One Piece One Shots

The Storm [Kid x Reader] [AU]

There had been a storm brewing for the majority of the previous night that had made the levels of humidity skyrocket. By that Saturday morning, the early winter sky was covered in a solid block of menacing dark clouds, and there was an almost constant low whistle in the background, the wind howling furiously and making the windows rattle.

Standing next to the living room's windowsill bench with a warm cup of coffee in your hands, you stared at the first drops running down the glass panels. Days like those always presented a dilemma in your mind: On the one hand, you loved the rainy season; staying at home with a blanket over your legs, a cup of your favourite drink and perhaps a good book... You couldn't come up with a better plan.

On the other hand, Kid.

He had always felt the need to be tough and appear unbothered. You had tried your best to ignore it all, but, since the accident, he had doubled his efforts to put up the act. And, truth be told, you hadn't thought much of it at first, had even tried to dismiss it for his own sake —⁠it was just Kid being Kid after all. Yet, with the arrival of the colder seasons, his scars and stump had started bothering him visibly, and you two had had more than enough fights before he had barely given in and had begun letting you know when the pain became too much.

Now, instead of fully enjoying the weather without a second thought in mind, you found yourself with a sinking feeling in your stomach every single time a cloud dared to stain the clear sky.

With a heavy sigh, you brought your mug to your lips and took a sip, the warm liquid erasing the traces of the chilly temperatures from your veins. You had caught a glimpse of the redhead stumbling out of the bedroom and disappearing into the bathroom a few minutes before, and you were waiting expectantly to see if that would be a good or a bad day.

By the time he eventually reached your side, your soft smile had turned into a thin and straight line.

Kid buried his face in the crook of your neck and merely grunted when you ran your fingers through his fiery hair and asked him if he was okay. With his only arm around your waist, he tightened his half‑embrace unintentionally with every pang of pain that ran through his nerves.

You pursed your lips, feeling his jaw tensing against your shoulder and the puffs of air that softly fanned over your collarbone.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" you wondered in the gentlest of tones.

More often than not, returning to the comfort and warmth of the covers had proven useful to help him relax enough to forget about his pain momentarily, specially when you were there to distract him. Making him accept your help when he felt like he was being weak —a burden—, however, always turned out to be the almost impossible task.

"M'fine," he mumbled as he vaguely shook his head.

"Kid..."

"I said I'm fine," he groaned, freeing you from his grip.