Work Text:
Bleeding Heart Flower; elegance, fidelity
He was by no means a romantic; that much you had realized long ago.
He could be cold and callous and fairly aloof at times, but you loved him anyways. Your relationship with him was a bit chaotic, and by nature, the two of you were divergent to one another, given your opposite personalities.
You were mild, docile and gentle, with an undeniable air of grace in everything you did. The way you walked and carried yourself left a resounding sense of eloquence in all that beheld you, and this was a trait your lover seemed fascinated by.
In contrast, he was merciless and a fearsome opponent in battle. He struck down all those who opposed him without a care in the world, and often you would seek refuge elsewhere if he intended on torturing someone slowly that day.
He was different than what you were used to, but you were loyal to him.
You stayed by his side and was there when he needed you, whether it be for something simplistic or in the heat of battle.
You tended the wounds he often tended to ignore, and you made sure to gingerly remind him with a thick tone of amusement that he was a doctor-- why were you the one stuck with treating his wounds?
But never once did you fail to care for him if he needed it. He was certainly stubborn about it, but you persisted none the less. You were compassionate in nature and more tentative and tender than most, but that did not mean that you did not have a serious and stubborn side.
This was also a trait he seemed to find endearing, though it was never verbally mentioned by him. Nothing really was, for that matter. But you understood it well enough; he cared for you, in his own way, just as you did for him.
Most couples often showered each other in affection and gifted one another with trinkets and items that were bound to fade eventually, but you and he seemed to be the exception to that rule.
You didn't spend time fretting over frivolous gifts, and neither did he.
But that didn't mean there weren't some things that you longed for. It was in human nature to crave things, after all.
There was a flower. The bleeding heart flower-- and it was quite lovely, in your opinion.
It came in many different shades, though often times it was as pink as those childish doodles of hearts you could recall making when you were a little girl.
He saw you admiring them one day; touching the heart shaped petals and smiling softly to yourself as you felt the satin like brush of the texture against the tip of your finger.
These flowers were even shaped like a heart, hanging from a vine one after the other. But when they bloomed, they turned into lovely flowers with tinted centers that carried a pleasant scent.
He made no remark as he watched you admire the flowers, his stormy gray eyes taking in your softened features as you gazed at the unique flower with a sweet smile.
“Cap'n, we need to get moving!” The voice of his furry crew member called over the pleasant breeze of the spring island, and the tanned male gave a brief nod to the bear.
“Ah.” Were his only words of acknowledgment, and he rose from his seated position, trailing over to you.
The faintest touch upon your waist drew your attention. You knew that touch, and your fingers retreated from the flowers as you turned, following your Surgeon of Death with unhesitating fidelity.
It was a few hours later when you found yourself seated in the kitchen of the submarine, a book placed delicately in your lap as you poured over the small text, idly tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
It was late now, and you knew he would be waiting on you-- although he would never admit to it.
You weren't too troubled, seeing as how he often did not sleep on a regular schedule. So, you took your time in rising from the table, pushing in your chair quietly as you closed the book, setting it aside for now and trailing to his room.
The first thing that caught your attention was that it was quite dark. Generally there was a lantern lit, or a few candles would be burning, filling the room with their waxy smell, but tonight there was nothing. You couldn't even sense Law in the room.
Only the light from the hallway streaming in through the crack in the door served as your guide, and you squinted your [e/c] eyes as you made your way over to his desk.
Grabbing hold of the lantern gently, you struck a match and lit it, gasping softly when you saw what was placed next to it.
There upon the dark, cherry wood of his desk sat a vine of bleeding heart flowers that seemed to glow in the dim lighting.
A pair of lips brushed against the back of your neck, and that familiar touch upon your sides vaguely registered with you as you attempted to hide your smile as you could feel his lips against your neck curling up into that placid smirk of his.
Okay, so maybe he could be a bit romantic. When he wanted to be.