It’s odd, because he rarely gets visitors. He’s holed up in this three bedroom townhouse that he bought last summer on a quiet residential street, and only John knows where it is.
So when his doorbell rings, his instincts stir, and he approaches the front door carefully, gun tucked in the waistband of his pants at his back.
Nothing through the peep hole, and his frown deepens when the bell rings again.
What the?
He doesn’t know what he expected to find when he opened the door. John maybe. A door to door solicitor, or someone similar.
He didn’t expect a pint size child in a tiger’s costume, ears and all on the hood pulled over their head.
“Trick or treat!” What? It’s October twelfth… He crouches, but even on his haunches, he’s not eye level with the little beast.
“Who’re you?”
“Lisbeth.” She holds a pillow case open with a toothy smile. “Trick or treat.”
“It’s not-”
“Lisbeth!” He turns to find his you speeding down the sidewalk, your eyes wide, frantic, mad, shaking your head furiously. Meanwhile, the little girl at his feet gives him a chastising look, like he’s the one who’s gotten her in trouble. It’s an eyeful on someone who can’t be older than five.
“You’re in trouble.” He murmurs, and her lower lip rolls out as you clear his gate and wrap your hand around her wrist, dragging her towards you. You’re a bit of a mess, pajama pants and a stretched out hoodie, mismatched socks under slippers, but there’s something about it that fits, some sort of chaos that seems to settle on your shoulders as he stares at you. Beautiful, stunning, frightening chaos.
“Sowwy mum.”
“What did I say? It’s not halloween for two weeks yet. You can’t just go walking around the neighborhood bothering the neighbors.” Guilt wedges under his ribs.
“She wasn’t botherin’ me.”
“See?” She grins, and you shake your head.
“I’m sorry. She’s just… it’s her favorite holiday. She’s excited and I turned my back for one minute…” You drag the words out and Lisbeth looks properly scolded.
“It’s alright. She’s… cute.” Isn’t that what people say? They say kids are cute, right? You give him a weak smile, and it’s mildly encouraging, so he goes a step further and extends his hand. “I’m Simon.”
“Simon.” You’re weak in his grip. Delicate, soft, and he’s mesmerized by your lips as you give him your name and jerk your head down the street.
“We’re two doors down. Just moved in.” He’s not sure where to take it from here, only that he wants to drag this out and soak up this opportunity, this conversation, this moment where he’s standing in front of something so lovely he’s not sure how it exists.
“Nice to meet you. An’ you.” He nods towards Lisbeth, and she nods.
“You’ll have candy on Halloween?” You close your eyes, exasperated.
“Lisbeth, not everyone wants trick or treaters, you know. He could have plans. Or just not want a million kids at his door.” Normally, he’d say you’re right, he doesn’t want trick or treaters, he doesn’t want kids at his door. He’s not made for this life but the idea of you and the kid walking around in the dark, knocking on people’s doors, getting candy, makes him homesick for something he doesn’t understand.
“I’ll have candy, yeah.” It will be worth it, he promises himself. Worth it to see you again.
“Alright then. Well, I guess we’ll see you on Halloween.” Lisbeth’s face is all mischief as you turn her away. “Nice to meet you Simon.”
“You too.” His brain is too slow for this interaction, his thoughts too convoluted. Later he’ll think of a million things he could have asked you, said to you, built a bridge to you with, but for now you too is all he’s got.
You look over your shoulder at him when you’re halfway down the sidewalk with a small, lingering smile, and Lisbeth grins at him like a cat that’s got the cream as she shouts across his yard.
The setting that prevents your work being used to train AI models is turned off by default! I had no idea about this until now! Artists, go to your settings, click “visibility”, and turn on this setting! Protect your work!
Sorry for all the @'s, especially if you don't know me, but I'm pretty sure you all do arts or put arts on your blogs- so please be aware of this if you aren't already!
In which you have ten seconds to remind Trafalgar Law that he's loved.
Tags: Trafalgar Law x Reader, Gender-neutral reader, Established relationship, Gentle romance, Soft Law hours, Birthday fic
A/N: No, I didn't rush to make this for my bias. Happy Birthday, Law!
W/C: 0.8k
Image: [x] Not mine!
"What's that?" He steps into the room, stopping when he sees you dressed in your pajamas and holding something in your hand.
"It's for you," you beam at him and Law's shoulders slacken at your smile. Cute.
He looks tired. He's been cooped up in that brilliant brain of his again, and you figure he's been pushing himself to the brink. The dark circles under his eyes and the angle of his hat suggest obvious exhaustion but they quarrel with his tight work ethic. So you pat the space beside you and he makes his way, the bed softly bouncing with his weight.
"It's...cake bread," he notes, stroking your hair.
You stare at him. "It's a cupcake."
He pauses. "Yes."
"Are you serious?"
He slowly puts his hand back down. "I mean it's—"
"—They're not the same thing," you giggle, and he slouches then, eyes softening as the candlelight on the bedside table faintly casts a shadow on your face. Your laugh has become his favorite.
"Come on, it's just a small cupcake. Besides, I asked Bepo to give me the least sweet and the lightest one."
Again with that thinking face. Adorable.
"Fine," he sighs and you smile bigger. It's only fair to cede this one.
"Oh! It's almost midnight," you announce when you glanced at the clock. His eyes feel warm on you as you fumble with the lighter, your head filled with his scent of salty air and rubbing alcohol. He's breathing in tandem with you and you feel jittery. It's not the first time you're celebrating his birthday together but the fireflies in your stomach never fail to light up every time.
"I'll age 50 years before you light that thing."
"Shut up, Law."
He chuckles and the candle finally sparks. You gingerly shift towards him, bringing the cupcake closer to his face. "Make a wish."
You can tell he's still not used to this. "Do I need to?"
"You're welcome to," you say. He stares at the flickering candle, the golden light reflecting in his amber eyes.
He slowly exhales and looks down at the treat, thumb brushing the edge of the bed as though he’s buying time.
You tilt your head. “You’ve got ten seconds before it melts, Law.”
“Ten seconds?” he echoes, faint amusement tugging at his lips.
“Mm-hm. Ten seconds to make a wish. Or to let me convince you you're loved.”
He stills. The walls hold their breath and the flame dances between you, fragile and bright; for a moment you think you see his heartbeat in the shadows.
“Ten,” you start softly, your voice half a whisper.
“You’re not just a captain. You’re Law, the one who always checks if everyone ate before he does.”
His eyes flick up to meet yours.
“Nine. You don’t talk much, but when you do, you always make it count.”
He stays silent, eyes piercing yours.
“Eight. You pretend you don’t care, which is adorable because you always do. Too much sometimes.”
You see the way his fingers tightly grasping the edge of the bed.
“Seven. You’re brilliant. Not just because of what’s in your head, but what’s in there.” You nod towards his chest, right where his heart beats.
“Six,” you continue, your smile trembling a little. “You let me in, even when it scared you.”
He’s silent. Too silent. The candle flickers, a tiny flame caught in the hush of the room. His eyes stay afix on yours.
“Five. You deserve to rest.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps.
“Four. You’re not alone anymore.”
Something shifts in his expression. Tender, almost candor. Almost vulnerable.
“Three,” you whisper. “You’re cared for, Law. By us. By me.”
His gaze sharpens then, like he’s memorizing the way your voice sounds when you say it.
“Two,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “That’s enough wishing.”
And before you can say “one,” he leans forward and blows the candle out.
The darkness that follows isn’t empty. It’s warm. Almost sacred. He retrieves the cupcake and sets it down on the table, long and calloused fingers reaching for you before pulling you into him.
His arms snake around your torso, stealing your warmth. Your arms soon followed, tenderly engulfing him in the quiet of the night, in the space where you two first confessed.
For a moment, you both stayed like that. Breaths falling in tandem, eyes closed in quiet understanding. The world fades like sleep and everything feels like home.
“…You didn’t let me finish counting,” you mumble against his chest.
“Didn’t need to,” he murmurs, his voice unshakable but softer than usual. He draws back just enough to see your face, fingertips brushing your cheek.
"You already gave me what I wished for."
The world tilts.
A question has been lingering in his being.
And for once, Trafalgar Law didn’t need a wish; he already had the answer pressed to his lips.
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
baratheonpilled
titsay
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
blakekathryn
gummygunk
pixelskylines
