out, not knowing this woman's name. She handed him a mug with a chicken on it before handing another mug with a goat on it to Bucky before she spoke.

“Y/n.” She sent him a sweet smile before picking up her own mug and leaning into Bucky’s side who had lifted his arm to make room for her. 

Sam had a smirk on his face looking between Y/n and Bucky as he spoke, “I didn’t know Bucky had a girlfriend,” He drawled out the word girlfriend, watching Bucky’s cheeks get darker as he looked anywhere but at his partner as Y/n laughed. 

“Yeah, he doesn’t want to tell too many people. Somethin’ ‘bout worryin’ for my safety.” She shook her head as if the thought of Bucky trying to protect her made her laugh. 

Sam nodded in an understanding fashion. “Does anyone know about your little secret Buck?” Sam teased lightly. Bucky gave a soft smile with a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Steve did.” At the mention of the name, the room grew heavy with sadness. Y/n seemed to shift a little deeper into Bucky’s embrace before stepping away cutting the brownies and giving each man a piece. 

“So you knew Steve.” Sam started, looking at Y/n thoughtfully. 

“Yes, I did.” She started with a sad smile. “It was a bad storm like today, he and Bucky showed up at my door looking like two drowned rats, thinking it was one of the safe houses. Well, they were so pitiful lookin’ that I couldn’t just turn them away. So much like you two, I brought them inside, put them in dry clothes, and made them some coffee.” 

Just then there was a knock at the door. Bucky set down his coffee cup and went to investigate, leaving Sam and Y/n alone in the kitchen. Y/n reached over the counter and placed a hand over Sam’s.

“Look sugar, I understand why you did what you did.” She said softly. “Do I agree with it? No. Does Bucky agree with it? Of course not.” She let out a sigh before continuing. “But I understand it. But if there is one thing I know about Steve Rogers, is that he wouldn’t have just left anyone with that shield.” She concluded, patting his hand when Bucky let out a shout, causing the pair in the kitchen to dart to the front room.

When they arrived, there was a soaking-wet John Walker and Lamar Hoskins standing on the front porch. Y/n walked up to stand next to Bucky before looking at the two men.

“Can I help you two boys?” She asked, glancing from one to the other. John, seeming to puff up in the presence of a pretty lady, extended his hand out. 

“Good evening ma’am. John Walker, Captain America.” Y/n looked from his hand to his face, making no move to accept his handshake. 

“Your name very well may be John Walker, but you’re mistaken on the Captain America part sweetheart.” She gave him a once over before continuing, “You look more like a sorry excuse for a rodeo clown on the fourth of July than Captain America, but either way, that didn’t answer my question.”

She took a step up to Walker looking him dead in the eye. “Can I help you?” John seemed to deflate, stuttering over his words trying to make some sort of logical sense. Y/n raised her eyebrows waiting patiently for this worm of a man to get his act together and with no end to his incoherent mumblings in sight, she sighed. 

“Well, if you don’t need anything, I’ll have Hades show you out.” She said sweetly. Bucky chuckled lightly before backing up to stand next to Sam.

Sam leaned over to Bucky. “Who the hell is Hades?” Bucky just nodded towards the door as Y/n let out a loud whistle.

“Hades! We have some guests that need to be escorted out.” As soon as the word “out” left her mouth, a huge black Doberman appeared out of nowhere, growling and barking at the two men at the front door. With one loud bark, Walker went flying off the front step and back down the path to where their car was waiting, Lamar, hot on his heels as Hades bounded down the steps chasing them off with Whiskey following suit. 

The two dogs watched attentively as the car drove off and once they deemed the men to be far enough away, came bounding back into the house, tongue lolling out of their mouths, causing the trio to laugh until the dogs were inside making a mad dash for the living room.

“Boys! You get back here!” Y/n shouted, grabbing a towel off a nearby chair and chasing after the two soaking wet dogs. Bucky, still laughing, walked over to the door closing it before walking back over to Sam, who clapped him on the shoulder. 

“You’ve got yourself a good one,” Sam concluded. “Don’t let her get away.” Bucky smiled watching on in amusement as Whiskey ran by with the towel that Y/n had grabbed to dry him off, with her hot on his heels.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[eurovisionsocialnewswire]

JAPAN: Mammatus clouds observed in the skies over Tokyo following torrential downpours

The Japanese Meteorological Agency issued weather alerts on Tuesday, August 1, as a typhoon was approaching the southern island of Okinawa while thunderstorms pummelled other parts of Japan, including the capital Tokyo. Typhoon Khanun approached Japan’s Okinawa island chain on Tuesday, prompting the cancellation of over 900 flights, the closure of Naha airport and evacuation advisories for tens…

[sunkendreams]

Could you write a drabble of peepaw myers just cuddling with his partner in bed? Ooc or not i absolutely need it. Thank you for all your writing!

┊ 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — drabble.

┊ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — michael myers ( peepaw ) x afab!reader.

┊ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — descriptions of violence, softer!peepaw.

┊ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — 2,181.

┊ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 ⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — thank you so very much for your request! I tried to keep it as in-character as possible with some additional tidbits! This was super fun to write & it was so sweet, I needed it too! As always, I hope y’all enjoy! ❣️

┊ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⠀ཾ༵࿇ ˼ — @peachygothgirl ; @mrs-heelshire ; @slasherfantasy ; @loraxlola ; @the-wordis-bird ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @lttlegore ; @mehidktbh ; @darklylucid ; @comicalrage ; @dootys ; @krakersy ; @insanitymoshpit ; @callmemeelah ; @the-anxious-youth ; @horrorstories123 ; @bloodwithpeachmilk ; @joelsgeetar

Another thunderstorm in Haddonfield sets the scene — it’s a starless night, cloudy and concealed by dark clouds that blend in with the black skies. The crackling flashes of lightning split across dismal skies, followed by a torrential downpour of rain as it hammers against the roof of your home. A car or two drives by, but it’s the dead of night, and the activity is slim.

The cover of rainfall makes it easier for Michael to hunt, move around like some shadow, a murderous spectre with a knife in one hand, blood in the other. He kills and he leaves, haunting the dreary town by night before he comes wandering back to your home.

Michael was soaked to the bone, the rain washing away the bloodstains that splattered against his mask, stained his hands. It doesn’t absolve his coveralls of their damage, but he doesn’t seem to care. He trudges through the thunderstorm, making his way to your back door — your bedroom night light is on, a signal that you’re still awake, waiting for him.

The blade gleams whenever lightning strikes, showing the remnants of another kill, but Michael decides to put it away as soon as he crosses the threshold of your door, wet as can be. He tracks in mud, blood, and water as it rolls off of him in steady droplets, but you aren’t concerned about cleaning it up tonight.

Rounding the corner, you’re dressed for bed, clad in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts. Michael’s disheveled state warrants concern from your end, but he seems perfectly unbothered. “You’re soaking wet,” You murmur, moving toward him with a gentle grasp, holding his elbow. “Let’s find you something dry.”

You keep a trove of dry, clean clothing for Michael, ensuring that it was all up to his tastes. He’s rather meticulous about what he wears, as you’ve come to learn, and so you try to keep what he likes on-hand. He’s less than thrilled about having to change, but he relents, following you into your bedroom.

It’s warm and dimly-lit, only a sliver of illumination providing a spark of light to your bedroom. Michael is completely and utterly trusting of you, now — you’ve seen his face a handful of times, and so he’s less worried about getting dressed in front of you. You’re kind enough to wrestle with the zipper of his coveralls to assist him.

“I’ll throw everything in the dryer once you’re finished.” You smile, settling down along the edge of the bed. Michael grunts, his eye raking over you from behind the mask. On most evenings, he would’ve been fucking you into the mattress or have his face in between your legs, but the drive is slim tonight. He’s more tired than usual.

Michael turns away from you, sluggishly shuffling out of the comfort of his coveralls, having taken the mask off, too. The pale rubber sat atop your vanity, and you can see his grizzled countenance reflecting in the mirror. You rarely see him like this — slower, without clothing, his movements revealing a hint of exhaustion.

His body is getting older, littered in countless scars. You’ve never seen so many before, and they’re everywhere, from collarbone to hips, bullet wounds, stab wounds, anything that you can think of. Some of Michael’s scars are more livid and prominent than others, and some are older, like the one on his eye.

The pajama pants you’ve given him are lackluster, but he pulls them on anyway, exposed and vulnerable. Michael doesn’t enjoy this feeling, he’s bare and he’s reduced to something weak, something less — but you don’t care. He can see it in your eyes, a certain level of intimidation intermingled with adoration. You know that he’s rightfully wary about this, but it only happens once in a blue moon. Michael lets his paranoia go for a night.

Visibly hesitant with putting his shirt on, Michael catches your wandering stare that’s reflecting back at him through the mirror, your mouth going dry. Slowly rocking up off of the mattress, you move toward him, slightly hesitant until you realize that he’s open to your touch, to whatever it is you have planned.

Michael tenses when your arms wrap around his torso, your body glued to his from behind, cheek nestled against his back. You’re as soft as silk, gaze tracing over the many scars within your reach, and that’s when your warm lips embrace him.

It was unexpected, but he can’t deny that it feels incredible — he feels vulnerable, but it’s slowly becoming more comfortable for him. You kiss every scar that you can reach, every marred spot of skin, whereas flesh is mottled by a bullet, a blade, or something else. You love Michael more than anything else, more than anyone else, and he deserves to know exactly how you feel, make your affections a reality.

Thunder crackles overhead, providing a tempestuous ambiance, rain intermingling with the occasional flash of lightning. You’re quiet, lips nimbly moving along Michael’s skin, embracing each scar with another kiss. Gradually, he begins to relax, somewhat awkward and rigid within your grasp, but it’s a foreign sensation that he isn’t used to. He’s starved for your contact, husky breath hitching on occasion.

He doesn’t feel like The Shape with you — maybe he doesn’t need to.

There is a sliver of humanity that clings to Michael whenever he’s with you, something that grounds him. Sometimes he can’t tell if he’s content with such a feeling, but he’s slowly coming to terms with it. He lets you linger for a few moments before shrugging on the plain, black shirt that he’d placed onto the vanity. You move enough to give him space, but he’s pulling you back as soon as he’s dressed.

Shadows mask his countenance, but there is just enough illumination for you to see the grizzled visage peering down at you with a sense of protectiveness. Michael grunts, quiet as always, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tugs you into his chest. For a man who was soaked moments prior, he’s unusually warm.

Roughened, capable hands idly knead into your waist, fingers pressing into your skin. Michael dwarfs you in stature, enveloping you completely as he snags your attention, nudging you enough as he sluggishly descends for a kiss. It’s a bruising entanglement, stealing the breath from your lungs each and every time. He’s very careful with you, of course, a low rumble eliciting from him when you reciprocate the kiss.

Each kiss fills your stomach with a flickering fire, dull enough to be extinguished by the greedy, possessive movements of his mouth. Michael holds you tightly, his grip ironclad, as if you might slip through his fingers. You shudder when his teeth faintly scrape against your lower lip, yet he’s crashing right back into you, his kiss voracious, consuming — you savor every second.

Even then, despite the heated neediness of his kisses, you can tell that he’s tired. Michael’s steam is beginning to fade and flicker out, but you let him kiss and grope you to his heart’s content, letting your palms slide across his chest. Your fingers snag at the hem of the shirt, gliding underneath to feel around his torso.

Scars are easy to feel for as your digits tense against each mark and divort, clamoring around to caress into his muscle. Michael loves it — he thoroughly enjoys your touch, spurring him on to kiss you again, hungry this time, laced with something amatory. He isn’t necessarily in the mood tonight, but you never fail to ignite a feral fervor inside of him.

“Come to bed,” You mumble in between kisses, gently coaxing Michael in the direction of your spacious mattress. There’s an indent from where he sleeps — always on the same side. “Know you're tired.” Your voice is both tender and understanding, prompting him to follow after you, letting you get into bed first.

Michael doesn’t want to admit to being exhausted, but he is. Sometimes you forget that he’s in his sixties, he’s weathered, he’s suffered so much to where he can’t carry himself the way he did when he was twenty. Of course, if Michael could carry on without any hindrance, he would, but it’s becoming less possible with the sting of age.

Crawling into bed after you, Michael settles down onto the plush mattress, laying down on his back, always angled toward your door. It’s the instinct to protect you that dwells inside of him, to spring to your defense and kill an intruder. He’s often rigid when his back hits the bed, awkward and stiff until you come cuddling up to him, nestled into his side.

Snaking an arm around you, Michael lets you be as close as you want, cheek pressed into his chest, blankets loosely draped around the both of you. The silence is more than comfortable, intercepted only by the raging thunderstorm that continues outside.

You would’ve never expected Michael to be the type to want to cuddle given his demeanor, but you learn very quickly that he enjoys it much more than he lets on. A soft grunt escapes him whenever he rolls over just enough to face you, his gaze holding a strong semblance of reverence, maybe even love.

He’s never loved anybody before — he’s never had a reason to, he didn’t even think he was capable of it, not until he met you. The more Michael entrenches himself into your life, the more attached he becomes, he wonders if this is what it feels like. Is love the desire to protect, to covet, the thrill of physical intimacy?

Michael doesn’t know, and admittedly, he’s still figuring out what all of this means, what it means to belong to you. The way you stare at him almost makes his breath hitch, as if he’s moved mountains. Your hand extends, moving to cup his face, fingers gingerly resting atop his rugged visage, the silvery stubble and growing wrinkles, the leathery skin and scars.

Keeping his arm around you, Michael pulls you closer until you’re nearly snug against his chest, legs knocking into one another. He’s always silent, but his breathing is unusually heavy — you wonder what goes on in his head whenever the two of you are close like this. Instead, you keep your palm poised against his face, caressing his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

You’re warm, now — Michael alleviates the chill you felt before, he fills the void. His eye is fluttering across your face, drinking you in over and over again, sinking into the icy embrace of your hand. The cold softness of your skin isn’t bothersome whatsoever.

With another resonant grunt, Michael pushes forward, seeking your lips again, only his kiss lacks the inherent roughness and domineering edge that you’ve gotten so used to. Snuggled together in bed, he’s kissing you with a meticulous passion, handling you with a strange amount of caution and care.

You keep your hand steady, inhaling when you return the tender kiss, feeling his mouth drag from yours, beard scratching against your jaw as he plants a kiss at your neck. He holds you so close, close to where there isn’t an ounce of space left, and you can hear his chest vibrate with pleasant rumbles.

Any sensation of bloodlust is often quelled by you, his desire to kill and maim subdued by you, and it’s considered quite the feat. Instead, Michael feels as close to human as ever — and that’s rare. He never feels this way, often detached, clinging to the mask, to the Shape, but his walls are broken by you, always involuntarily.

“Michael?”

As soon as his name rolls from your tongue, he retracts, just enough to see your face fully with honed eyes that pierce through the barely-lit darkness. He’s a dangerous predator, made vulnerable by you, former prey. Even if Michael is merely looking at you, there’s always a weight to it, an incendiary feeling that burns right through you.

There is a brief flutter within your chest, one that makes your heart hammer to life, as if it’s attempting to burst through your sternum. He’s expectant, very patient with you as he awaits whatever you have to say. Your lips part to speak, lips twitching into a faint smile that is visible to him.

“I love you,” You murmur, your hand falling from his face to his chest, and you swore his heart fluttered underneath the pressure of your palm. “You know that, don’t you?” Your utterances become a little drowsy with sleep, but you’re still very alert.

Michael grunts, his unresponsive state commonplace to you, but you know his answer — he makes it known through his eyes, which seem to soften just slightly. As he tugs you to his chest, he presses his lips against your brow, heaving another husky, deep breath. He drowns in your presence, feeling less empty than he ever has before, pushing his face into the crook of your neck.

He knows — and he loves you, too.

[inkykeiji]

i have the warmth of the sun within me tonight

characters: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut n fluff

notes: this piece was written with someone specific in mind, but i wanted to share it here, too!! this is, by far, the healthiest and most wholesome piece i’ve ever posted on my blog ehehe | title cred: the warmth of the sun by the beach boys

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is extremely scared of thunderstorms, v romantic, shower sex, minimal prep, slight size difference/size kink

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

It’s dark. It’s so dark it almost looks like night despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon, heavy bloated clouds—charcoal and fluffy and overstuffed with raindrops—obscuring the safety of comforting golden rays from the entire city.

The torrential downpour feels endless, and for a brief second you’re terrified it truly may never stop, streets below having flooded with the rain, cars slowly wading through them, tires spraying out streams of water as they do.

Magnificent strikes of lightning crack through the dreary sky like thick roots snaking through the foggy canopy of smoke and steel, momentarily tainting them in shades of periwinkle and lavender and casting flashes of brilliant silver light across the skyscrapers and condominiums.

Their sudden presence makes you jolt, a rapid shudder working its way through your entire body, skin pebbling with chills in its wake.

But it isn’t the lightning that bothers you—not really, anyway.

It’s what comes after.

Rumbles of thunder so loud, so violent they cause the glass windows of Keigo’s apartment to quiver and the hardwood beneath your feet to tremble, roll through the sky, and you swear you can see the clouds ripple from the force.

Arms squeezing tighter around your body, your fingers curl in the material of your—his—hoodie, desperately attempting to resist the urge to grab your phone, to frantically scroll through social media as worried eyes scan for any mention of his name, for shreds of dreadful news, for things you never want to hear.

You hate it when he has to work in storms such as these. And you know, you know you shouldn’t be watching the sky, shouldn’t be searching the splotches of gunmetal adorning the atmosphere for a glimmer of scarlet and gold, shouldn’t be standing so close to the pristine glass windows that your uneven puffs of nervous breath cloud them, tiny blankets of condensation left by the hot air you exhale fleetingly staining the surface, evaporating into nothing just as quickly as they appear.

But you can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, almost—like some sort of sick obsession, some sort of twisted addiction you can’t control. Because—Because you have to know, unable to stand that feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at your insides, incapable of handling the ambiguity and vagueness that comes packaged with the not knowing. You have to at least try—try to do everything in your power to stay informed, and if that means facing a vicious thunderstorm head on, with your cheek pressed against the cold glass as your gaze searches the tumultuous sky, then so be it.

You can brave it for him. You swear you can.

“Baby,” he scolds gently, his sudden presence surprising you, causing you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Topaz eyes observe you, overflowing with concern, pretty bowed lips turning down, soaked strands of gold hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck. “How many times have I told you not to do this?” And although he’s reprimanding you, his voice is sweet, smooth and syrupy like the finest honey. “You know how much thunder freaks you out,”

You scoff, stiffening almost defensively as you turn your nose up a little, still avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t freak me out,”

“Oh?” he laughs a little as he kicks off his boots, tension easing from his shoulders with every step towards you, every step further into the warm sanctuary of your shared home, wet sock-clad feet slapping against the hardwood and leaving gleaming footprints.

“Kei,” you whine a little, gesturing his dripping body. “You’re getting water everywhere,”

“Hey now,” a playful smirk spreads across his lips, and a sudden, sharp whoosh slices through the air as his wings spread, spanning nearly half the living room. He gives them one good, thorough shake, crimson feathers trembling and sending tiny droplets of water flying. “I wasn’t done,” he speaks over your squeal of his name, smirk growing into that trademark mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t just stand at the window and stare up at the sky—it only scares you more,”

“I’m not scared,”

Vicious growls of thunder roil through the sky before you’re even finished speaking, almost as if it’s laughing at you, mocking you, your body flinching as the sounds crash over you, curling in on yourself a little, face puckered up in a wince as your words stutter, catching on a gasp in your throat.

Exhaling a soft sigh, Keigo holds his arms open wide, wings still stretched to span them. “Yeah, right. C’mere,” When you don’t begin moving immediately, he sighs again, strong hands gently pulling you towards him.

Your body melts into his touch—an automatic and involuntary reaction, almost instinctual at this point—and you slump against his damp chest, nuzzling your cheek against the firm muscles.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, arms wrapping around your body as he holds you tightly to his, voice reverberating against your ear. “The Big Bad Scary Thunder can’t get you here,”

Eyes rolling, you scoff at his playful teasing, a tiny smile materializing on your face as you pull away a little to look up at him, greeted with the sight of brilliant eyes—made of sunshine and liquid gold, you’re absolutely sure of it—gazing down at you, lips quirked in a cute little smirk.

His beauty never fails to knock the breath from your chest—it seems you can never be prepared for it; no matter how many times you’ve seen him, how many times you’ve been close enough to count the individual eyelashes lining those orbs, how many times you’ve been close enough to feel the inviting tickle of the short golden hairs decorating his chin—and you’re not sure you’ll never get used to it, either.

A peculiar mix of adoration and concern swirl in his honey irises, though you can see the mirth and amusement dancing just beyond that, thinly veiled by the love and worry.

“Oh, shut up—” another bang of thunder fissures through the sky, so raucous it makes the thick clouds waver and swell, your words morphing into a fearful little squeak, quickly burying your head back against the safety of his chest.

Fingers curl in the wet suede and you hug yourself closer to him, tugging him closer to you, body beginning to shudder.

He’s hushing you now, arms and wings curled around you in a defensive embrace as words of comfort pry past his lips, tender voice sheathing the armor of crimson surrounding you.

“At least they aren’t as bad as the ones back home, yeah?”

“I guess so,” you mumble, unconvinced, eyebrows knitted and mouth sculpted into a deep pout. “I still don’t like them, though,”

“I know, I know,” a warm hand rubs soothing circles into your back, voice only marginally louder than the next bout of thunder as it vibrates against your face, another quiet yelp clawing its way up your throat. “Shh, you’re safe, you’re safe,”

“Kei,”

The nickname escapes in a mangled little whimper, and you can feel it—fright, terror, dread—building in your chest, a strangling type of panic that weaves and winds itself around your windpipe and crushes; because they’re getting worse, they’re getting closer, growls and grumbles following the flashes of lightning almost immediately, roaring loud enough to quake buildings, your heart thudding so violently it’s almost painful. Tears sting your eyes, and you shake your head against him, as if trying to burrow into his chest, to carve out a little space in his ribcage, right next to his steadily beating heart, and live there.

“I-I take it back, they are as bad as the ones back home,”

Or, at least, this one is

Keigo doesn’t argue, all traces of amusement evaporated from his face, replaced by trepidation that mixes with his worry and pinches his features, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned as he cradles you against him. Ferocious tremors course through your form, chest beginning to hitch with swallowed sobs, and he squeezes you.

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

“Okay, alright,” he’s saying as he rocks you gently, crimson wings wrapped entirely around you both, shielding you from the storm. The scent of freshly mown grass and sticky vanilla ice cream is nearly overwhelming as it washes over your senses, invading your lungs and smothering you in its embrace. It’s a welcomed feeling, the beautiful suffocation it affords you with, vibrant bursts of heat rushing through your veins, whole body flooded and thrumming with a deep-seated comfort—a special type of solace, of reassurance, of contentment unique to him, unfathomable and mystifying on all accounts, that soothes your frayed nerves and calms your irregular heart—because he smells like home; not your home halfway across the world, your real home, your forever home.

“Come,” he instructs a moment later, stern yet tender, keeping an arm draped firmly around your shoulders, one of his wings curving around the limb as he leads you away from the window, scarlet feathers obstructing your vision.

—

The bathroom—comprised of gleaming marble and shining chrome—is enormous, housing a mammoth glass shower that spans the length of the furthest wall, large enough to more-than-comfortably accommodate his wings, and then some.

Steam fogs the glass, and a soft hiss slips from between your teeth as he cages you between his chiseled body and the freezing marble, cold rock stinging your already heated skin, his wings spreading to mimic his arms, providing another layer of protection and entirely immersing you in him.

It’s your favourite when he does this, when he engulfs you in his grasp and creates a tiny universe where it’s just the two of you, whole world having fallen away outside of the barricade his thick wings offer—and you’ve never felt safer.

And it’s amazing, you’re thinking to yourself—or maybe you’re murmuring it, lips moving in a daze—it’s amazing how even after all of the rainwater pouring from the sky, all of the zipping through those dense clouds, all of the vicious wind that whips against him as he soars; none of it could ever manage to wash away, to ever dull, his intoxicating scent, not even for a second.

You’re completely overcome by him, vanquished by his enamoring eyes and his saccharine smile—drunk and high off of it all, addicted to him in the sweetest way—and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

But you’re leaning into him, closer and closer and closer, lips parted as you inhale deeply, filling your lungs, your chest, your heart and veins and blood with his aura, his essence, him. He conquers you, intoxicates you, poisons you in such a beautiful way, and you’re enchanted by it, yearning for more, a greedy and insatiable craving that will never be fulfilled.

And he knows it. He knows the effect he has on you by merely existing near you—his cocky smirk and dazzling gaze tell you so.

But then his eyes soften, glazing over with something else, lidded as they slowly travel across your body bared to him, and his mouth falls open only for his tongue to suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers reach to trace your features, the curve of your cheek and line of your jaw, the most gentle caress.

“You…Are breathtaking,”

And he really does sound out of breath, as if he’s in awe from your beauty, as if this is his first time seeing you, as if you’re some sort of goddess, having descended right in front of him, and it forces chills to erupt across your bare skin—damp and splattered with tiny droplets of water that gleam like morning dew clinging to grass—despite how boiling it is between him and the steam from the shower.

It’s a feeling you can’t quite explain, a feeling you’ve never really been able to find the appropriate words for, something that makes you feel simultaneously powerful and weak, a swirling concoction of contradictions that invade your bloodstream and travel straight to your brain, infusing the tissues with the potent mix and sending tiny sparks buzzing through your veins, collecting to flutter together in the pit of your stomach.

He kisses you slowly, tonight. He kisses you like it’s his last day to live, kisses you like it’s his first time, unhurried tongue deliberately exploring the concavities of your mouth—every nook and ridge and crevice—as if committing them to memory, as if attempting to leave his stamp, his mark, his claim, on the real estate there.

He kisses you until neither of you can breathe, lungs shriveling as your chests heave, exhaling into each other’s mouths only to suck breath from each other’s mouths a moment later. He kisses you until you’re dizzy from the lack of air and he’s burning and hard and pressed up against your thigh, leaking head rubbing against the supple skin, leaving the prettiest gleaming trails of cream. He kisses you until you’ve gone stupid from his spit alone, fervent in the way you swallow it greedily, in the way you attempt to suck, slurp, steal more from him as it surges to your brain, tissues and nerves vaporizing into nothing more than a dazed mist, spiked with him.

The kiss breaks with a sharp whoosh of air, his lids lifting to reveal glassy pupils outlined with the thinnest ring of amber. Your tongue darts out from your mouth to lick and lap at the stringy, viscous remnants coating your chin; starved, ravenous, and forever unsated.

The chuckle huffed out from between swollen, saliva-soaked lips is nothing short of sinful, makes your vision blur and your stomach swoop, a murmured tease following it.

“Eager, aren’t you,”

And you want to point out that you weren’t the one practically humping someone’s hip, but the words tangle in your throat, catching on a gasp as nimble fingers slip between the apex of your thighs, an involuntary groan spilling from his throat.

“Fuck,” his head falls forward, face buried in your neck, and sucks an inhale through his teeth. “How are you already this wet?”

He’s nearly whining as he dips two fingers into you, soft little sounds that fall from his lips and sop into your skin, his breath scorching—sizzling more than the steam in the shower—against your neck.

And those fingers, now plunging into you, knuckles curling the moment they’re deep enough to press moans from your chest and cries from your throat, feel so familiar as they stretch you open—the same fingers that pet your hair and brush away your tears and feed you pieces of fried chicken; they feel like home.

Yet as comforting as that is, as much as it has your chest swelling with something so large, so dense you’re terrified your ribs may shatter and splinter under the strain, they aren’t enough. Not right now, not today.

Because even with the water hitting the tiles and the exquisite symphony of his pants and your mewls, you can still hear it, menacing blasts encroaching on you, deep and heavy and threatening to split the little world Keigo has created, the small haven his wings and arms provide.

“Please, please, Kei,” you’re nearly wailing out, forcing bleary eyes to open, belated in the way they find his gaze. “I-I want you, I need you,”

“Sweetheart,” he starts—and you know that tone, stitched together with hesitation and concern and embellished with thin ribbons of patronization. “You know you can’t take me without being opened up at least a lil’ first,”

Another clap of thunder rattles the apartment, sounding as if it’s just outside the bathroom door, ranting and raging to get in, and both of your hands claw at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away as words bubble past your lips, high and terrified and desperate.

“No, Kei, not tonight. Please, baby, please, I need you now, right now, Kei, right now, pl-please,” and you’re nearly choking on the pleads as they barrel up your throat and out your mouth, all garbled together and stuffed with spit. “I can handle it, promise,”

A hoarse whine hitches in his throat, the worried knitting of his eyebrows carving creases into his forehead. With pinched features and a scrunched face, it looks almost as if he’s in pain; like it’s pure agony to deny you. And you can see it, can see the internal struggle reflected in his eyes, stare wrought with the tug and pull between desire and care. But that need is growing, spreading, curling around your organs in a tight embrace, suffocating you with its urgency.

A final please, Keigo, croaked out in a broken whimper and thick with the threat of tears, is what breaks him, shatters his resolve to a fine dust and whisks it away in one breath.

“Alright,” he’s murmuring, though his voice is strained, tense and gruff under the combined paradoxical weight of lust and apprehension. “Alright, hush now, I’ve got you,”

Then he’s hoisting you up, and your legs are wrapping around his waist, one hand clutching the top of the glass door, the other digging bruises into his neck as he buries his cock inside of you in one swift movement, a set of relieved gasps escaping you both.

It stings a little, sharp pinpricks shooting through your gut as his thick cock stretches you open, but they’re chased promptly by thorns of pleasure that dissipate the pain.

Because he feels so good, and you feel so full, and everything feels so perfect like this—everything feels right again.

But a boom of thunder explodes through this moment, blowing it to bits and pieces, and you reflexively jump, whole body flinching in his arms.

“Shh,” he’s whispering to you as he pulls you closer, chest pressed flush against yours. “Don’t worry, songbird, I’m gonna make it better, alright? Just focus on me,”

And so you do, eyes slipping shut as his hips begin to pump—slow at first, almost languid in the way they roll forward, each thrust thorough, cock nearly entirely unsheathed before it plunges back in, the head nudging your cervix, and you revel in the delicious cracks rasps—of your name, of curses, and praises—that fall from his lips with each rut.

“S’deep,” you mumble, words already jumbled from the carnal bliss, from the hedonistic decadence that surrounds you, emanating off him and percolating into you, instantly diffusing the tension and panic knotted like thick vines in your chest—even though he’s barely fucking done anything. “S’deep, Kei,”

“Yeah?” the word fans across your face, sweet and fragrant, hazy eyes opening to be met with glittering gold, strands of honeysuckle hair stuck to his forehead and temples, framing the dark gaze watching you, pupils almost voracious in the way they soak up your expressions, almost greedy in the way they scan your face as his hips move, looking for more. His forehead knocks against yours, penetrating stare boring into your face. “Good? My baby like it?”

“So good,” your head nods in small movements with the whimpered affirmation, bumping against his. It’s already beginning to build, smoldering deep in the pit of your stomach, the spark that had been dulled when you had begged him to stop, begged him to give you more—to stretch and fill and form you like your insides were made for him—reigniting, bright and scalding.

“More, please,”

It just slips from your lips, brain already beginning to melt as you allow yourself to be submerged, swallowed and consumed by him; an innate desire that swamps your mind and floods your senses, and you want it all.

But he complies without complaint this time, void of the usual teasing remarks and requests that you beg for it, because he can see how depleted, how drained you are, utterly exhausted from the terror of the storm, his understanding evident in a gentle confirmation tumbling from his lips.

And his groans and grunts are so beautiful, vibrating deep in the recesses of his chest, louder than any thunder as they rumble in your ears. You find solace in them, gulping them in as he pushes them out, letting them vibrate down the column of your throat and collect deep in your belly, kindling with the flickering embers that burn and glow and multiply with each thrust, furling together in a tense ball of churning heat.

The canting of his hips increases, faster and faster and faster with each rock forward, the escalating force resulting in your body to rubbing against the marble and glass, tightly curled fingers readjusting themselves, slipping a little from the foggy condensation coating the surface.

You don’t even realize that your sensitive skin’s been rubbed raw from the action, too tangled up in his noises, his pleasure, his cock, to notice, too tangled up in him to care at all.

“Here,” Keigo pants out, hips suddenly stilling. A low whine catches in your throat, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, a breathless snicker escaping his parted lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he’s telling you as strong arms readjust you, folded wings suddenly spanning, a gentle gust of air bathing your slick body in little goosebumps, before they wrap around him—around you—sheltering you from the glass and marble as they swoop under your ass and thighs, aiding Keigo in supporting your weight. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, I promise,”

And it’s so much hotter like this, so much more intimate like this, uneven puffs of breath mingling as his forehead rests against yours, florescent lights reflecting off of his thick feathers and tinting everything—his skin, his eyes, his hair—scarlet.

The sudden snap of his hips startles a moan out of you, and he laughs again, carmine-tinged topaz eyes positively glowing. And he looks so gorgeous like this, looks like a fucking god like this, those fine gold hairs that cover his body catching in the soft light and shimmering.

He’s kissing, licking, nipping anywhere he can reach, stamping your flesh with physical manifestations of his love, pace never faltering as skilled, powerful hips continue to pound into you, cockhead dragging against that spot with every buck.

Your legs flex around his waist, muscles coiling as the sphere roiling in your stomach blazes, curled into a concentrated ball of fire. The heat it exudes is nearly unbearable now, heavy as it sinks into your gut, glowing orb spiraling as it coils, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

“Want you to cum for me, baby,” Keigo nearly keens, almost as if he’s begging you instead of commanding, voice cutting through the dense haze your brain has evaporated into. “Can y’do that for me? Be good and cum all over my cock?”

Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, emitting affirmatives in the form of high little mewls with each jerk. And it only takes two more sharp pistons of his hips before the fire-filled ball bursts, half of his name escaping your throat in a fractured cry as your entire body stiffens, cunt clenching so vigorously it’s almost painful.

Words start to spill from his mouth, an endless stream of praises, sandwiched between dark groans and broken whines and hitched curses; Y’so good for me, y’know that? Ah, f-fuck—So gorgeous when you gush all over my—my cock, baby, y’feel so good, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Hot, thick cum fills you suddenly, coinciding with his last choked out declaration of love, cock throbbing as it spurts rope after rope, taut stuttering hips pressed flush against your skin.

—

Everything aches as you unwind your limbs from around him, muscles sore and legs trembling as Keigo forces you to stand, propping you up against the shower wall and returning with the fluffiest towel only a moment later. Large hands pull you towards him, dragging you from under the shower head and into his arms, swaddling your shivering body in Egyptian cotton and strong arms and soft feathers.

He leaves the shower running on purpose, steady flow of water hitting the tiled floor and marbled wall, efficiently drowning out any roars or claps of thunder.

And you’re so tired, so pliant and boneless in his arms, barely able to keep your weighted eyelids from fluttering shut. He keeps you in his lap as he sits on the closed toilet, cradling you to his chest as best he can as he gently rocks you back and forth, whispering out praises—you did so well, you always look so gorgeous taking my cock—and avowals of his love, constant words oozing from his lips, sentiments cascading over your body like a stream of thick syrup.

Unconsciousness has you in its clutches, nearly slipping into the familiar embrace that promises the numbing ecstasy that comes with such an intense orgasm, until your tummy growls, and Keigo laughs.

“No, sweetheart,” he chides softly as you nuzzle into his chest, an indignant noise sounding at the back of your throat. “You have to eat at least a little before you can fall asleep,”

“Don’wanna,”

“I know,” he’s saying sympathetically as he stands, placing your feet on the floor a moment later. You wobble a little, eyes still shut, and he chuckles again, murmuring to himself about how fucking cute you are as he begins to dress you, tugging soft fleece that reeks of him over your head.

—

The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time you’ve been clothed and fed, constant and leaking from the clouds overhead as you snuggle against Keigo in the plush sanctuary of your shared bed, tummy full and happy with roasted chicken and sauteed veggies. A deep contentment settles itself in your bones, weaving itself around the ivory in a protective glaze and imbuing you with a sense of calm, a sense of relaxation, a sense of relief, and you hum, Keigo’s lithe fingers trailing up your spine absentmindedly.

If you’re being honest, you’re not quite sure how he did it, how he slipped, slithered, seeped through the few cracks in your defence without being violent, without being forceful—how he tore down all of the barricades and shields you had built around yourself, hardened and firm from several years of paranoia and distrust, from the perpetual fear of being hurt again. It should scare you, really, how quickly he did it, how easily and inconspicuously he did it. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, because he did it with love; stripping those protective walls with genuity and sincerity, dismantling every brick and stone with gentle touches and soft kisses and tender words. He did it with respect, with patience, with passion and affection and devotion.

So it doesn’t, because there’s nothing to fear—because you’ve never felt more safe in your life, here enveloped by his strong arms and cozy wings, resting on his chest, legs tangled in knots together.

And as you drift off to the gentle pat-pat-pat of the raindrops against the windowpane and the steady thumping of Keigo’s heart echoing in your ears, you realize he’s your very own ray of sunshine, forever present to keep those menacing clouds and malicious thunder away, even in the strongest, the harshest, and the scariest of storms.

[babbushka]

A Throne By Any Other Name

Kylo Ren x F!Reader (Medieval AU)

A/N: This oneshot was inspired in part by to some requests sent in by dear anonymous users, and in part by the revelation of Adam's apparent cunnilingus skills lol. I hope you enjoy this smutty oneshot!

3.1k, NSFW (oral sex [f-receiving/face sitting], fingering, PIV, jerking off, outdoors sex, sex in the rain)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It is too early in the day for the sun to have set, and yet the skies are dark. Clouds, heavy, blank, pendulous, fill the summer afternoon, a torrential downpour out in the distance. You and Kylo are lying on the plush green grasses of the fields which sit just outside your castle, enraptured with one another. He stares into your eyes, one palm on your cheek, soaking up the sight of you in your embroidered kirtle, your hair braided long down your back clasped with golden bands encrusted with pearls and sapphires.

For hours you both have been there, wrapped in one another’s embrace, watching as the lightning strikes across the clouds, claps of thunder following soon after. The time between the flashes and booms grows smaller and smaller, and each time it shatters the sky, you cannot help but gasp. Instinctively, Kylo tightens his hold on your body, and you warm with affection for your husband, your King.

“Isn’t it breathtaking?” You have been reduced to a whisper from the sheer awe of mother nature, lifting a hand and squinting with one eye like you’re about to fire an arrow, aiming it straight for the deluge that hits the edge of the fields as you breathe, “It must be so far away and yet, I feel as though I can reach out and touch it with mine very fingers.”

Kylo takes your hand and pulls it to his lips, kisses across your fingertips and down your palm, pushing back your sleeve enough to expose your wrist, where he grazes his crooked teeth along the delicate skin.

“Are you afraid?” Kylo whispers, never one to assume more volume than you, never one to assert himself over you.

Once, a long time ago, Kylo had soothed you from the way the sounds of thunder disrupted your sleep. You smile, grateful that he would be so willing to use whatever influence he has over this land as its King, to do the same again.

“No, I have learned to love the thunder, now that I know it bends it’s whims to you.” You tell him as such, and Kylo blushes shyly in a way so discordant with the ferocity of his power.

“The rain is moving towards us, what shall we do my beloved?” Kylo turns to the storm, his pupils growing to soak up what little light is left. It grows darker and darker out in the fields, save for the lightning that flashes, a deep purple black surrounding the castle. He kisses your shoulder, “I will not see you soaked to the bone if you do not wish it.”

“Hmm, and what if I do?” Tilting your head to the side, you allow him greater access. The wind chills you and you shiver, Kylo only holding you closer as he licks a hot stripe up your throat, nibbling at your ear.

“In that case...” He breathes against the spot just underneath your jaw, his hand working under your many layers to brush his fingers through the thick thatch of hair between your legs, breath hot as he sucks on your pulse, “I shall see to it personally, that my Queen be soaked in another manner altogether.”

“If that is what my King wants,” You reach for his hand and press it against your flesh further, sliding out of his embrace in a guise to better lie down, “That is what he shall get.”

Kylo removes the clasps of his fine furs, hiding them inside the large basket of cheeses and wine you have brought with you so that they do not get so soaked. You pull your kirtle up and over your head, leaving you in just the plain white cotton chemise that flows in the wind of the oncoming storm. Kylo is about to grab at you once again, when you are suddenly off, slipping just through his fingers, all of a sudden out of reach as you cheekily tease, “But first, he must catch me.”

This is one of your favorite ways to work him up, your husband. He must win your affection, must prove himself worthy of it. And oh how he does love to prove himself to you -- the maximum capacity of his prowess on display for you as the world lights in moments, a game of chase where your pleasure is the prize.

The rain has found you both, in this game, and Kylo wishes he could see you better to see the way your chemise has molded to your body, the fabric gone translucent with the rain. He knows, he just knows that all of your curves are on display; the roundness of your tits, the swell of your ass, the softness of your stomach and thighs as you run, your hair clinging to your face as the wind whips the braids around.

“Get back here!” Kylo demands, hungry for you, his heart pounding inside his chest, luring you in close with false modesty, “You are too fast for me.”

“Then remove some of thine armor my darling, and perhaps you will be lighter on your feet.” Never one to give in to his traps, you only dart past him, grass sticking to your ankles, rain slick’d much like the rest of you.

Smirking, Kylo does as he’s told, stripping down just far enough so that he is clad only in his leggings; his tunic and all the belts and buckles of armor and cloaks gone in a soggy pile on the ground far from where he manages to wrap his arms around you once more, bring you laughing to the ground.

“I’ve got you now,” Kylo declares triumphantly as he blinks away the rain water that beats down on his back, as he wrestles you onto yours with a grin, “I’ve got you right where I want you.”

His hands roam across your body, and you encourage him to do so with the parting of your legs, your wet chemise clinging and sticking to your body, your chest heaving with a mix of adrenaline and exertion. Your cunt drips, and you grow impatient with the waiting, the game over.

“You speak as if you have won, yet where I lay, it appears as though I am the one with a prize.” Your hand smooths up Kylo’s leggings, palming the hard line of his cock and giving it a firm squeeze through the fabric, your voice deep and sultry when you inquire, “How do you want me?”

“Take off your clothes, lest I drown in the fabric.” He replies immediately, and you know by his phrasing that he means to delve his tongue between your legs, a pleasure so sensational that you have never once denied his wish for it.

“Mm, what a way to go that would be.” You laugh at the thought, struggling to get the drenched garment over your head.

“Not before we have heirs to succeed me.” Kylo too grows impatient, and with the brute strength he possesses, he tears the chemise straight down the center, helps push it off of your shoulders instead.

Feeling the rain on your bare body is nothing short of divine, you have decided, as Kylo lies down beside you. For a moment, the two of you simply open your mouths and taste the crisp clean summer rain on your tongues, but you are near desperate, Kylo can smell it, for a good fucking, and who is he to deny you anything?

Rolling your body on top of his, Kylo crushes your mouths together, those very same tongues hot and throbbing against one another. Kylo has one hand gripping the back of your neck, holding you steady, and the other busy with freeing his aching cock from its confines.

“Kylo, the lightning.” You murmur against his lips as thunder crashes overhead, your hands bracing the earth on either side of his head, your legs straddling his thighs. You push your hips back so that you may catch the feeling of his cock against your pussy, but Kylo has other ideas.

“Fear not, it will not harm you.” He urges you, a heated desperation of his own in his voice when he instructs, “Now please, take your seat upon your throne.”

His mouth is hot against your cunt, when you settle your knees in the very spot your hands just were, the bend of your legs digging into the waterlogged earth below as rain pounds pounds pounds on top of you. He is eager, so eager, to part your folds with his lips, so eager to begin sloppily kissing your pussy with his tongue, that the force of it already has a tight coil of heat winding in your stomach.

“Oh, oh stars, that feels good.” You sigh, your hands smoothing up and down your thighs as your legs widen for him ever further, allowing him deeper access.

Kylo’s grip on you returns, but it does so one handed. His left hand digs deep into your hip, grasping and grabbing at the supple flesh there, while his right hand works strong solid strokes of his cock up and down, his hips bucking up into his fist as yours grind down onto his face.

“Mmmm..!” He groans into your cunt, and you revel in it, in the way the vibrations of his baritone resonate through your very bones, your nipples so stiff in the cool air of the thunderstorm, your clit pulsing against his tongue, his lips. Mindlessly, Kylo jerks himself off, savoring the pleasure as he drinks yours down.

“Kylo! Oh my liege, oh fuck!” Your moans are swallowed by the sound of the rain, so you are free to gasp and shout as loudly as you’d like. No one is outside in weather like this, and even if the castle were to look out their windows, the rain is so dense that it shrouds you in a cloak of misty darkness. Soaked completely, you ride Kylo’s face, your naked body undulating onto his mouth. “More, more I demand more!”

The way his tongue plunges up into your pussy has you nearly falling forward from surprise, the thick slurping sounds that he sucks out of your cunt has your knees weak, thighs shaking. His nose is perfectly positioned over your clit, and the pace that he nudges against it drives you to the brink of ecstasy, has you breathing fast and heavy, blinking away water and pushing soaked hair from your face, your body tensing up, that heat in your stomach spreading through the nerves and veins of your body like a wildfire.

“Hands, Kylo, I beg of thee, hands.” You are nearly frantic as his mouth sucks at your folds, bites at your inner thighs. You will be sore there tomorrow, but in this moment, if you do not get to come, you’d wage war. He is obliging, and so he releases his hold on your hip, taking three of his fingers and shoving them inelegantly up into your pussy, seeking your gspot, and grinning when you grind down onto his palm with a satisfied, “Yes!!”

He latches his lips around your clit and sucks and licks at it as his fingers thrust in place of his tongue, crooking against that spot against your walls, filling you with such a pleasure that you have to clutch at your tits and pinch your nipples, just to have something to ground you as your eyes snap open.

“Oh yes!” You cry, his speed increasing, spelling his name on your clit, your nipples so hard, body so wet, dripping all over, “Oh Heavens above -- fuck!”

“Come on my tongue, precious, my precious girl.” Kylo pulls away only long enough to watch as your body convulses above him, your shoulders shaking, body pitching forward. He steadies you and reverses your positions, lays you down on the wet earth as you come and come and come, frantic in his own right to line his cock up, waiting to push in until he has your express permission, “May I..?”

“Kylo I fear if you do not fuck me right this instance I will burst like the thunder that blooms across the sky.” Your eyes are glassed over, he can see in the dim light, and it’s all that he needs before he is nudging the head of his cock up to your pulsing folds, pushing inside.

At once, your body accommodates him, opening and blossoming for him like an oyster in the moonlight. He thrusts into your demanding cunt in one fell swoop, the rain on his back cooling his overheating body as he pounds your pussy with reckless abandon.

“Fuck, oh -- fuck!” He moans through grit teeth, the sheer pleasure of your body filling his head with a thick fog that he could shout about, your tits bouncing from the force of the way he fucks you hard, fast, grunting out, “This cunt’s so tight, you miraculous beauty, so tight and hot, and all for me.”

“I -- I -- oh yes, Kylo please, more?” Your voice is high, wanton and desperate, breaking on the verge of a scream as he lifts your hips and holds them up with his hands, plowing into you, deeper deeper deeper, the taste of your come on his lips, in his nose. It is obscene, the sound, the way you are wet inside and out, slippery with come and rain.

“Let the kingdom hear, let them all hear.” He wants you to scream, he wants to push you over that edge, the very same edge he himself is so close to meeting. You’ve come once, but he wants another, and another, and another still, until you are a babbling incoherent mess of nothing but please and his name.

“Kylo!” You give him what he asks, voice ringing through the rain, cutting above the thunder as he bends his body to capture your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it the same way he sucked on your clit, making your body writhe underneath him this time instead of above, “Oh my liege! Oh -- Kylo!”

Thunder crashes, and lightning streaks, and the rain pours, and Kylo fucks your pussy with as much strength as he can manage. Deep even thrusts that fill you so completely that it pushes you up the grass, body bouncing, shaking, screaming for him. You have to shut your eyes against the pleasure, your orgasm from when he ate your cunt out never having a chance to end, simply rolling into the next one, your back pushing clean off the ground from the strength of it.

He is not too far behind, focusing all his energy into pleasing you. One of his fingers rubs at your clit and he smiles into the crook of your shoulder when your legs kick out from under you, scrabbling for purchase as your fingers tangle in his inky locks. His own orgasm hits him with little warning, and he pins you to the now muddy ground with a harsh grunt, his hips slamming against yours once, twice, three more times, before he collapses on top of your body.

You both feel it, the way his come fills you up, hot and pulsing inside your cunt. Grinning, there is a satisfaction that comes with this -- your dear king needs no mistresses to keep him pleased, no rotation of women to warm his bed. You are all he desires, the evidence is flowing between your bodies. Kylo rolls you over so that you can rest your cheek on his chest, for he is too tall to do so without pulling his cock out of your pussy.

Chests heaving, you each gulp down humid air, before the tingles of your pleasure prick up your spine, and you’re laughing into the line between Kylo’s pecs. He smiles softly at you, pushing your hair away from your face where the rain keeps sliding it down, cranes his neck to kiss you.

“You are so beautiful in the rain.” Kylo murmurs, his eyes half-lidded.

The rain has begun to lighten up, no longer the intense downpour. Perhaps that was a metaphor, or perhaps in his own release of ecstasy, so too did the clouds complete theirs. In either case, the rain has softened to a gentle drizzle, and the thunder and lightning have subsided.

“You can hardly see me.” You smile playfully, for now that the clouds have begun to part, there is naught but the light of the silver moon to light the field.

“I can see enough to know that you are a beauty beyond our mortal comprehension.” Kylo kisses you again and again, his lips chaste.

“Careful Kylo, you may be blaspheming.” You whisper, but your husband only scoffs, rolls his eyes.

“So what if I am? Am I not king? Do I not have divine right to this throne? Who is to say that then I do not have right to a divine wife?” He helps you to stand, and you are wobbly on your feet, pleasure still thrumming through your body.

“That’s the orgasm speaking. Here, allow me to give you another -- ”

“In a moment,” Kylo pets down your wet hair, stretching his limbs and cracking his joints. He’s getting old, he thinks, hoping, wondering, if this time he’ll give you those heirs you both desire. “Just give me a moment to recover.”

“Perhaps we should move to our bedchambers. I am positively covered in mud, and the rain has begun to grow cold.” Laughing, you take stock of one another, the joyful sensation of pleasure mixed with fond adoration of one another causing a fit of chuckles at the way both of your bodies are filthy from your romp in the grass.

“Now that you mention it,” Kylo nods, his slippery hands groping your chest, “I desire a hot bath, with frothy bubbles, and with you sat atop my lap so that I can get those glorious breasts of yours right in my face.”

“And then perhaps once we are clean again, you may have a...renewed appetite?” You bump your hip against his as you collect the soggy pile of clothing from the ground, the torn chemise and your once beautiful kirtle.

“My lap, my face, I’ll take you however I can get you.” Kylo agrees, knowing the moment that he says it, you’ll be running off towards the castle.

In the light of the silvery moon on this summer’s evening, Kylo watches you run and thinks that it really is the quickest way to work him up. Good thing, he thinks as he chases after your naked body through the rains once again, he has the rest of the night, to give his Queen exactly what she wants.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taggin' some Kylo lovin' friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @materialisthicc @lovinghufflepuffgirl @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @schopenhauerdeathsquad @loverofallthings @groovetoob @bxnnywriting @glassbxttless @angel-bxby3 @smallgirlbigpersonality @lovelyyy-luna @2000andwhat @raddo1975 @cornmousequeen @metsienmenninkainen @caillea @painttheskylineforme @holding-on-to-starwars @kylo-ren-is-alive @caitlin-was-here @icarusinthesea @princessflip

[greyias]

The Prompts for days thing 81. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?” (cause this just sounds adorable) XD

As a spy, Theron was accustomed to planning for the worst-case scenario in his assignments. Digital reconnaissance was a necessity in staying alive, so he had diligently prepared everything ahead of time. He’d mapped out all the network relays of Zakuul’s presence on Voss, loaded as many programs and exploits as he could fit into his implants’ memories and his datapad, and made sure he had backup communications in hand so they didn’t have a repeat of the Tatooine incident, where he had nearly gotten blown to bits alongside the Alliance Commander.

What he had neglected to prepare for, to his great chagrin, was the weather.

When the foreboding dark clouds rolled in across the horizon, they were speeding through the Pelath-Ri Marches towards the coordinates provided by Rokuss, the leader of Voss’s resistance movement. It forced them to leave the well-worn trail and take cover in one of the nearby caves as a dark, thick curtain of rain grew closer and closer. The sharp tang of ozone in the air told them they were in for quite the show.

The ceiling of the cave was high enough to keep them dry, save for the occasional drip, so they decided to wait out the storm. Theron drew his datapad and attempted to send a message to Miot, who was still waiting at the shuttle, but the electricity crackling in the clouds seemed to be producing too much interference. Or maybe the Sullustan had stepped away for a caf break. He grumbled under his breath and ran his fingers through his already unruly hair, making it stand even more on end.

“Are you being grumpy back there?” The question was tinged with amusement.

A glance up from his datapad revealed Grey was kneeling at the mouth of the cave, her fingertips tracing the patterns of the rivulets of water as it cascaded over her hands. She was calm, quiet, her eyes following the water as it flowed around her hands, oblivious to the chaos of the storm outside. Despite her actions, he could have sworn she somehow wasn’t actually getting wet. 

“What are you doing?” Theron quirked a brow at her.

Instead of the expected answer regarding the rain, she just said, “Listening.”

“Ah yes, the soothing sounds of a torrential downpour. How relaxing.”

“Some people find it relaxing,” she said with a hint of amusement, “but that’s not what I’m listening to.”

An urge to roll his eyes at the obvious Force nonsense rose in him, but he resisted it. She never seemed to find his disdainful quips about the Force nearly as amusing as he did — one of the many downsides of dating a Jedi, he supposed. “Then what are you listening to?”

“It’s hard to put into words,” she said after a moment. “The sound of a raindrop hitting the ground may be similar everywhere, but the way it flows is not. Thunderstorms on Odessen have this powerful beat that seems to harmonize with the rainfall. Here it’s more discordent, more turbulent. The vibrations of it as it crashes into the ground are a counterpoint to the steady rhythm of the rain. A bit like the duality of Voss itself.”

Theron was pretty sure that he had never listened to precipitation that closely in his life, and in all honesty, never planned to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but as much as I’m enjoying this little poetry reading, I don’t really want to get waterlogged.”

Grey didn’t reply, but her eyes never left the rain as it poured down, an expression of almost… longing on her face. There had been many times in Theron’s life where he once wished for the same connection to the Force that the Jedi had. He craved information, explanations for everything around him — and that there was this entire spectrum walled off to him, that he’d never be able to feel. It was difficult to not resent it in a way. But it was that look on her face, that feeling of peace and belonging and yet simultaneous yearning — he’d never be able to truly understand it. And that stung.

The water continued to splash off her palm, splattering against her armor and the gloves, and if she kept it up, she’d be drenched before long. And they hadn’t exactly brought a spare set of clothes to change into.

“I didn’t exactly bring a towel for you to dry off,” he pointed out.

“I don’t need a towel, I can use the Force.”

It took him a moment to process that. “Wait, what? You can use the Force to dry yourself off?”

She pressed her lips together, as if trying to suppress a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Kidding.”

The playful teasing could have annoyed him, but in the dim light of the cave, the way the water droplets clung to her hair and eyelashes gave her an almost ethereal quality. Like some otherworldly being from beyond the stars. She turned away from him as a few more water droplets trickled across her head and down her neck. He noticed the rivulets of water had soaked through the knees of her pants and were now dripping onto the cave floor. Correction: an ethereal, otherworldly being that was unfortunately on her way to getting soaked to the bone.

With a shake of his head, he said, “Maybe you should save all of that weather poetry slam for another time, because right now you’re getting soaked.” 

A rumble resonated in the distance, and she angled her head towards it, gaze fixed on the horizon. Although he couldn’t see what she was looking at, he could tell she was still straining to hear something. 

“I’m sure you can hear the thunder or the Force or whatever it is just as well in the dry area of the cave,” he added.

She flashed him that look again, amused with her lips pressed together as if she saw right through his sarcasm. If he didn’t know any better, he might think she was trying not to laugh. The cave became darker, as if the clouds outside had closed in and blocked out almost all the daylight. After a few more moments of whatever nature communing she had been doing, she finally relented and stood.

“Fine, you win,” she said, attempting to use her cape to wipe some of the water away.

“It’s not a contest.”

The brow she quirked in his direction indicated she didn’t quite believe that. “If we do not want to brave the storm, then I believe we might be stuck here for a little while. The storm appeared quite large.”

At that moment the thunder cracked again, echoing in the cave, and he felt it in his chest, in his bones. He could see her silhouette in the faint light, reaching up to her hair, fingering the wet, limp strands. The space between them shrunk in just a few steps, and without much thought he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. That ethereal Jedi vanished as she blinked up at him in surprise. He flashed her a sheepish grin in reply, although he wasn’t sure if she’d really be able to see it in the darkness.

She hugged the jacket closer to her body as if she were suddenly aware of the chill in the air. “Thank you.” 

“I can’t have you catching a cold.” He meant for the comment to come out cool and casual, but it was laced with more than a hint of affection. “Who will save the galaxy then?”

She bit her lip, as if trying to hide that same, almost bashful smile he seemed to summon in moments like these. If there had been more illumination in the cave, he imagined he might see the usual flush that accompanied that look. He reached out, his fingertips grazing her cheek as they followed the curve of her face. He could just feel the heat of her blush radiating through his gloves. It was times like this, when she was soft and vulnerable and open, that all the sharp edges he’d honed to keep people out were utterly useless. At least against her.

His hands glided down to her hips almost of their own accord as she moved forward, their faces inches apart, their breath mingling in the air. He detected the sweetness of her breath, a hint of the caf she’d been drinking earlier. He drew closer as her mouth parted, his own lips hovering just above hers, neither of them moving. And then, with a sudden surge of wind that sent the rain nearly horizontal outside the mouth of the cave, the thunder crashed again. The burst of lightning that followed was so bright that it lit up the cave for just a moment, and he could see that same sparkle in her eyes that made his heart race.

In that moment, the only thing in existence was the two of them. The rain, the storm, the wind, all of it vanished — leaving only him and her. As his lips brushed against hers, the thunder crashed again, as if in time with their hearts. And if only for a second, he thought he heard that same rhythm she’d been trying to describe echoing through the cave.

[rocorambles]

Stranger Danger

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader x Hanamaki

Genre/Warning: Yandere, Dub-con, Rape/Non-con, Blood Play, Knife Play, Degradation, Smut

Summary: Kindness has you beckoning two handsome strangers into your home during a particularly bad thunderstorm, but little do you know just how much you’ll regret that decision. 

The thunderstorm is roaring outside and you sigh as you finally turn off your computer. Thank goodness it’s a Friday at least and you won’t have to sign back on for work until Monday. You’re thankful your gig lets you work from home as you stare out at the torrential downpour and your nose crinkles in distaste at even imagining having to commute in this weather. A little growl interrupts your thoughts and you rub your stomach as you wander towards the kitchen. You hadn’t eaten much today, too caught up in work and making sure deliverables were handed in on time, but now that your mind isn’t occupied, you realize how hungry you actually are. Humming, you cut and prep ingredients for a warm, comforting stew, the perfect dish for a gloomy wet day and soon your kitchen is filled with a soothing melody of a knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board and raindrops pitter pattering on your window. 

You’re startled by the sound of your doorbell ringing. You weren’t expecting any visitors and your house is so out of the way, tucked in a quiet corner of the woods, that you’re honestly surprised and a little frightened that someone had even found it. Knife in hand, you quietly walk towards your front door and peer out your door viewer. You’re met with the sight of two men who roughly seem your age, maybe in their late 20s, standing drenched outside your house. Unsure of what to do, you continue spying on them as they insistently ring and knock. You have to admit, they’re easy on the eyes, you can tell even through the little hole, and it’s been so long since you’ve last hung out with anyone. You chose to live a quiet hermit life, but it didn’t mean you were completely immune to the pangs of loneliness that crept up every once in a while. You examine them closely...they don’t have any suspicious bags or items on their person, they’re empty handed...what could possibly be the worst thing that could happen? With that thought, you finally unlock the door and come face to face with the duo. 

You had already vaguely thought the two were attractive behind your tiny peep hole, but now standing in front of them in person, you’re slightly taken aback by how good looking they are. The chestnut colored hair man speaks first. “Sorry, our car is running really low on gas and we don’t know the area too well. We didn’t want to keep on driving and get stuck in this weather, so we just decided to drop by the nearest house we could find. Do you mind if we stick it out until the storm subsides a little?” You’re a little uncertain about letting two strangers waltz into your home, but he seems so genuine and nice. His charming smile tugs at your heart, but you stare warily at the taller of the two who still hasn’t said a word. There’s something a little more intimidating about the dark curly-haired figure and a little warning bell sounds in the back of your mind. Sensing your hesitation, the shorter of the two nudges the other in the side and with a grunt, the taller one bows politely in greeting and also implores you for help. You didn’t want to send them back off into the terrible weather and if you’re honest, some company would be nice. Stepping aside, you beckon them in. 

You hand them some spare towels and the biggest athletic wear you can find in your closet as you guide them to the bathroom and let them change out of their rain-soaked clothing and freshen up. Soon enough, the three of you are in your small kitchen getting to know each other as you prepare dinner together. “We’re Matsukawa Issei and Hanamaki Takahiro, but please just call us Mattsun and Makki.” You laugh and begin to enjoy yourself as you talk more to the two men. Makki is definitely the friendlier of the two, easily chatting away and making you giggle. But although Mattsun is quieter and more reserved, his quick wit and snarky playful comments spice up the conversation and the three of you find an easy cadence. They listen closely as you explain why you live in such an isolated part of the woods. You’ve always been a little more introverted by nature, so you had jumped at the opportunity of being able to work remotely and used it to find this quaint cottage in the forest where only nature could bother you. There were no nearby neighbors to worry about and your friends and parents all lived so far away, they rarely came to visit you. As you turn your back on your guests to ladle the stew into bowls, you miss the dark look the men exchange behind you.

Dinner goes on without a hitch and now with bellies full and dishes clean, the three of you lounge on your couch lazily watching Netflix. When you had bought furniture, you had only planned for yourself, so the couch is a bit small for three adults, but you make it work as you sit in the middle, Makki and Mattsun positioned on either side of you, so close that you can feel the warmth of their bodies. You slightly flush, but you don’t think much of it as you continue watching the flickering screen. Mattsun shifts and suddenly his left arm is wrapped around the sofa back behind you and you can feel your back pressing up against his forearm, but thinking he’s just trying to get comfortable, you continue to ignore the two men. It’s only when Makki’s right hand softly trails up your left thigh that you confusedly turn to stare at the grinning boy. Makki tentatively leans in for a kiss and after he pulls away, he fondly looks at you. “Are you okay with this?” Strong arms wrap around your waist from behind you and you turn your head to stare at Mattsun smirking down at you. “Well, are you?” There’s only a slight pause before you nod your head and Makki lifts you in his arms as you direct him to your bedroom. 

Only when he has gently deposited you on your bed do you realize that Mattsun hasn’t followed the two of you. You question Makki about his friend’s whereabouts, but Makki just hushes you with a heated kiss. “He’ll be here soon. Just focus on me for now.” And you can’t do anything besides that when Makki playfully bites your bottom lip before entangling his tongue with yours. It’s been so long since your last sexual escapade and you quickly lose yourself in the heat of another body and your eyes close as your mouths continue their dance. Makki’s fingers skillfully rid you of your clothes and reposition you until you’re both upright with you kneeling between Makki’s outstretched legs. But a startled choke has you tearing your face away from Makki as you feel something sharp begin to dig into your back. You try to twist your body around, but Makki’s firm hold on you doesn’t allow for much range. However, with what movement your neck allows you, you see Mattsun behind you, tracing the tip of one of your kitchen knives into your skin, his once apathetic countenance now replaced by a feral predatory grin. 

You clutch at Makki desperately, hoping to reason with the kinder of the two. “Please, Makki, make him stop.” You plead, tears beginning to form in the corner of your eyes, but Makki just gently kisses you and affectionately wipes the tears away. “Just bear with it, sweetheart. Struggling only makes it worse and you don’t want to make Mattsun angry. He was so cruel to the other darlings who wouldn’t let him carve his pretty marks into them.” Other darlings? Just how many people had fallen victim to this insane duo. You don’t realize you’ve said your thoughts aloud until Makki laughs and grabs your jaw forcing you to look him in the eye. “You’d be surprised how many silly girls like you just welcome big bad wolves into their homes. It’s almost like you all want to be eaten,” he coos. Anger and humiliation have you ready to retort scathingly, but instead you wail in pain as Mattsun begins to carve and you feel hot liquid running down your back. Makki uses the chance to devour your lips once again, moving one arm to fully encircle your waist and hold your figure tight to him while his other hand begins to roughly twist and pull at your nipples. You want to focus on the pain, to focus on how wrong this all is, but pleasure threatens to cloud your senses as Makki begins to suck harsh marks down your neck and your nipples harden as his hand continues to fondle them. 

It feels like time is crawling as pain and pleasure both equally envelope you, but finally metal stops tearing through you and Makki lets you collapse face first onto the bed as Mattsun and him admire the artwork now etched into you. You hear a snap before you feel the weight of Makki lying next to you, gently stroking your hair behind your ear as he shows you the picture he took and a sob escapes you as you stare at the kanji of their names crudely cut into your once unmarred back. A rough hand forces your head up and you’re forced to prop yourself up on your hands and knees to lessen the strain in your back and neck as you look up into Mattsun’s face. “You’re going to look so beautiful when this scars over and you’re permanently branded. No one else is ever going to want damaged goods like you, so you better just start accepting the fact that you belong to us now.” That’s all the preamble you get before you’re slapped in the face by a thick heavy weight and you let out more broken cries when you realize you’re now face to face with Mattsun’s cock, already slick with pre-cum and at full mast. Your stomach churns at the fact that the bastard is getting turned on by your pain and suffering, but you don’t have time to delve too much into your thoughts as Mattsun slaps you across the face once more before rubbing his tip all over your face, smearing pre-cum into your skin. “Open up, whore. Don’t even think about biting down or I’ll leave some more pretty art on your body.” You obediently open your mouth as fear lances through your body at the feeling of a sharp edge warningly being pressed into your throat.

Mattsun is big and you struggle to fit even half of him inside your mouth. With an annoyed sigh, he grabs the back of your head and slams all the way into your throat and you screech, fingernails clawing at his thighs. Your throat burns and you can’t breathe, but Mattsun just moans as he starts to fuck your tight mouth with abandon. Tears, snot, and drool are cascading into a sloppy pool beneath you, but your messy pathetic face only turns him on more. “Yeah, keep on crying, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s hot.” You’re so overwhelmed by the lack of oxygen and the building burn of your mouth being stretched that you’re barely aware of Makki situating himself behind you until he rams his entire length inside you in one rough motion. Everything hurts. You’re so filled and stretched and neither man relents as they continue their brutal assault on your holes. There’s no care for your pleasure or discomfort as they savagely chase their own ends and you lie there limply, taking it like the good sex doll they’ve made you into. 

Your consciousness begins to crawl in on itself in an attempt to at least mentally escape what’s happening, but even that is taken from you as Makki begins to attentively circle and play with your clit and you want to die when you feel arousal licking at the corners of your brain. “You don’t get to escape, darling. I want you to feel everything that’s happening. I want you to experience your own body betraying you when it falls apart in pleasure. Cry and scream all you want. At least your body is honest about how it feels.” And that’s exactly what you do. Sobs wrack your body as desire bubbles within you and you peak when the bitter taste of Mattsun’s release coats your tongue. “Fuck, you dirty slut. Did you get off to just the taste of my cum? God, we chose well, Makki. It’s like she was made for this.” Makki doesn’t reply, too busy pounding into you as you scream at the pain of being overstimulated. Your throat is hoarse and your upper body is collapsed on the bed, but you continue brokenly bawling into the ruined sheets beneath you even after Makki roughly sinks into you one last time and releases deep within you.

Still trembling, you take a deep shaky breath, thankful that at least it’s over and you beg them  to just leave you alone now that they’re done. But your heart sinks as Makki tenderly strokes your head and leans down to smile at you. “We’re nowhere near done with you, sweetheart. Weren’t you listening when Mattsun said you belong to us now?” You hiss as strong arms rearrange you until you’re sitting in a lap with your back pressed against a firm chest, making your abused pussy and still healing wounds throb in pain. “We have the rest of your life left or until we get bored of you, whichever comes first,” Mattsun purrs into your ear. “So if you want us to keep you alive, you better keep us happy.” Those words are barely out of his mouth before Mattsun is guiding you to perch above his shaft and with a rough jerk, he bottoms out completely within you and begins to manhandle you into bouncing on his length. Silent tears trail down your face as you send a desperate prayer for someone to save you before slumping your head back onto Mattsun’s shoulder. Closing your eyes, you allow yourself to collapse in his hold.          

[dcforts]

[monday 7: thunderstorm]

Phone battery: 96%

One moment they are speeding up on the empty road with the windows rolled down and the sun shining on the side mirrors and the next is as if someone threw a blanket over the sky. In a blink of an eye, the clouds gather above them and they find themselves in the middle of a downpour.

“What the fuck?” says Dean, pushing the brakes and activating the windshield wipers.

“Something is wrong” is Castiel’s helpful contribution from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The rain gets havier by the second, raindrops hit the roof with such violence that it’s like they are fired from a machine gun. Even after turning on the headlights they can barely see what’s ahead of them beyond the hood of the Impala. The sky lights up and then a thunder rumbles so loud that even Castiel flinches.

“We should stop.”

“You think it’s a spell?”

“Whatever it is I don’t think it’s safe to go on.”

Dean sighs and signals that he’s pulling over on the right as if, even if there was someone behind them, they could see the indicators through the amount of water that paints everything grey.

He brings the car to a stop and fishes out his phone.

Phone battery: 91%

“Sam? Where are you?”

“Just out of the morgue. I think it’s a witch” he says, sounding slightly out of breath as he walks. “Hey, I thought you were coming to pick me up. What did the husband say?”

“Sam? Listen to me, is it raining where you are?”

“Raining? No. The sky couldn’t be clearer.”

“Fuck.”

“Dean, where are you?”

“I don’t know. Just outside of town, I think. But there’s a thunderstorm and we had to stop.”

“What? A thunderstorm? Is it rain what I’m hearing?”

“Yeah, so it’s either the son or the husband and they are onto us. Seems like they didn’t appreciate our little visit.”

“You’re saying they cursed you?”

“That’s what we think”.

“Shit. Alright, at least we have suspects and we know for sure that they’re using witchcrafts or something. Just, don’t do anything till I get back to you.”

“Alright.”

“Stay safe.”

“Yeah, you too.”

  Phone battery: 86%

The rain is torrential, incessant. There is so much of it that it’s like there’s a river flowing over the windshield.

It’s not the first time that Dean got caught in a thunderstorm while he was driving. It happened more than once when he was a kid and weather apps weren’t a thing yet. John would pull up at the nearest rest area and they would wait it out catching up on their sleep.

But this is different. The rain could go on forever if something happened to Sam or if he couldn’t find a way to reverse it. That’s what bothers him more than anything, what makes him bounce his legs and clench his jaw.

He’s gone over their last two hours again and again trying to understand when and how the culprit could have done this to them but he’s had little success so far.

They can’t listen to music because they can’t risk the car running out of battery. They can’t play on their phones or do researches on their own or they will drain out their means to communication with Sam. They have no books, no food, no water. Dean doesn’t want to think about that. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel but he gets through two and a half Metallica songs before Castiel’s intake of breath and quick look his way tells him that he’s sick of it.

He retreats his hands on his lap.

Dean knows that Castiel is bothered as much as he is by the fact that they’re trapped and unable to help, even if he’s not showing it at the moment. In fact, he looks like the picture of serenity.

“How in hell can you be so calm?”

“I’m trying to be patient. There’s little else we can do.”

Dean scoffs.

Castiel shoots a look his way, then asks conversationally: “How did it go in Missouri last week?” and in response to Dean’s confused staring he adds: “The case?”

Dean gets that he’s trying to distract him and he lets him. He shrugs “Same old. Apart from Sam spilling coke all over himself, that was fun. And I got Jack a new record for the bunker. You’ve seen it?”

“He only told me about it a hundred times.” says Castiel in a pained tone. “It was nice of you.”

“Nah. You gotta teach them young.”

“You think he could join us on our next hunt?”

“We’ll see.” says Dean making a face. “But hey, you on the other hand… are getting better at interrogations. Looked pretty convincing with the kid.”

Castiel smiles: “Thank you.”

“Or, well, at least until you left the room just so you could follow his dogs,” adds Dean, raising his eyebrows.

“You can understand a lot about the owners form their pets’ behaviour”.

“Yeah?” humours him Dean, “What did you uncover? Other than they should learn how to use a vacuum.”

Castiel ignores his mocking tone. “Nothing stood out to me. But looking back now, I should have known that witchcraft was involved. They had three black dogs and I saw figurines of frogs in the living room.”

“I thought that cats were the go-to pet for witches.”

“They are generally associated with witchcraft, yes. But witches can form deep connection with any animal. Dogs, especially, escort Hecate, the triform greek-roman Goddess of Witchcraft. And Hecate takes her name from Heqet, the Egyptian goddess, usually represented as a frog. In hindsight, it was pretty clear.”

“So do you think it’s the husband? I doubt a kid alone would be able to do all that.”

“Maybe. But he seemed sincerely aggrieved by his wife’s loss.”

Dean sighs. Without any possibility to do real work that’s as far as they can get. He squints trying to see something beyond the raindrops splattered windows.

“Maybe it’s not bad as it seems.” he tries. “It’s dangerous to drive but what if we walked?”

“The curse could be cast on the car alone but I wouldn’t -”

“I’m gonna try.” Dean cuts him off, but he gets as far as resting his hand on the handle that a lightning bolt strikes one of the trees lined up down the road. There’s a loud crack and a vamp of fire that lights it up from the inside. A part of the trunk explodes and pieces go flying all over the street.

Dean and Castiel look at each other with identical alarmed expressions.

“Yeah, better say in the car.” Dean says.

   Phone battery: 79%

“Let’s play a game.”

“Alright.”

“Okay. It’s a car game. Basically you say a sentence starting with ‘Fortunately’ and based on that I have to respond with a sentence starting with ‘Unfortunately’. Like, I say ‘Unfortunately, we got cursed.’ And you say ‘Fortunately…’?”

Castiel thinks about it, then says, “Fortunately, they didn’t want us dead, only permanently incapacitated.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Sure, that is reassuring. Alright. Um, unfortunately, I will eventually die of starvation.”

“Fortunately, we won’t have to wait that long cause Sam is working on it.”

“Yeah but unfortunately, he’s alone against the witch.”

“Fortunately, he is prepared and the witch is not too dangerous.”

“Unfortunately, he got to us.”

“Fortunately, as long as we stay in the car we are safe.”

“Unfortunately, we are trapped.”

“Fortunately, we are together.”

Dean had his mouth already opened, ready to fire his next sentence but his brain short circuits and he is stunned. He closes it again. He meets Castiel’s eyes and under his soft expression he recognizes a little smugness that comes from having silenced him. He really can’t think of anything to say.

Castiel bats his eyelashes feigning innocence. “Did I win?”

That shakes Dean up, who rolls his eyes and he is about to protest when something heavy and dark hits the window shield with a loud thump and has him almost jumping out of his skin.

“What the fuck was that?” he shouts. Instinctively one arm flies up to cover his face, his elbow out and the other reaches towards Castiel to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

“I think it was a bird,” is Castiel’s calm reply.

Dean lets him go quickly, adverting his eyes. He still feels his heart in his throat. He clears it. “Right.” Then after a moment “Don’t mention this to Sam.”

Castiel huffs a laugh.

Phone battery: 72%

And so they wait. The rain is heavy and unrelenting. Dean has cracked open his window to feel it on his fingertips and he has retreated his hand hissing for how violently it hit him. The wind picks up at intervals, it whistles around them, pushing through every draft it can find. Above them, clouds like cotton balls chase each other endlessly and lightning bolts draw threatening patterns in the distance.

Sam has texted and they know that everything is under control so Dean is feeling better now. Figuring they are going to be there a while, he has toed off his boots and climbed over on the backseat leaving Castiel plenty of space to stretch his legs, even if the guy in question has barely adjusted his position with his back to the door and lifted a knee on the seat.

Dean on the other hand, already sprawled on the backseat, has gradually slipped into a laying position. He is more or less relaxed, or at least, as relaxed as a person could be with hell going on right outside of their car but tucked in the quiet and safe space of their car, with the soothing sound of the rain on the roof.

They had worse - that’s a fact.

He lolls his head to the side to watch Castiel, who’s got his eyes fixed on a spot beyond his window.

“So, how’s a thunderstorm from up there?”

He says: “From heaven?”

“Yeah, no, from the sky? Never seen it, planes are not my thing, you know,” he says, shifting to settle on the side.

“It’s pretty,” he says after a long moment. His keeps his voice low and adds, “but here is better.”

Dean scoffs.

“I mean it. From here you can smell the wet grass, see the trees swinging, feel the raindrops hitting you,” his voice is deep and smooth and Dean’s traitorous eyelids flutter shut. “The view from the outside may be splendid” Castiel continues, “but here things happen to you, touch you, shape you. You are the view.”

Dean mumbles what he means to be a sound of agreement but it’s basically a long exhale.

He is drowsy. He is trying to tell himself that he cannot fall asleep but it’s becoming a little difficult as they lose track of the time.

Castiel turns to look at him.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“You can sleep if you want.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Tell me more.”

“About what?”

“Anything. Just, no more gross facts about animals. I’ve had enough of those.”

  Phone battery: 60%

Dean jerks awake. Castiel is touching his shoulder. “Sam called,” he says.

Dean blinks a few times while the past hours come back to him. A thunder booming over his head reminds him pretty quickly. So he did fall asleep in the end. And it wasn’t at all a good idea, judging by his stiff neck and his dry mouth and the fact that he has nothing to drink.

“What did he say?”

“He is going to the family. Apparently the road is clear from where he is so it seems like we are in some kind of pocket dimension.”

Dean suppresses a swear and pushes himself up on one elbow. It’s too dark to see anything beyond the windows but for a moment the wind is so strong that the car starts shaking, then the sky flashes white and booms and the sound is ear-splitting.

“It’s getting worse,” he rubs his eyes and cheeks and finds a dry spot of drool on the corner of his mouth. “You think Sam is gonna be fine?”

“I’m sure.” Castiel says. “They thought it was just the two of us, so they won’t see him coming.”

“How long was I out?”

“An hour at most.”

“You watched me all the time like a creep, didn’t you?”

“No,” says Castiel way too quickly to be entirely innocent. He also shoots him an irritated look that Dean suspects is more related to having been called creep that for the accusation itself. “I rearranged your tape collection.”

Now Dean gasps, aghast. “Oh, no. Again? Don’t tell me. Please don’t tell me it’s by year again.”

Castiel just nods and Dean becomes the image of desperation. “How could y- Really, Cas? Come on!”

Dean catches a glint of Castiel’s teeth in the dark as he smiles. “No.” he says sounding all proud “I was joking.”

Dean falls backwards on the seat with a groan. “Unfortunately, you will kill me with your terrible sense of humour.”

“Too late. We’ve already established that I won that game.”

“You know right, that if we are here for a very long time I will eventually have to eat you?”

Castiel just rolls his eyes.

  Phone battery 47%

Dean is still laying down, staring at the roof. Castiel has cracked his window open, just enough to let a breath of cool air in. It chases away the condensation on the windshield and brings in the smell of wet leaves and wet asphalt.

Dean is hit with the realization that they don’t get many moments like these. For one, none of them is covered in blood, and they are not fighting or running for their life. There is no anger or regret or guilt in the air. He can’t exactly complain.

Dean fixes his gaze on what he can see of his profile when is illuminated by the lightings: his dark hair, his high left cheekbone, his faint stubble, the tip of his nose. It’s even rarer to get to watch him unobserved. He feels a smile creeping on his lips.

For his part, it looks like it’s Castiel is starting to run out of patience. Dean can hear the rustling of his trench coat from where he is probably tormenting his hands in his lap. Knowing him, he can picture his mind is working tirelessly trying to find a way to be useful. Castiel loud sigh pierce the silence in the car.

“You told me to be patient earlier and now you’re bored of me already.” Dean teases.

Castiel turns towards him and then back ahead but there is no lightning that allows Dean to see his expression.

“I was just thinking. I thought you fell asleep again.“ There is a pause then he asks: “Are you? Bored of me?”

Dean sighs and feels protected by the dark and numbed by the sound of the rain and still a little groggy from his nap so he says. “Even when I see you all the time I feel like I barely see you.”

“I can’t tell if that’s good or not.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

  Phone battery: 32%

The screen lights up and it’s Sam, finally calling with news.

Dean puts him speakers.

“Sam?”

“Dean, they put something in your car,” he sounds out of breath.

“Hey, hey, how are you? What’s happening?”

“I’m fine, I can’t talk right now. They were both guilty. The mother was an accident; the spell was meant for someone else. Actually the mother was on it too. Apparently the whole family is into magic. I gotta -” a loud thunder covers his words.

“Sam? We didn’t get that.”

“They said it’s in the car. Look for hex bags, amulets, something you can destroy. I gotta go.”

“Alright. Just let us - ” but he’s already hung up.

So they get moving. They look into every corner, feel blindly in the dark, under the seats, inside the dashboard, as far as they can go behind the cushions.

Fifteen minutes later they’ve covered every surface and found nothing.

“Shit. What if it’s under the car? How are we gonna get that?”

Castiel looks at him and his expression tells Dean that nothing good is coming. In fact he says: “It can only be in the trunk.”

Dean blinks: “You are not going anywhere.”

“Dean.”

“No. No way.”

“Dean, it’s our only chance” he says it as if Dean is being unreasonable.

“No, Cas, let’s talk about it first.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m stronger than you. I’m the one who has to go.”

Castiel has made up his mind. He moves and Dean uselessly reaches out to grab him, but he can’t get a good grip as he is blocked by the front seat and Castiel slips away and pushes his door open.

The rain seems to get ten times worse as soon as he does that and the whole sky lights up threatening above their head. Castiel pushes through the wind to get a foot out.

“Cas! Jesus, close the goddamn door. This isn’t gonna work and you’re getting my seats all wet!” shouts Dean but Castiel doesn’t seem to hear him. Another loud thunder has Dean crouching down, and when he looks up again, Castiel is standing outside. He looks towards Dean and then shuts the door. Dean sees him struggling to get his feet one after the other, like an invisible force is keeping him from moving. His face scrunches up as he pushes himself forward with a hand on the car. He takes a step. He slips back a few feet.

Dean heart stops. “Cas! Fucking hell! Get back here!” he shouts, uselessly banging his hands against the seats. He tries to open his own door and remembers that he’s got no shoes on. He hurries to climb over on the front seat.

When he looks back again, Castiel has almost made it to the rear of the car. The sky rumbles angrily, it lights up violently. In frantic movements Dean slips his boots on and pushes himself to the right to open the passenger seat door.

He could lose him. Right there, right now, he could fucking lose him.

The rain and the wind hit him full force all at once. It’s like he’s stepped under a waterfall, he is cold and wet and struggles to breath. He battles against the wind trying to keep the car door open enough to allow him to get out and prevent it being ripped off from the car. He can barely feel his face and hands.

Towards the back of the car Castiel has reached the trunk. Dean can make out his silhouette wiping his eyes with a hand and with the other fumbling with the handle.

At last the trunk opens and covers him from Dean’s view. As he tries to move, his hair stand up all over his body and then there’s an explosion of sound so loud that he needs to cover his ears. It’s quick and violent and it takes him a few moments to realize that a lightning bolt has just hit a few yard from them. His legs start shaking.

“Cas! Come on!” he shouts terrified, knowing that’s useless, that he won’t be able to hear him above the thunders booming over their heads.

Through the rain that whips fiercely his face and blinds him, Dean watches as Castiel closes the truck and traces his steps back to the door that he holds open for him. As soon as he is within reach Dean grabs a fistful of his clothes and hauls him inside.

  Phone battery 22%

Dean is yelling. He is still gripping a handful of Castiel’s clothes and he yanks and yanks at it and yells in his face. And Castiel is panting, he is soaking wet, his hair is dripping and plastered on his forehead and his eyelashes are stuck together and he lets himself being yanked and yelled at and he’s got fear in his eyes but also relief.

“I can’t believe you did that! What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Dean is angry cause his voice is not louder than the rain and it’s not louder than the thunder but he wants it to be to be able to convey just how angry he is right now.

Castiel just blinks and breathes. At last, he brings up a hand to rest on Dean’s.

“Dean,” he says trying to calm him down. I’m okay. I’m here. It’s over.

Dean feels the relief wash over his body but then it pools behind his eyes and he feels like crying.

“You fucking asshole.”

The corner of Castiel’s lips turns slightly upward.

Dean yanks once again at his clothes and he means to pull him into a hug but somehow he finds his lips pressed against Castiel’s. They are both so shocked that they freeze and quickly pull back.

For a second they breath the same air. Dean swallows and blinks and tries to regain control of himself. Castiel doesn’t look scared, he only tilts his head slightly like he does so Dean covers the distance between them once again. Castiel’s lips are full and wet and as Dean kisses them, for a second he forgets all about near death, rain, witches and curses.

Then a thunder erupts above them and they jerk apart once again. Dean lets go of Castiel and wipes a hand over his wet face. “We should –” it’s all he manages.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say either. He just nods and quickly bends down to retrieve the hex bag that he’s dropped when Dean kissed him.

  Phone battery: 15%

It’s made of green silk and there’s a round symbol and a semicircle drawn on it. Castiel says they represent Hecate’s wheel and the Egyptian hieroglyphic for rain.

They don’t look at each other as they try to burn it. It takes more than one attempt as their fingers are wet and slippery and there’s nothing they can use to dry themselves with as everything else they have is also wet.

When it finally lights up it burns green. Dean winces as he sees it writhing on the floor mats of his car. “Oh Baby, I’m so sorry this is happening to you.” He says, and this is even before he realizes that they are both still dripping water all over the seats.

It’s almost instantaneous and slightly anticlimactic. The bag becomes dust and the clouds above them break, letting the sun shine through. Dean squints at the sudden change of light and when he opens his eyes again, everything is back to normal. The car is still covered in raindrops but the birds outside are chirping, there’s no tree half burned across the street and a car passes them by as if it’s just another day. Dean sighs and lets his head thump against the window while Castiel rolls down his.

They enjoy a moments of quietness, pierced only by Castiel saying “I’m sorry for scaring you”. He says it in his normal tone but it sounds loud to Dean’s ears, newly clear of rain and thunders.

He closes his eyes. “I just wish you’d stop jumping in on any occasion to get yourself killed.”

“I had to do it.”

Dean opens his eyes and shoots him a withering look. “But you almost died. Cas,” he takes a deep breath “don’t you get it? I’d rather be stuck under the downpour for the rest of my life than watch you die again.” He feels the rage take control of himself again and shake his voice and he lets it cause it’s better to ride it and let out what he wants to say than to hide in embarrassment.

He even holds his gaze.

“I can understand the sentiment.” Castiel says at last.

“Just – no more suicidal missions. If you don’t wanna do it for yourself, do it for me.”

Castiel presses his lips together and nods and Dean feels suddenly exhausted.

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.” Castiel agrees. “Should we talk about - ”

“Uh, what?” 

“Dean.”

“Cas,” he says, mimicking his tone.

Castiel holds his gaze for a long time. Dean says softly: “I mean, you know - right?”

“I do.” Castiel smiles. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Dean swallows. He takes a deep breath and waits for a wave of dread to hit him but it never comes. He just feels like himself with a warm pleasant feeling in his lower belly. That’ll be time later to process it, he thinks, now they have stuff to do, places to go. 

  Phone battery: 5%

They are on the road again. It’s safe and quiet and sunny.

“Was it really necessary?” grumbles Castiel.

“Again, yes” Dean won’t hear no arguing. “I don’t even want to think about the damage we’ve already done.”

Sam’s phone rings once again before he picks up.

“Guys?”

“Sam? Dean is driving. Are you okay?”

“Oh, hey Cas. Yes, they went down pretty easily. Didn’t see me coming. Did you guys find the thing?”

“Yes, it was a hex bag. Everything is fine, we are almost in town.”

“Great. Should we agree on a spot so you can come pick me up?”

“Uh. We need to go back to the motel first. We are not wearing any clothes apart from our underwear.”

“You wh - ? Wait, what?”

“They were wet. Dean insisted. For the car.” Castiel says, trying to speak over Dean’s voice in the background that yells ‘Why did you tell him?’

Sam burst into laughing. “Oh my god.”

“So we will see you back at the motel?”

“Yeah, definitely, I will be there with my camera ready.”

There’s rustling and then Dean’s voice close to the microphone shouts: “Sam, I swear to God, I’ll run you ove-”

 Phone battery: 0%

I am participating in the spnstayathomechallenge by @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

[yuri-cocaine]

ffxiv prompt 15: thunderous

Monsoon season sweeps through the Golmore Jungle swifter than a wood warder leaping through the trees, and summer sun-showers become torrential downpours in a matter of seconds. Thunderheads gather over the cloudforest, and rain turns all the roads into muddy soup.

Holding a banana leaf over her head as an umbrella, Moka slogs through the mud towards the abandoned shrine. A mountain brook roars past her, the rain swelling it to the size of a rushing river. A fallen fig tree blocks the path ahead, and Moka clambers over it. She had spent the whole day climbing the mountain, from dawn till dusk, and the thunderstorm hadn't let up at all.

The roof of the shrine has collapsed, and whatever god is in it is buried beneath the overgrown rubble. However, the kitchen and the acolytes’ old living quarters still stand, and Moka shoves the wooden door aside to squeeze inside. The kitchen smells of damp and leaf-rot, but the stove is blessedly dry, and there’s even a rusty wok left on the stovetop. Moka roots through the cupboards and the barrels, but she finds nothing but spiders and a few bats in the corner.

No food is fine. She foraged on the way up the mountain, and she unslings her pack and pulls out wood ears, wolfberries, and a fat bullfrog. Moka scrubs the wok in the rain and summons a fat flame to her finger to light the stove. She eats a hasty meal of frog legs and fungus, then sets her blackened kettle on the stove to boil tea from mountain begonia.

The thunder purrs and the rain grows softer as darkness falls. Moka sips at a cup of sour purple tea as she watches the rain fall in the shrine courtyard. She breathes in the petrichor, and she catches the scent of wet leather. Her hand flies to the blade on her hip.

A drenched black cat pads out of the darkness and mews at her. It shakes itself dry before slinking past her to the kitchen and the stove fire. Moka ignores it.

“I know you are there, wood warder,” she speaks into the dark. “Come on out. There’s tea for two, if you wish.”

A male Rava drops down silently beside her just as she draws her blade and points it at him. He meets her blade with his own, and beneath his leather hood Moka could see the dangerous glint of his eyes.

“You are unwelcome here, exile,” says the wood warder. His voice pitches up slightly, and Moka recognizes it as a Miret-Njer accent.

Moka sheathes her blade and finishes her cup of tea before heading back inside. The wood warder follows like a hulking shadow, his curved sword still at the ready.

“And how do you know I am exiled?” asks Moka. “What if I am just a simple traveler, here to see the Miret cloud mountains?”

“Word spreads through the Wood. Though you have not left her boughs, you bear the cursed aura of the necrohol, and the Wood cautions us against you.”

“Well now, isn't Motherwood a lovely gossip. One trip below and she gets so offended.”

“Do not slander the Green Word, blight-bearer!”

“Fuck you and your word,” Moka hisses. “I’m not doing shit. Can’t a girl get a good night’s sleep in a dry place? This is a moldy old shrine, not some blasted bed-and-breakfast.”

They face each other, their ears flattening and their hackles raising. The wood warder growls low in his throat. Moka snarls back, baring her yellow teeth.

“Mrow.”

The black cat twines around Moka’s legs, oblivious to everything. It has bright green eyes and a little pink nose. It meows again, a little louder now, hoping for food.

The wood warder sighs, and sheathes his blade. “You have until dawn. Then leave.”

“Fine.”

The thunderheads still linger the next day, but the rains have ceased. Moka scoops up the black cat and leaves just as thin gray sunlight seeps through the canopy, and she continues her journey eastward.

[katzkinder]

Month early birthday present for @mahi-does-some-art because if i don’t publish it now, I WILL forget. Kuromahi, fic under the cut. Please be aware that it has been literal actual YEARS since I’ve written, like.

A real one-shot. 

Happy birthday Puff!!

‘Are you afraid?’

It’s a question that reverberates inside his mind before, during, and after every battle, no matter how brief they may be.

‘Are you afraid?’ he wonders again in the split second before his fangs pierce his Eve’s flesh, before he drinks the blood given to him all too freely.

‘Are you afraid?’ he nearly asks aloud, once, after some roughhousing (emphasis on rough) between Lawless and Licht nearly catches Mahiru in the crossfire and Kuro’s first instinct is to make himself a living shield, coattails and claws alike brandished and a snarl almost, almost, curling his lip, before his mind catches up enough to realize that he just made a threat display at what were quite possibly two of the people least likely to hurt any of them (excluding each other).

Lawless is staring at him in obvious surprise, Licht similarly frozen for but a moment.

And then he’s kicking Lawless behind the knee hard enough that he nearly goes down, and, despite the glare Greed sends the pianist’s way, it’s clear that whatever message Licht intended to convey got through just fine because the next second Lawless is sheepishly apologizing for them not being more careful about just who might be in the way.

Kuro freezes up, curling in on himself and muttering his trademark “can’t deal…” even as Mahiru brushes it off, stepping out from behind him with a placating hand on his arm. He ignores the sidelong look his Eve gives him, afraid of what he’ll find in his expression, and instead prepares to tune out the inevitable lecture the Greed Pair are about to receive about not trashing people’s homes, and how if they have to fight, at least take it outside, the usual sort of thing that happens whenever the two choose to visit.

He spends the rest of the evening as a cat, enduring Licht’s endless doting over “Neko-san” and Lawless’s even more endless complaints over Licht’s endless doting. By the time they leave, it’s nearly pitch black out, with the moon and stars above obscured by thick, heavy clouds.

“Ah– I forgot that it’s supposed to storm tonight. Oi, Angel-chan, you’ve got an umbrella in your backpack, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Great! Hand it over!”

“Hah?”

“If I let you hold it, you’re just gonna let the water spill onto my shoulder!”

“As if an angel like me would share their umbrella with a demon in the first place. Catch pneumonia and die–”

“Oi?! Lichtan!! ... Ah, whatever, it’s probably some lame, ultra cutesy--Don’t try and kick me!”

The rest of their argument becomes too muffled to hear clearly as Mahiru shuts the door on them, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering something about disturbing the neighbors. Kuro sinks down further into his seat, watching with some small amount of confusion the newly stiff way Mahiru seems to be moving. The curtains are drawn tight over the balcony, and when his Eve turns back to face him, he quickly flicks his eyes back down to the screen in his hands.

It’s bothering him.

It’s almost like...

“Mahiru. Are you--”

His words are lost in the clap of thunder that interrupts, and don’t come back in light of the yelp Mahiru lets out. It’s loud, and sharp, and while he tries to play it off... Kuro knows him well enough, he thinks, to note the very real fear behind it. More than just being startled.

It’s enough to give his suspicions more weight. Outside, the sky opens up for a torrential downpour. Personally, he’d always found the sound of storms to be soothing. Mahiru’s subtly shaking hands tell him his Eve doesn’t share his sentiments.

He doesn’t know what to do.

Much like every other time he was unsure of himself and his actions, life takes the decision out of his hands, this time via knocking the power out. An annoyed click of the tongue.

“Stay there,” he says, not that he has to. Mahiru has completely frozen up in the center of their living room. The look on his face... It makes his heart squeeze. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark.” 

It sounds callous, he knows it does, but that’s the point. A flicker of annoyance crosses the other’s face and he feels a flicker of smug relief.

“Of course not! Jeez, help me find some candles and a flashlight.”

“Wait, don’t--”

A soft, but heartfelt, swear meets his ears.

“That’s why I told you not to move...”

“Ugh... I wish I could see in the dark like you, Kuro... The only thing I can make out is your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

Without thinking, he lifts his hand to one. Somehow he had forgotten about the glow vampiric eyes give off. Isn’t that scary? Isn’t that frightening? Don’t you think I’m a monster?

He pushes those thoughts away in favor of grabbing Mahiru by the elbow and leading him over to the couch he had previously been parked on, pushing the boy down by the shoulders to sit.

“Stay. There. I mean it. The last thing I need is you covered in bumps and bruises from your oh-so-aggressive furniture.”

It’s kind of nice, being able to so openly observe the faces Mahiru makes in response to his teasing without the other knowing he’s so enamored with every shift and change.

“Just go get the--”

This time, the flash of lightning lights up the whole place for one brief, heart stopping moment before a boom loud enough to shake the building follows, and suddenly, lithe, strong arms he could snap with ease are wrapped around his middle. They don’t let go. He can feel the whole of Mahiru trembling against him.

A sigh. Mahiru stills under the hand he places on the back of his head.

“Scoot over.”

The command is followed easily, a more distant rumble making the boy flinch. Kuro plops down gracelessly beside him, draws Mahiru close to his side, and tucks that mop of brown against his shoulder. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the storm waging war outside. Briefly, he thinks of Lawless and Licht, battling the elements.

“... How come you never told me you were afraid of thunderstorms?”

Mahiru shifts, but doesn’t pull away. Kuro strokes the back of his neck with a thumb, slow and soothing.

“It’s stupid...”

“So is being afraid of the vacuum cleaner.”

He feels the faintest of twitches pull at his lips when Mahiru snorts soft amusement against his throat.

“Kuro... I...” 

Mahiru’s hesitant, and he feels a stab of annoyance, one that disappears quickly when those calloused hands grip more tightly at the front of his jacket.

“‘m sorry... It’s just... It’s hard to talk about... Not even Uncle Tooru...”

Oh. Oh.

Quietly and without comment, he wraps Mahiru up in a secure hug, feels the other relax against him in a way that fills him with warmth.

“... Are you afraid of what he’ll say?” He really can’t imagine the man being anything but understanding and supportive, but he’s also intimately aware of the lies the mind will tell, the worst case scenarios that are so utterly ridiculous but feel so real in the moment before you push those words out.

“I don’t... Think so...?” Mahiru jerks again as the windows rattle, and Kuro moves so he’s lying back, dragging the other to lay atop his chest, ear over his heart so that the irregular, slow thump of a creature that’s only half alive can maybe, hopefully, drown out some of the cacophony. Initially, his human partner goes stiff, then curls up in the space between the back of the couch and Kuro’s side, tangles their legs together and goes still. Like this, Mahiru feels just as fragile as he hardly ever looks. It’s a bit hard to reconcile it with the bold, shounen-protagonist try-hard he so often comes off as. It easily lines up with the way he had felt after the collapse of C3, when Kuro had been the only thing propping his unconscious body up, and the agony that was waiting for him to open his eyes again, battered, bruised, but alive. “I don’t know... I think I’m just... Ashamed. It’s so silly. I should be over this... I’m sixteen.”

“And I’m practically ancient. Still freaked out over that army of Roombas at Gear’s place... Seriously, why does he have so many...?”

Another giggle eases his heart further, and he lets his hand card through puppy-brown hair, feels Mahiru sigh contently against him.

“Kuro... Can we...?”

“Yeah. We can stay like this.”

Unbeknownst to him, if he were to put that question into words--Are you afraid?--the human that eventually falls into dozing slumber despite the terrible weather would answer, warmth and affection in every syllable.

Not when I’m with you.

[theundercovermarvelfan]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 27

Whumtober Challenge @whumptober2020

Day 27 Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters On Their 2020 Bingo Card? Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage 

The rain came down in torrential sheets. Lightning pierced the sky about once per minute, while thunder rolled through with almost a palpable force. The wind whipped around at a staggering force, already picking up debris. 

“I think it’s about time to get the hell out of here,” Clint announced over the comms.

The five Earthbound Avengers were scattered throughout the area. Bruce had remained behind in the Quinjet, Natasha and Steve had infiltrated the compound and taken out their target, Clint had been posted in a tree on a hill to provide sniper support and Tony was flying overhead for aerial support. 

And then the storm had rolled in. 

Clint had eyed the dark clouds warily during the mission. He didn’t like the way that they look or how quickly they had been moving. He had Bruce check the weather radar from the jet, and he had reported that a storm was indeed heading their way, but there weren’t any significant warnings associated with it. But Clint couldn’t shake the ominous feeling in his gut. After all, he had grown up in Iowa, affectionately nicknamed Tornado Alley. He had learned early only to have a healthy vigilance when it came to thunderstorms. 

“The storm’s coming at me from the other side of the Quinjet,” Tony said, tension lacing his tone. “I’m not going to be able to fly toward it, I’m gonna have to land and hoof it in.”

“Yeah, you’re going to want to get your ass out of the sky and ditch the metal suit before you get fried, Stark,” Clint said as he was climbing down out of the tree he had been perched in, blinking rain water out of his eyes. 

The blur of red streaked out of the sky and landed heavily not far from Clint. 

“Natasha and I are heading back to the jet to regroup with Bruce,” Steve said. 

“You might want to have a more stable option ready, Cap,” Clint said as he squinted at the sky, noting how the lightning was flashing much more frequently than it was just a minute ago. The storm was progressing really quickly. “Bruce, any weather alerts?”

“A tornado watch was just issued for the area just a few minutes ago,” Bruce reported. 

“I always forget, which is worse, the watch or the warning?” Tony asked, his tone unusually tense. 

“Warning is worse,” Clint said -- vaguely aware of how he had to talk louder in order to be heard over the roaring wind -- as he started to hurry in the direction that Tony had landed. “We’re still in the ‘could happen’ territory and haven’t crossed into the ‘probably will happen’ arena. You get rid of that armor, Stark?” 

“Yeah, the armor’s on an autopilot retreat,” Tony said. There was a bright flash that emanated from Tony’s location, causing Clint to skid to a halt for a moment. “And I’m very glad I’m not getting cooked in it right now.” 

Clint started moving again, hurrying until he managed to spot Tony, who was heading toward Clint. 

“We need to get to lower ground,” Clint said quickly, motioning Tony to follow him down the steeper side of the hill. 

“The jet is that way,” Tony said, pointing in the opposite direction. 

“The jet isn’t going to be any use if a tornado comes through and throws it like a ragdoll,” Clint said, quickly crossing the distance between them and grabbing Tony by the arm. “Right now, we need low ground.” 

“But, Bruce said it was only a watch--”

“Clint, Tony, we’re back at the jet with Bruce and the tornado watch just got bumped up to a tornado warning,” Steve suddenly snapped over the line. 

“Get out of the jet,” Clint ordered, tugging Tony after him as they headed down the hill, Tony now hurrying along and falling into step beside him. 

“We’re out and looking for a safe place to hunker down,” Natasha assured him. “You and Stark need to do the same.”

“Working on it,” Clint confirmed. 

The ground under their feet was losing it’s stability by the moment with the torrential downpour and they were half running, half sliding down it in their haste. Clint’s gaze darted around as they ran, looking for something -- anything -- that they could use for shelter. The lightning was now flashing nonstop, the thunder a continuous roar that vibrated down to Clint’s bones. There was also something else behind the drone, something higher pitch that sounded like…

A freight train.

“Go, go, go!” Clint shouted as he shoved Tony in front of him and toward a small rock outcropping he had just spotted. It was too small for both of them, but anything was better than nothing at this point. “Cover your head,” Clint yelled as Tony wedged into the outcropping, Clint wedging in as close behind him as possible. 

Just in time for the world to be torn apart. 

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and threw his hands over his head. And then all that they could do was huddle there and pray that the incoming tornado decided to spare them. Clint could feel debris striking his exposed back, some small impacts and others large enough to send jolts of pain through him. The wind was now a defining roar, drowning out even his voice to his own ears as he tried to yell at Tony to keep still when he felt him shifting -- later finding out he had just realized that Clint was still exposed and was trying to make more room for him. 

Then, it was as if he had been grabbed around the middle and ripped him violently out of the outcropping, flying through the air for a brief few months before everything suddenly went black. 

XxXxX

“Clint! Clint! Where are you!?” 

“Clint! Can you hear us!”

“Clint!”

“Clint… Over here! I found him!”

Clint blinked blearily as a flurry of voices slowly made their way into his consciousness. Brown, green and red blurs drifted around him dizzyingly. His whole body ached with pain, and there was a strange sensation of something falling on him. Water? 

“Clint? Can you hear me? Please?”

At the sound of Natasha’s voice, Clint’s head instinctively shifted in that direction. A gentle hand put pressure on his shoulder, another hand carefully weaving into his hair. Slowly, the world began to return to focus. 

“Nat?” Clint rasped. 

The relief that washed over Natasha’s face was enough to knock her back on her heels. “He’s alive!” she called over her shoulder. “Bring the Quinjet around!” 

“Wha’...?” Clint murmured, still not understanding what was going on. 

“You got your ass kicked by a tornado, Feathers.”

Clint’s eyes wandered up at the sound of a new voice. Tony. And then it all came rushing back to him so suddenly that it took his breath away. Clint eyed Tony critically. He had some visible cuts and bruises and he looked terribly disheveled, but he was still in one piece. 

“You’re going to be okay,” Natasha assured him. “I don’t see anything too serious here. You must not have gotten pulled into the tornado, just thrown by some of the outer winds.”

“Is tha’ all?” Clint said as he huffed something between a laugh and a cough. 

“Steve and Bruce are on their way with the jet,” Natasha said. “They’ll be here in a minute and then we’ll get you all nice and put back together. Okay?” 

“Sounds good,” Clint sighed. 

It was yet another reminder that no matter what evil the Avengers were fighting… Mother Nature was going to do whatever the hell she wanted. 

[spacesquidlings]

Rain Check

MC peeked out the window, blinking as blinding light cut across the sky, followed by a rumble of thunder so close that the floor shook beneath her.

She sighed to herself, the sound of the rain crashing against the windows a soothing, rhythmic beat. When she’d checked the forecast, it had called for sunny days all week. The perfect opportunity to visit the little fair that had opened up in the countryside. To take a look at the petting zoo that had been advertised. To wander aimlessly under the sun, just the two of them, maybe drive until they found the perfect spot for a little picnic.

But they’d awoken to overcast skies and cold winds, and now it looked like the clouds had finally shattered, releasing a torrential downpour onto the world, washing away any hopes of a sunny afternoon petting some goats and sharing a lunch beneath the cerulean skies.

MC drew the curtains closed, shaking her head. The fair was in town for another week, and the grassy fields would be waiting for them when the sun finally returned to its throne in the sky. But perhaps there was something else they could do instead.

She turned away from the windows, mulling over the different things they could do. A movie night perhaps? Maybe they could try baking that cake that they’d talked about making for days now. Or putting together another puzzle.

She hummed as she padded across the room, leaning over the back of the couch to wrap her arms around her husband’s neck.

“Is that a no, then?” He asked, peering at her from the corner of his eye.

MC nodded solemnly. “Yeah. The rain’s gotten a lot worse. It’s turned into a thunderstorm.”

Jihyun sighed, closing his eyes. MC pulled away, gently running her hands up and down his neck. “Are you disappointed?” She asked.

He nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I was looking forward to it.”

She hummed, sliding her hands down and gently massaging his shoulders. “I’m sorry, love. I was looking forward to it, too.”

He sighed again, a low, forlorn sound that made her heart ache.

Jihyun was always a little emotional, and he was prone to tearing up about even the smallest things. She’d caught him sniffling in the middle of a Disney movie, and she’d had to plant a dozen kisses to his face to chase away the tears.

She slid her hands down further, squeezing his upper arms. “But maybe there’s something else we could do instead?”

He twisted around to face her, blinking quickly. “What were you thinking of?”

MC hummed, brushing back his bangs before she cupped his face with both hands. She leaned close, their noses bumping together. “Well. It’s raining, but we still have all that food we made for the picnic.”

He peered at her quizzically, his cerulean eyes narrowing. “But we can’t have a picnic if it’s raining.”

She quickly closed the distance between them, pressing a light kiss to his lips before pulling back. “Oh can’t we?”

She let go of his face and gestured to the living room, to the low coffee table and the plush couches. “We just have to move a few things around and lay a blanket out.”

Jihyun narrowed his eyes further, his mouth quirking to the side as he contemplated what she’d said.

MC was already pulling the coffee table to the side when his eyes lit up, his mouth forming a small o. “Oh, I think I see what you’re saying.”

She paused, grinning at him. “Yeah. An indoor picnic. What do you think?”

He smiled back at her, and she was relieved to see that any traces of tears had vanished. “I really like the sound of that.”

She clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! Then, can you help me move some things around?”

It took them a couple minutes to rearrange the living room so the couch and tables were out of the way. Then Jihyun set out the blanket while MC went to the kitchen to collect the food they’d spent the entire day before preparing.

She piled as much of the food into her arms as she could, realizing too late that she was going to have to make a second trip, especially if she didn’t want to break any plates or spill anything. Her legs wobbled as she carried the food into the living room, but she paused before setting it down, her eyes widening as she watched what her husband was doing.

“Jihyun…” She said, trailing off slowly. “What are you doing?”

He paused, a candle in each hand. A few more were arranged around the floor, already lit, bathing the blanket in a soft golden glow.

His eyes flicked to the floor, then back up to meet her gaze. “I thought it would make it a little more romantic,” he said, his voice soft. “Make it a little more special.”

She almost dropped all the food just to run over to him and wrap him in the tightest embrace she could.

“Jihyun,” she said, her arms aching to hold her husband. To embrace him and press kisses all over his wonderful face. “Everything is special with you.”

His cheeks flushed, and she could see colour creeping up the side of his face, his ears turning a bright crimson that was stark against the turquoise of his hair. But he was smiling too, the kind of smile that made her feel like she was standing beneath the bright sun, basking in its golden glow.

She felt warm all over, like light was pouring through her, spilling from her heart.

“You make everything special, MC,” he said, his voice lowering a little bit.

MC shifted her weight from foot-to-foot, suddenly desperate to put the food down. To hold him.

“Jihyun,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Can you please help me put the food down? I really need to hug you.”

He blinked, but then he was grinning wider, chuckling as he took some of the food from her arms and set it on the blanket. “Anything for my beautiful wife.”

They’d barely finished laying out the food before she jumped into his arms, holding him as tight as her arms would allow her.

He laughed, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, brushing stray kisses to her brow.

“I love you,” she said, her words muffled as she pressed her face against the crook of his neck. “I love you so much.”

He ran a hand over her hair, humming as she brushed a kiss against his collarbone, above where his pulse thrummed in a steady beat.

His fingers threaded through her unbound hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment, pure bliss filling her heart as she stood there holding him. As he held her in turn.

“I love you, too,” he breathed.

He nuzzled the side of her face gently, earning a quiet laugh from her as she leaned away. He took the opportunity to trail kisses along her jawline and down her neck, her laughter growing louder as he grew more playful.

“Hey,” she gasped, pressing her hands against his chest. She could feel his smile against her skin as he paused, but did not move away.

“The food’s going to get cold if we leave it,” she said. Although she only really cared a little bit, and would have been perfectly content to stay like this for the rest of the afternoon.

But Jihyun did pull away, his smile so soft it made her knees feel a little weak.

“We should probably eat it before it goes cold, then,” he said, tucking a strand of her hair behind one ear.

“Probably,” she agreed.

“I’ll help you bring the last of it over,” he said, beginning to make his way towards the kitchen.

MC trailed next to him, her hand brushing against his as they walked.

“After we get everything, did you want me to light the last few candles?” She asked, smiling a little as their fingers twined together. “And then you could turn off the lights?”

He quirked a brow, peeking at her from the corner of his eyes. “Why would I turn the lights off.”

“To make it a little more romantic?” She asked, feeling her face beginning to burn the moment she suggested it.

His brows shot up, but he nodded, grinning at her. “As you wish.”

MC beamed, moving closer to cuddle him as they paused in the doorway of the kitchen.

She loved him so much, so very much, and she had never been more thankful for the rain, for the storm that thundered above them and rattled the floors and the walls, than she was in that moment.

[combeauferre]

Counting Seconds

rated g, 1.1k words

It’s Amelia’s first thunderstorm, but Dan knows just how to help her through it. 

read on ao3

Dan and Phil have had a few years of dumb luck surrounding thunderstorms. They’ve been pretty rare the last few summers, and when they have happened they’ve been in the night and Amelia has slept through them. But as Dan sits and watches the black clouds roll over London, and hears the beginning rumblings of thunder, he knows that this is going to be the time. Amelia’s first thunderstorm.

They already know that this is probably going to be awful. Amelia hates all loud noises, if bonfire night and New Year’s Eve are anything to go by, and Dan’s a bit worried that thunderstorms will be just as awful. Phil’s out shopping with her right now, but that almost makes it worse, to think about his little girl caught out as the sky begins to growl.

The heavens open pretty quickly, and soon Dan is faced with a torrential downpour. He sits watching it for a couple of minutes, drumming on the window into the garden, before he hears the door open and little feet running over the hardwood floor in the hallway.

“Shoes off please!” he calls out, getting up from the sofa and making his way into the hall. Amelia is stood grinning with her clothes soaked, looking very proud of herself. She’s left Phil with the shopping bags, but he just about manages to get in from the rain with three big bags in his hands, kicking the door closed behind him.

“You wanna go get changed, Ames?” Dan says, and Amelia is quick up the stairs, dripping everywhere. Dan sighs, watching little patches of wet appear on the cream carpet. It’ll dry, he supposes.

“Hey, babe,” Dan smiles at Phil, who has managed to get through to peck a kiss to Dan’s lips. “Fun trip?”

Phil huffs a laugh. “That kid is so hyper today.” He shakes his head with a smile. “Did you hear the thunder?”

Dan doesn’t have a chance to reply before a loud rumble comes from the open window outside and Amelia is running down the stairs at them. Dan is closest, so she flings herself at his side, burying her face in his leg.

“You okay, sweetie?” he asks softly, carding a hand through her hair. She’s changed into her pyjamas, and Dan has to smile at that. They’ve really taught her everything they know.

“Daddy, there was a loud noise,” she sniffs, looking up at him. He gently moves her away from his leg and crouches down to her level.

“That’s thunder, baby,” he tells her, running another hand through her hair.

“I don’t like it, Daddy.” She’s shaking her head and her bottom lip is quivering a little. He stands up and takes her hand, and they walk into the living room with Phil.

“Come sit on my knee, Ames,” Dan says, sitting down on the sofa and letting Amelia climb on to his lap. Phil settles next to them both, and Dan raises a hand to start stroking through her hair again.

“Can you make it stop, Daddy?” she says quietly.

“I can’t, baby, but it’s just a storm,” he tells her, gently sectioning out her hair ready for a braid. “It’ll pass over, okay?”

There’s a flash of lightning then, followed quickly by another rumble of thunder. Amelia hiccups a sob, and then she’s turning around to burrow her head in Dan’s chest.

“Daddy, I don’t like it,” she cries. “Why did it do that, Daddy, make it stop!”

“Shh,” Dan murmurs, “I know, baby, I know it’s scary. It’s just lightning, okay? It’s part of the storm.”

Phil gently reaches over and replaces Dan’s hand in Amelia’s hair, picking up where Dan left off in the braid. It helps to calm her almost instantly. It makes Dan smile to think how much she’s just like Phil in that respect. Nothing calms her quite like gentle, casual touch. Which is just as well, really, since that’s the best kind of comfort that either of them can offer.

Dan catches his eye then, and mouths a quick “teddy” to him. Phil leans over and presses a kiss to Amelia’s hair, before he’s out the room. Another flash of lightning and roll of thunder ring out overhead, and Amelia grips Dan’s shirt.

“Hey, Ames, can I tell you something?” he whispers to her. Amelia pulls away from his chest, looking up at him with her big puppy eyes and nodding. “You know, you can tell how far away the storm is from the thunder.”

“Really?” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Do you want me to teach you?” she nods, her eyes never leaving his. “Okay, we’re gonna wait for the next flash, and then we’re gonna count the seconds, yeah?”

“Okay,” she says quietly.

It’s another couple of seconds before the next flash of lightning, and then they start to count.

“One, two, three,” they chant together. When Phil walks in with Amelia’s rabbit, they’re at ten, and then they hear a roll of thunder.

“How far away, Daddy?” Amelia asks immediately.

“Well, five seconds means it’s one mile away,” Dan tells her. “So what do you think ten seconds means?”

Amelia looks down at her hands for a second, counting in little whispers before she looks back up at Dan proudly.

“Two miles!”

“That’s right, kiddo!” he ruffles her hair. “It’s a whole two miles away, and it’s only gonna keep going further and further. It’s nearly finished now, yeah?”

Amelia nods, and Phil chooses that time to walk in. She grins when she sees him and lifts up her arm.

“Papa!” she claps her hands until she’s given the bunny, and when Phil is sat down she’s quick to crawl across on to his knee.

“Daddy taught me how to count the thunderstorm!” she grins.

“Wow, he did?” Phil says, his words carrying as much excitement as hers. “Does that make it a little less scary?”

“Yeah!” she looks back over at Dan proudly. “It’s two miles away!” she holds up two fingers to Phil. “And that means it’s really far and it can’t hurt me!”

“That’s right, kiddo!” Phil grins. “You’re so clever!”

Dan’s never been as big on thunderstorms as Phil is. It’s all too easy for him to remember counting away the storms as a kid, on his own in the house. He can see in Phil’s face that he can’t wait for the day Amelia starts to enjoy thunderstorms, and they can all stand out in the garden to watch them. But it’s nice, till then, to sit and teach his kid the little things that gave him comfort when he was small. It reminds him that he really is giving this kid a better childhood than what his parents ever gave him. It warms his heart, to take the information he learnt from google in panic and pass it on to his child, who only needed a little distraction to complement the warmth in her father’s arms.

[kawa-boru]

KanaTyy collaboration

KawaBoru Week: Day Four

Prompts: Rainy Day

Rating: T (language)

Work count: 1,900

Stormy Day

I was dead, I was so dead. Kawaki was going to have my ass and not in a good way. I had thought there was still time to make it to the store and back, but I was wrong. It had really come out of nowhere, completely unexpected. The past week had been nothing but sunshine and humidity. The forecast was suddenly predicting a severe thunderstorm for the afternoon and through the night. We were running low on food and I moved my trip to the grocery store to this morning, but it came sooner than they thought.

I had just finished loading up the cart when I passed a window and saw how dark the sky had gotten, filled with angry clouds. I cursed under my breath and quickly went to the self checkout line. I was the only person there at the twenty-four hour store and that did nothing to calm my nerves. By the time I had everything bagged and paid for, it was raining. All I could do was load the trunk up as fast as I could and hoped I made it home before it got ugly. Needless to say, that didn’t happen—it didn’t give a fuck about me and got ugly when I was halfway there.

The rain was coming down hard and I couldn’t even hear the car over the sound of it. A few stragglers were on the road as well, having been caught just like me, but they soon went in a different direction. Lightning flashed in the sky and the roar of thunder followed seconds later. It was getting near impossible to see and I held one hand above the emergency break as I drove under the large overhang down hill. Kawaki was still sleeping when I had left and if he found out I was out here in this shit, well pissed would be an understatement for how he’d be feeling.

All I wanted was to get food, be prepared so we wouldn’t starve during the storm and I had to get right in the thick of it. Things took a turn for the worst when I reached the bottom of the hill to find it completely flooded.

“Damn it!” There wasn’t another way around and I had no choice but to turn around.

I went back up the hill and over, driving down to the other side where I came from. It had flooded as well in that short amount of time and I was completely blocked in. I left with no other choice but to travel up the hill once more away from the rising water.

“Great. Now I’m stuck.” I groaned in frustration, now parked at the top underneath the overhang.

I wasn’t in that much danger up here and flooding shouldn’t be a problem, but it wasn’t safe either. I pulled out my phone and tried not to let the fear grow. There was no sense in worrying, it was best to stay put and wait it out. All day . . . and into the night. I furrowed my brow and looked out the window, only under the overhang visible. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw it storm like this and I knew that I needed to call Kawaki. I had to let him know I was alright and I needed to know he was too. Of course the house was pretty safe, but flooding could be a problem if the water rose too high. Thunder sounded again and I jumped when my phone vibrated at the same time, Kawaki’s name popping up on the screen.

“I’m okay.” I said as I answered the call.

“Where the fuck are you?” He growled, just as angry sounding as I assumed he would be. He then proceeded to grumble one curse after the next about my claim to being okay, voice muffled. I could tell he was smoking. “Boruto. Where. The fuck. Are you?”

“Well, you see . . . I’m in the car.” I said reluctantly. “Under the overhang . . . on the hill. Possibly stuck . . .”

“That’s real fucking nice.” He muttered after exhaling loudly. “Do I even want to know why you left?”

My reason was valid. “To prevent us from starving.”

“Damn asshole.” He sighed in exasperation and then the sound of something ruffling around washed out his next words, until it cleared. “Ten minutes.”

“What? I didn’t catch all of that.” Ten minutes for what?

The call ended before I got a response and I hoped I hadn’t lost connection. I wasn’t sure what to do next, but at least Kawaki was safe and he knew I was alright. The rain wasn’t showing any signs of stopping and I dreaded being stuck up here until tomorrow. The wind was louder than the rainfall and after a while, it almost drowned it out completely. I tried my phone and looked at the updates the news stations were sending out, hoping that I could catch a break. I got absorbed in the task and jumped when something tapped the driver side window. My phone fell to the floorboard and my heart felt like it would beat out of my chest.

“Kawaki!” I gasped, getting out of the car and shivering from the wind. “Are you crazy, being out in this weather?! How did you get up here?”

“Idiot.” He huffed and laid his jacket over my head. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” I questioned, but turned around to open the car door. I cut the engine and held the jacket closer to my body. “Where are we going?” How are we going?

“Home.” He ground out loud enough that I could hear him over the storm, hurrying me up by pulling me back and slamming the car door.

“Wait!” I insisted when I spotted a familiar truck. “I have to grab some things!”

I quickly took a few bags from the trunk and then followed him over to Iwabe’s truck. I squeezed in the middle while Kawaki took the passenger side, holding the bags in his lap. He was completely soaked and I worried he was going to get a cold. I huddled close to him and rested my head on his shoulder, not giving a fuck about the water. If I was cold then I knew he had to be freezing and I still couldn’t believe he came out here to get me. He was so reckless, but I was glad he was with me now.

“This is ridiculous.” Iwabe snorted, leaning up in his seat as he tried to see the road through the torrential downpour. “Better slow down.”

“Wreck us and I’ll kill your ass.” Kawaki threatened.

A smile found my lips despite the situation and Iwabe did his best as he drove out of the overhang and down the hill. “Is the neighborhood flooded too?”

“The shoulders are. We’re safe moving through the middle of the street.”

I hummed and peered out the window, thankful that the truck stood a better chance than my car did. It was a bit sketchy, but we made it through the water and back onto the road. It was a slow and steady drive to the house and I was grateful Iwabe was willing to go through all this. I told him as much when he parked in our driveway and he just waved me off, saying that was what friends were for. I tried to persuade him to stay rather than stay out in the storm, but he told me it wouldn’t be difficult to get home.

I sighed and left it at that, thanking him again before Kawaki and I made a break for it. I set the bags down once I was inside and Kawaki closed the door behind us. It was good to be home. After hanging his jacket, I turned to Kawaki and started pulling at his shirt.

“Alright, strip.” I ordered. “We need to get you warm and dry.”

“Worry about your damn self. I’m fine.” He glared at me but peeled his shirt off anyway. His skin was covered in chill bumps.

“I’ll do whatever the hell I want.” I grinned and popped open the button of his pants, not hesitating to pull down the zipper.

“You need to be stripping yourself, not me.” He told me though he didn’t sound as if he was convinced by his words.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and hooked my fingers in his belt loops. “But I like stripping you.” I said cheekily. “We’ll get nice and dry and then I’ll make us something to eat.”

“We won’t starve at least.” He mumbled, shaking his head at me. “You do realize you could have gotten in a bad accident out there, right?”

I pulled his pants down along with his underwear and collected his wet clothes after he stepped out of them. “I know. I’m sorry, Ki. I was trying to think ahead, but the storm hit sooner than they said it would.”

“You had no business leaving to begin with. We have bread.”

“I’m not eating your butterless toast.” I said and led the way upstairs, his clothes over my arm. “And your stomach wouldn’t last all night on just that alone.”

“I’d much rather go hungry than have something happen to your cinnamon roll ass.” He grumbled behind me.

I pushed open the door to our bedroom and then went into the bathroom to hang up the wet fabric. “I get that . . . and I would feel the same if it had been you out there.”

“You don’t get it. You don’t leave this fucking house like that when you know a storm is coming. No matter how much time you think you have.”

I wanted to argue, but knew I couldn’t because he was right. It wasn’t worth the chance. I grabbed a towel out of the closet and started drying him, trying not to pout.

“Okay.”

“I hate when you do that shit. Okay. O fucking Kay. You are so damn hard headed.” He huffed, shaking his head.

“How am I being hard headed? I’m agreeing with you!” I protested. Honestly, when he got mad he only focused on what he wanted and what he was saying. My words went in one ear and out the other unless they were an insult or opposing him.

“I can’t even look at you right now.” He mumbled, glaring at me all the while.

I got on the step stool to dry his hair next and shook my head. “I said I was sorry, alright?” I already felt bad and his mood was making me feel worse.

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be smart.”

I sighed, resting my arms on his shoulders and staring down at his collarbone as another clap of thunder sounded. “And I was dumb.”

“As fuck. You ever make me wake up in a storm and you be gone again and I’ll kick your ass.” He said and then sighed as well, moving his arms around my waist and hugging me to him. “I was scared.”

I snuggled into his embrace and raked my fingers through his hair. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“Damn right you won’t. I forbid it.” He told me, voice toned down. “Now we need to get you naked.”

I laughed and gave a thoughtful kiss to his jaw. “Of course.”

I couldn’t deny that the best place to be during a storm was in bed with the man that held my safety above everything else. I was lucky to have someone who loved me so much, someone that would always come to my rescue. Kawaki was my hero.

[one-piece-drabbles]

Skyburst

Notes: A warning for violence and unhealthy family dynamics. Inspired by this post from Nari ( @authenticaussi3 ) - years old now, so I’m either late to the party or just that slow of a writer. Take your pick.

For all that Luffy likes a good surprise, he thinks—and in all honesty, it takes him a few seconds to come to this conclusion—that he doesn’t like hurtling through the sky without any sign of how he got up so high. He’s pretty sure that the white stuff below him is just clouds and not weirdly-colored ocean, but that doesn’t answer the question of what’s below the white carpet. Or how he ended up like this.

Nami would know, but she isn’t around to ask. His whole crew is gone. He twists in the air, wind stretching and pulling his skin, but he can’t see any sign of his ship. Still falling and now blinded by the sun, he brings a hand up to his chin and tries to remember the last thing he did. Were they in a fight? No, he had dinner, Sanji kicked him out, and then he went to sleep in his hammock. And woke up in the sky.

He groans, spreading out his limbs in frustration. He finally stops spinning just in time to hit the tallest cloud. The cold, annoying before, is now biting as water soaks his skin, hair, and clothes. With little choice but to keep falling, Luffy shields his eyes. A rumble he can feel in his bones shakes the air, followed by a teeth-rattling boom. Bright blue light flickers around Luffy in constant flashes. The cheery sunlight of before dies under a suffocating blanket of gray.

He’s falling through a thunderstorm. But the weather was clear when he went to sleep—Nami even talked about it, saying that Usopp would be able to fish for a while before anything hit.

Maybe this is a dream. That would make the most sense, right? Even though he’s never had a dream like this before…

He breaks through the lowest layer of clouds and the water vapor becomes torrential rain. Lightning strobes the sky and thunder roars. Luffy claps his hands over his ears as one thunderclap goes off way too close—only that makes him spin again, so it’s either painfully loud noises or throwing up in freefall. Luffy chooses the former. He’s getting far enough from the clouds now that it shouldn’t be deafening anymore.

Maneuvering himself with plenty of trial and error, Luffy finally gets a look at the ground below, blinking almost continuously against the wind. It’s an island, the only one Luffy can see, not that visibility is all that great. Even in the downpour, fires rage all over. The closer Luffy gets, the more details he can make out. There’s a fight going on between white-clad people and…one person?

He’s going to crash down right in the middle of the plaza in the thickest tangle of it all. Water gets into Luffy’s eyes and he wipes it away. He orients himself one last time and braces for a hard landing.

Something slams into the ground a foot to Ace’s left. It isn’t a cannonball or a bullet, no—the force of the impact knocks Ace off his feet. Several marines try to take advantage of the opening, but Ace catches himself on his hands and spins with his feet in the air, releasing a cyclone of flames that burns them all twice over: first with the fire and then again with the steam.

Flipping back onto his feet, Ace eyes the impact crater. It’s too deep to see to the bottom from his angle, and he’s not getting any closer in case the marines are trying another one of those surprise explosives.

A hand shoots out and scrabbles on the upturned brick of the plaza before finding a grip right on the edge of the hole. A second hand joins it, and then any body parts are just a blur of motion. Ace rolls out of the way of the human missile and comes up swinging, knowing that whoever it was would’ve stopped against the wall just behind him. He catches sight of wide eyes and a panicked expression before the stranger bends impossibly far backwards to avoid the hit, nearly slamming his own face into the wall. A stream of fire easily twenty feet high explodes out from Ace’s fist, leveling the entire block behind the house and roasting all the marines too slow to get out of the way.

The attack sputters and dies when the stranger’s feet hit Ace’s shins and knock his legs out from under him. His jaw cracks against the ground and bloodied rainwater splashes all over. Ace snarls into the shattered brick at his own amateurish mistake. The rainwater isn’t enough to stop him, but there’s just enough ocean in it to stop his full-fire transformation. He slams a fist against the ground and releases an omnidirectional explosion that clears the ground for thirty feet in every direction. Ace gets to his feet, wiping his freshly-sopping hair out of his face, and finds the kid who knocked him flat.

Kid. The realization makes him pause, the pouring rain drowning out all the thoughts in his head for a second before he can bring it all back. The stranger can’t be older than twenty, with short black hair and a scar under one eye. That scar rings uncomfortable bells in Ace’s memory, and fire flickers to life on his shoulders.

“Ah, wait!”

Staring in disbelief, Ace watches as the kid jumps up into the air, fingers grasping at something floating down from above. It moves erratically, battered by the same rain still doing its damndest to drown everyone out in the open, but the kid eventually snatches it and jams it onto his head.

And now, Ace thinks, the universe has to be playing a trick on him, because he knows that hat. He buried that hat. How the fuck does this random asshole have it?

Ace is so caught up in memories he wants no part of that he doesn’t realize for several seconds that the rain has stopped. Water runs in rivulets down his face and bare chest, collecting between his shoulder blades before sliding in freezing lines down his spine. Without a curtain of rain in the way, Ace can finally get a clear look at the kid, more than just random details, and it stops him cold.

It doesn’t matter that Ace’s memories are more than ten years old. It doesn’t matter that this kid is almost three times the age of the Luffy he knew. None of it matters, because this kid—this kid—

He looks like Luffy. He looks like how Luffy should’ve looked if the world let him live, right down to the round features that Ace had always figured he’d grow out of and the straw hat Luffy refused to let out of his sight. He looks so much like the Luffy Ace wanted to grow up with that it makes his chest clench, and he balls his hands into fists on reflex. How long has it been since he thought about Luffy? A year? Two?

He blinks, time restarts, and a bullet chips the ground an inch from his left foot. Ace leaps back, a retaliatory barrage of fireballs consuming the sniper’s chosen roof a second later. As the marine screams and falls to the street below as an inferno himself, Ace goes to work on the stragglers who weren’t cowardly enough to run when they had the chance.

Watching him, Luffy can’t bring himself to move, to speak, to do anything but witness as Ace, alive again, murders scores of marines with uncaring brutality. He isn’t concerned about ending life quickly, only incapacitating until the next attacker is down, so the groans of the dying quickly fill the air until Ace goes back and kills them too.

It’s all too much like Marineford, and that snaps Luffy out of his trance. He acts without thinking and joins his brother against the marines. They’re all retreating now—when Luffy propels himself onto a nearby roof that avoided Ace’s flames, he can see ships pulling away from the harbor—but they’ve left a few dozen to cover their escape. Ace and Luffy make short work of them, and while Luffy could catapult himself after the fleeing ships, he doesn’t want to take his eyes off Ace.

Because it is Ace. It has to be, even if he’s not…right. He’s missing his tattoos and his hat and and he’s got more scars than the old Ace ever had, plus there’s something wrong behind his eyes that makes Luffy shiver. Despite all that, he’s still Ace.

Right?

As they stand there on the beach, watching the disappearing ships, Luffy tries to keep himself together. His own grieving words echo in his head and he sneaks glances at Ace, trying to reconcile what he knows with what he sees. He can’t do it.

Ace catches Luffy’s look and turns fully to face him. There’s none of the warmth that Luffy is used to seeing in his expression and his voice is dangerously bland. “Just who the hell are you, anyway?”

Ace expects hostility, or fear, or at the very least trepidation from the kid in front of him. Even Luffy knew when to be afraid. He gets none of it; the boy just stares at him, gears stagnated and mental trains stalled at the station. Scowling, Ace waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey. I asked who you are.”

“You’re Ace, right?”

Irritation showing in the tongues of flame licking at his hair, Ace crosses his arms. He’s not surprised the kid knows who he is. Every single flat surface has his wanted poster tacked up on it these days. “Yeah, I am. Now, for the last time, who the hell are you?”

The kid gets a furrow between his eyes like Ace just asked him how far away the sun is. The gears slowly begin to turn. “You…you don’t remember me?”

More fire. Steam wafts up from Ace’s skin in deceptively gentle wisps. A rumble of thunder from the retreating storm shakes water from the shoreline trees. “I think I’d remember someone like you. Spit it out. Last warning.”

It’s like someone flipped a switch. The kid slides out of Ace’s reach with unexpected speed and offers up a laughably unconvincing smile. “I gotta get back to my crew, they’re probably looking for me—”

“Hold it.” Ace’s hand fastens around the kid’s wrist like a vice. He yanks him close. “Name.”

Luffy swallows. He’s never seen Ace like this before, not since those first few weeks at Dadan’s hideout. Ace’s eyes are hard, his expression promising retribution if Luffy doesn’t listen. There’s something so…so feral about it, and Luffy can’t get the memories of that haunted young boy out of his head. It’s unlike him, but none of this is right and he just wants a little bit of time to think, but Ace isn’t giving it to him, he isn’t acting right, he doesn’t even know Luffy—

Tugging ineffectually on his arm, Luffy tries to hide the pain from his voice. “You’re burning me.”

Ace’s grip tightens. “I know.”

Every ounce of experience in Luffy’s bones is telling him to run, but he can’t. It’s Ace. “I’m Luffy, okay? Luffy. Let go.” Ace’s fingers go slack in surprise and Luffy yanks his hand away. He stays several yards away from Ace, prodding his burned wrist. The skin is raw and pink.

Ace had burned him and hadn’t cared that it hurt. They’d hurt each other plenty of times growing up, that came with their home and with training, but it was never like this.

“Luffy?” Ace’s quiet voice makes Luffy back up another several steps. Ace is glowing with heat, the air distorting around him. “Is this some kind of joke?” He raises his head and his eyes are alight with rage. “Who sent you? How the fuck did they find out about my brother?”

“Ace—”

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Ace continues, heedless of Luffy’s interruption. “You’ll either tell me or you’ll die. I mean, you’ll die either way, but you can at least give me the pleasure of putting up a fight.”

Fear—honest, unfamiliar fear—hooks its fingers in Luffy’s head and instinct takes over. Straightening and losing the confused edge to his expression, Luffy meets Ace glare for glare. “You’re not Ace, I am Luffy, and I really don’t like what you’re doing with my brother’s face.”

His sheer certainty throws Ace out of his reflexive rage. He takes a closer look at the kid. He’d thought that he was some kind of government spy, but really, there’s no way CP9 or any of those assholes know about Luffy. Ace has never talked about him. Plus, too many details are the same for this to be coincidence: the hat, the scar, even just his overall appearance. Hell, Ace is pretty sure that this kid has the same devil fruit powers, too.

The more dots he connects, the farther from the present moment he gets. Adrift in memories, he hardly notices Luffy edging away again—hardly, but he does.

“You can’t be,” he whispers. “I—you died.” The phantom blood spray arcs through the air as Luffy’s tiny body smacks into a tree and crumples to the ground. “You died.” The bear’s roar is a declaration, a challenge, and Ace can’t match it. Luffy is unconscious or dead and Ace—

It’s his greatest shame, a burden he will never be rid of, and his right hand curls into a fist.

He runs. Over and over again he runs. Night after night, year after year, he turns on his heel and he runs. Like a weakling. A coward. A selfish, worthless monster.

“Luffy.” The boy freezes, microexpressions flickering like strobes under a cracked mask of confidence. “You really are him. How—” Ace stops. “No, that doesn’t matter. You’re here now. We can be together again. Brothers. Family. Like we used to.”

“You’re not Ace,” Luffy repeats.

“What are you talking about?” Ace takes a step forward. Luffy takes a step back. “C’mon. It’s me.”

Shaking his head, Luffy maintains the distance between them. “You’re not Ace.” His voice hardens. “Ace wouldn’t do what you do. He cared about—about things. About himself. You don’t care about anything.”

A strong ocean wind washes over the island, picking up and spreading the nauseating odor of burning flesh. Ace’s rampage had spared no one, not a single soldier and not a single civilian. It was cruelty of the highest, most callous order. Luffy’s right foot slides back and he sinks into a ready stance.

“You’re not my Ace. I’m not your family. Leave me alone!”

Ace grins, teeth shining with reflected firelight from the village still burning in the background. Something broken and mad bleeds out from behind his eyes. “Leave you alone? No,no, I can’t do that. This is a second chance.” Flames race across his skin and bathe his face in demonic light. “I’m never leaving you alone again, Luffy.”