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hongkongartman-mlee · 11 months

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The Bright International Film Score Composer: Elliot Leung(梁皓一): What Is The Way For a Young Person To Build A Future?

It was said that by failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail. I, terribly, prepare too much. I get so wrapped up in what should happen. I lost too many times the opportunity to be amazed, if not amused, by what was unpredictable.

The great film score composer Elliot Leung(梁皓一) is lucky, not only because he is at his golden age of 28, but because he has planned his life well and yet when things did not happen as he wished, he never got thrown off or discouraged.

Elliot put his hands together and smiled, “I know what I am doing. Ever since I was a child, I have wanted to cry for the moon and do the impossible. If my dream has a less-than-10% chance of happening, why should I be unhappy?” I was puzzled, “Why should you do it?” He explained, “To succeed is to be uncommon. I always look for a career that does not presently exist and work out a situation that cannot presently be allowed.” I admired, “It must be your way to create future success!”

Elliot came from a family filled up with artistic inspirations. His father aspired to be a painter and his mother aspired to be a musician. Only Elliot’s ambition was fulfilled.

Elliot said, “My parents sent me to good schools including St. Paul’s Co-educational College Primary School and International Christian School. I played piano, cello and learnt how to conduct music. At the end, I decided to be a composer. Great pieces of musical work containing beautiful movements are the source of all spiritual joyfulness. A composer is the first one who gets off the mark in the chain of music.”

I asked, “At your age, you are a tremendously successful composer. How could you do it?” Elliot grinned like a Cheshire cat, “I just got one thing right and the rest are hard work and luck. When I had to decide what college to go, I told myself I should find a music master who could help my dream. My dream was to combine classical concert music and digital music and present a new kind of music for the future. After researching different ones, I chose Wheaton College Conservatory of Music in which the eminent master Martin O'Donnell who wrote excellent music for the world-famous video games Halo, Myth and Destiny. Master O'Donnell is a choosy teacher and got only 2 pupils. One was me! Apart from coaching me, his slanting rays shone into my open window, lighting up the room of my life. I was given many great opportunities because of his connections and reputation!”

I asked, “Since 2016, you have achieved a lot: music scoring for 2 blockbuster films Operation Red Sea (紅海行動) and The Battle at Lake Changjin (長津湖), composing for the 1st ‘metaverse concert’ by Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra, being a member of the prestigious management company Kraft-Engel which is one of the world’s leading agencies specializing in representing film and theatre composers.”

Elliot added, “I will have another concert in Shanghai. I will produce a music album with Sony. I have been working on a film scoring project for a Hollywood production. I am writing music for a video game called Six Days in Fallujah. Being busy is great because it shows that my contributions is valued. It also shows that I have a ton of responsibilities. But, I never feel overstressed as I am glad that I can do so much.”

Before I called it a day, I asked Elliot, “What will be your future like?” He gave my question a serious thought, “I will treasure my amazing opportunities. I will work very hard. I will fly back and forth to work. Everybody is just going, but I must keep going extra miles. Music composing will be my career. I don’t want to do conducting in music. I think it will be a fun time if my music can be interpreted by others instead of myself. The technology challenges the art, and the art will inspire the technology. I am very lucky to live in a brave new technological world. I really aspire to blend fine concert music and digital music together. There will be a whole assortment of impossible tasks waiting for me to tackle. I am excited about chasing my dreams over and over again.”

I pretended to be puzzled, “Do you think other young people can follow your example?” Elliot conceded, “I may be too lucky. I do wish other young people to keep believing and dreaming. Hold fast to the dreams. At the same time, remember that curiosity is one of the most important elements of success. Do have a good understanding of how the world will go. Learn the ability to express yourself without fear. Never feel shy because there must be people around you who share the same music. Don’t bother your boss or colleagues too much and develop the room for trying to make your own decisions which you think may be right. Independence is doing the right thing without being told.”

Finally, Elliot had a brainwave and said, “In Asia, people used to think film scoring is a supplementary and secondary job for filmmaking. This is very inaccurate. We are not just soundtrack writers. Film music composer is surely part of the team but does not simply serve the director. It is a job of collaboration and he can be as important as a director in terms of creating wonderful inspirations of a film.”

The social unrest in Hong Kong in 2019 is the worst time but it can be the best. Nothing in life can be worser than that because everyone is back to the starting line. Why don’t you get your sneakers and run now!

Maurice Lee

Chinese Version 中文版: https://www.patreon.com/posts/28sui-chang-jin-83471411

Elliot Leung and Synchron Stage Scoring Orchestra https://youtu.be/VzzuPel4pXY Acknowledgement-Elliot Leung

“The Rescue" Interview with Composer/Music Director Elliot Leung https://youtu.be/RdJvZr7zB_s Acknowledgement – Elliot Leung

Elliot Leung “The Rescue” - Behind the Scenes from the Recording https://youtu.be/dgyZxI3a95c Acknowledgement – SonySoundtracks

Elliot Leung Metaverse Concert https://youtu.be/Jd2dmqah4Nk Acknowledgement-HKPhilharmonic

#Martin O'Donnell #Film Score Composer #Cheshire Cat #Hold Fast To The Dreams #Cry For The Moon #St. Paul’s Co-educational College Primary School #International Christian School #Wheaton College Conservatory Of Music #Six Days In Fallujah #Operation Red Sea 紅海行動 #The Battle At Lake Changjin長津湖

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call-me-strega · 3 months

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Dc x Dp prompt #13: Hell to Pay

They say there are only two things certain in life: death and taxes. That’s why even the Joker doesn’t fuck with the IRS.

However, unfortunately for the Joker the other certainty is death and he has yet to pay his dues. Just like how he could only get away with tax evasion for so long, there are only so many times the Joker can dodge death.

Death is coming to collect, with interest.

And the Joker will have hell to pay.

~ A dark green cloud swirls over the city. From it, emerge three oppressive figures:

The one on the far left with flowing hair like white-hot fire. His vambraces made of (what appeared to be) molten glass stopped under his fingers, which then extend into into claws that seemed to drip lava. He had spiked obsidian pauldrons on his shoulders, fastening a luminous, stark-white cape to his shoulders. He wore a coronet of lightning and wielded a flail that appeared to be made of coal chains and a shrunken Red Giant star.

The second on the far right had a helm of dark iron wreathed in a plume of purple flame. His gauntlets and sword flamed with green hellfire. A pure black sheath seemingly made of void and a silver hunting horn were tied to his waist. He wore an armor forged of shadows and proofed with fear. He rode atop a mighty stead. An inky dark stallion with a curved horn and bat-like wings. His form was constantly slightly shifting depending on the angle which you viewed him making him appear larger and more slippery than he was, enhancing his disquieting nature.

The third stood in the middle, smaller but no less terrifying than her companions. Her hair was wild with movement, only just visible because it appeared as if someone had bound the winds to her head. She wore a tiara made of storm clouds and pearls. She carried with her a spear, the shaft crafted of amazonite and the tip of a clear quartz, almost reminiscent of sea salt. At her hip lay a whip made of a restrained gale and a sea glass knife. She wore armor that appeared to be Greco-Roman in origin: a chest plate made of some sort of coral-like material and a battle skirt decorated with metallic bronze feathers.

They slowly descent on the city, bringing down a sense of power and dread. They paused at the top of Wayne Tower, where the city's vigilantes had all gathered in an attempt to create and feasible plan of action to discern what these beings want. The young woman in the middle speaks and the wind carries her voice. She is not loud but it the whole of Gotham hears her words.

"Greetings, Heroes of Gotham. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Spirit, Princess and Head Diplomat of the Infinite Realms. This is Samhain, the Fright Knight, loyal knight to the king,” she gestured to her right before switching to her left “and this is Prince Wraith, current General in Chief of the Realms. We come to you as the King’s Guard and entourage. We have official business in your city and wish to civilly notify you of our presence. The King will be arriving shortly and your cooperation would be great fully received.”

Batman moved forward to shake her hand and address the situation.

“I’m afraid that we prefer not to have unknowns operating within the city. Would you be able to tell us what business you have here? Perhaps we could reach an agreement?” Batman tried to negotiate as politely as he could. He did not want to risk offending the evidently powerful beings.

Princess Spirit’s smile sharpened as she thrummed her finger against her knife. She spoke again with an unnervingly pleasant tone.

“It appears you do not understand. We are not asking for your permission.” Her grip around his hand tightened. “ We are informing you.” She finished releasing his hand.

Batman withdrew his aching hand and regarded her with the beginnings of a protest on his lips. She didn’t allow him to speak.

“ This is out of your jurisdiction Batman. This is a matter of the Realms and the Afterlife. Whatever worldly rules or morals you wish to impose on those who enter this city do not apply to us. We will do our best to work within them, so as to appease you and to attempt to maintain a friendly relationship but in the macrocosm of the multiverse and afterlives you have no official power over us. Additionally, we have direct permission to operate here however we see fit from the City Spirit herself, Lady Gotham.”

Batman’s shadow seemed to fluctuated. His and his team's shadows moved from beneath them, closer to the Princess. Lady Gotham, though not manifesting, was making her presence and approval known. Batman could not deny what he was seeing. His team shifted uncomfortably behind him. He appealed to her once more.

“ I see that we can’t stop you. We don’t want to get in your way either. Could you at least tell us why you are here?”

She smiled as if telling a joke, “All will be revealed in time”

Suddenly, there was a loud noise that sounded like tearing fabric. The green clouds mixed with purples and blues and began to churn faster. The cyclone emitted a flashes of bright light. In unison all three of the King’s Guard lifted up from the roof and took place underneath the eye of the wind storm.

Spirit holds her spear aloft. With one swift, commanding move she slams the butt of her spear down, creating a platform out of solidified air.

Wraith bellows out smoke and ash onto the platform to discolor it. With ferocious and precise movements his claws to carve in a sigil, leaving a soft orange glow against the black and gray.

Samhain sheathes his sword and pulls his horn from his waist. He wills his dark stead to rear up as he blows the horn, letting out one loud prolonged cry.

The three warriors stand at attention and Princess Spirit calls the winds to project her voice once more.

“ Now introducing the Ruler of the Infinite Realms, High King of the In-Between, The Great One, The Benevolent King, The Peace Maker, The Guardian of Souls, The One with the Cloak of Stars and the Crown of Frozen Light, The Perfect Balance, Ancient of Space and Reality, The Infinite King: Phantom!”

With a flash of white light a figure appear in the center of the platform. Simultaneously, the three knights bow in reverence.

The King has arrived.

As the Heroes of Gotham regain clear vision they are met with a striking figure.

There stood a toned young man appearing both boyishly young, yet wisened and weathered. He had side swept hair the creeped to the bottom of his neck. His skin was pale with an icy blue tint. He opened his eyes to reveal they shone an electric green. Upon his head rest a crown made of a crystalline material, reminiscent of an aurora. He wore a navy blue cloak that had a rich purple hood lined with stark white fur. The underside displayed a shifting galaxy pattern. His under suit was the same midnight black as Samhain’s. He donned golden arm bands and a gold chest plate in style quite similar to Spirit’s. His hand were covered in snow white gauntlets that matched Wraith’s vambraces.

They all stood in awe, beholden to the almost divine figure.

The king sent them a gentle smile. It was warm and comforting yet sent a chill down their shoulders.

King Phantom began to fly down toward the center of the city, his entourage fell into step behind him. He hovered several hundred feet over Wayne tower and looked down at the city. He then spoke in a booming voice, his tone kind but commanding.

“ I humbly greet the Lady Gotham, her champions, and her citizens,” the shadows curled toward him appreciatively. “ I am grateful for your cooperation in our effort to rectify a great injustice. As High King of the Infinite Realms it is one of my duties to preside over the afterlife. To bring guidance, peace, and justice to the souls under my jurisdiction. Recently, it has been brought to my attention that there is a soul among you who has not only dodged death, but caused great strife to a vast number of souls who call for justice.”

On the roof of Wayne Enterprises Jason and Damian both stiffen, but remain firm in their gaze toward the king. The king looks out at the city and sparing them the quickest of glances. He continues onward.

“ The man formerly know as Jack Napier, now called The Joker. He has avoided death on many an occasion but his life should have ended moment he fell into a vat of chemicals. Since then he has sent hundreds more to the afterlife. He has long yet to pay his dues. That is why on the behalf of justice, restoring balance, and of my subjects I officially condemn Jack Napier.”

“Jack Napier, you have been allowed 24 hours turn yourself into our custody in order to be put on trial for your crimes in the Infinite Realms. Should you fail to turn youself in, we shall take that as an admission of guilt and acceptance to be punished for your actions. After the 24 hours are up, Samhain shall use his horn to summon The Hunt and we shall track you down.”

His gaze passed specifically over Red Hood, one of the Oracle’s drones, Nightwing, Signal, Red Robin, and Batman before he spoke his next words.

“All those souls who have been wronged by the Joker, both living and deceased, who wish to have a hand in their justice have been invited to join The Hunt if they so choose.”

The king lifted his hand, calling the swirling green clouds to his gather in his palm. The clouds swiftly rearranged themselves into a smokey timer hanging in the sky.

An impish smirk graced King Phantom’s face as he let out a malicious laugh and gave his final decree.

“ Your time begins now!”

#dc x dp #long post #danny fenton #danny phantom #ghost king danny #dani phantom #dan phantom #fright knight #jason todd #the joker #totally legal manhunt for the joker proclaimed by the king of the afterlife #The joker must pay his dues #Bruce fucking hates the joker he’s not gonna try to stop this #Strega’s dc x dp prompt

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probablyasocialecologist · 6 days

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Yemen’s armed forces threatened on 22 April to expand military operations against Israeli-linked ships in the Red Sea, Arab Sea, and Indian Ocean following the discovery of mass graves in Gaza’s Nasser Medical Complex. “For the seventh month in a row, the genocidal crimes of the Israeli enemy continue, the latest of which is the brutal massacre in the Nasser Medical Complex in Khan Yunis,” the armed forces said via a statement on Yemen’s Al-Masirah channel. The statement continued, “the genocidal crimes that the Palestinian people are facing in Gaza and the occupied West Bank reflect an unparalleled level of Zionist hatred and crime.” The statement by Yemen called to “escalate their operations in the Red Sea,” adding that Sanaa continues its full support for the people of Gaza. On Sunday, over 200 bodies were found across two mass graves located in Khan Yunis’ Nasser Medical Complex. Gaza’s Government Media Office announced that about 700 victims are expected to be found. “We found in the Nasser Complex corpses without heads and bodies without skins, and some of them had their organs stolen,” the media office said. “The occupation executed dozens of displaced, wounded, sick, and medical staff.”

#gaza #palestine #israel #zionism #yemen #war crimes

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workersolidarity · 2 months

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[ 📸 📹 Footage shows scenes of massive destruction everywhere to be seen after the withdrawal of Zionist forces in Hamad Town, a city in the Khan Yunis governate, in the southern Gaza Strip, while photos show the bodies of the dead resulting from IOF airstrikes targeting civilian homes in Deir al-Balah overnight, in the central Gaza Strip.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

HAMAD TOWN IN KHAN YUNIS COMPLETELY FLATTENED BY ZIONIST FORCES, DOZENS KILLED ON DAY 159 OF ISRAEL'S GENOCIDE

On the 159th day of Israel's ongoing war of genocide in the Gaza Strip, and on the second day of Ramadan, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 10 massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 88 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, and wounded another 135 others over the previous 24-hours.

In a highly illegal attack on the sovereign state of Lebanon, a Zionist raid targeting a civilian vehicle near the Al-Hosh Junction in the city of Tyre killed the Hamas political leader Hadi Mustafa, from the Rashidiya Camp, and wounded three other Lebanese civilians.

According to Lebanese media, Zionist artillery also fired on the Marjayoun Plain while Israeli military and reconnaissance aircraft operated in Lebanese airspace, with the local government calling on the International community to put a stop to Israeli strikes within its borders.

In the north of the Gaza Strip, Zionist artillery forces fired four shells towards the vicinity of Al-Quds Hospital, affiliated with the Palestinian Red Crescent Society (PRCS), in the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City, killing at least five civilians, including children, and wounding several others.

Similarly, Israeli warplanes targeted with airstrikes the civilian neighborhoods of Al-Daraj and Al-Zaytoun in Gaza City, resulting in the deaths of 15 Palestinians, including two women and at least seven children, while wounding dozens of others.

According to reports on the bombings, occupation warplanes bombarded a civilian home in the Al-Daraj neighborhood which killed seven civilians, including three children and wounded several others.

Later, a second strike targeting the Azzam family home in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, killed no less than eight civilians, including four children and two women, with a number of others wounded as well.

Israeli occupation aircraft also bombarded the Lulu family home in the Al-Daraj neighborhood of Gaza City, killing two Palestinian civilians and wounding four children as a result.

IOF airstrikes and artillery fire also concentrated on the central Gaza Strip, with occupation forces targeting four civilian homes in the city of Deir al-Balah overnight.

In the first attack, Zionist air forces bombarded the Al-Atrash family home in Deir al-Balah, killing at least 11 civilians, most of whom were women and children, and wounding dozens of others.

Subsequently, IOF fighter jets bombed the Al-Qudra family home, resulting in the tragic deaths of 11 additional Palestinians, while a strike targeting the Abu Sanjar family home killed at least 7 civilians.

In another strike, occupation forces targeted the Al-Yazuri family home, also in Deir al-Balah, leading to 25 civilians killed or missing under the rubble of their home.

In another Zionist atrocity, the Palestinian fisherman's syndicate announced the horrific murder of two of its members, Muhammad and Youssef Adel al-Sayyid Abu Riyala, after being targeted by occupation gunboats while fishing off the coast of Al-Nuseirat in the central Gaza Strip, known locally as the Nuseirat Sea.

Moving towards the Southern Gaza Strip, IOF artillery shelling concentrated near Hamad Town, in the Khan Yunis governate, where violent clashes with Resistance forces led several Israeli aircraft to land in the area to transport wounded Zionist soldiers for medical care.

Local Paramedic personnel also transported the body of martyr Haitham Muhammad Deeb Suwaidan (35yo) from Khan Yunis to Al-Najjar Hospital in the city of Rafah.

Additionally, IOF soldiers detonated several residential homes east of Khan Yunis, in the southern Gaza Strip.

As a result of Israel's ongoing war of genocide in the Gaza Strip, the infinitely rising death toll stemming from Israeli attacks now exceeds 31'272 civilians killed, more than 25'000 of which being women and children according to the United States Pentagon, and wounding another 73'024 others since the current round of Israeli aggression began on October 7th, 2023.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

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sayruq · 4 months

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[CONT] Seychelles

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #france #spain #italy #multipolar world #multipolarity

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vixlenxe · 2 years

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Canon Character Tags

#[Queenslayer] Chloe Ironwood; IC #[Memories that Fade Out] Chloe Ironwood; Aesthetics #[Operation Queenslayer Files] Chloe Ironwood; Headcanons #[King of Wei] Cao Cao; IC #[Mèngdé] Cao Cao; Aesthetics #[Boundless Ambition] Cao Cao; Headcanons #[Mortal Might without Equal] Zhang Liao; IC #[Wényuǎn] Zhang Liao; Aesthetics #[Prussian Blue Trooper] Zhang Liao; Headcanons #[Brilliance of a Thousand Ages] Sima Yi; IC #[Zhòngdá] Sima Yi; Aesthetics #[The Strategist Who Saw The Future] Sima Yi; Headcanons #[Pearl of the Sea] Tamao Ichinose; IC #[Red dyed Seashells and Bikini Sunset Fantasies] Tamao Ichinose; Aesthetics #[We're Mermaids; it's sort of our Thing] Tamao Ichinose; Headcanons #[Dark Enchantress] Morgan le Fay; IC #[Incantation Jars] Morgan le Fay; Aesthetics #[Wrath of a Sorceress Scored] Morgan le Fay; Headcanons #[Alluring Enchantress with a Heart of Gold] Diao Chan; IC #[Visage of an Ancient Great Beauty] Diao Chan; Aesthetic #[Woman's Power lie in their Cries] Diao Chan; Headcanons #[The Daughter of Evil] Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche; IC #[Visage of the Most Prideful Princess] Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche; Aesthetics #[If they have no Bread; Let them eat Cake!] Riliane Lucifen d'Autriche; Headcanons #[Rolling Girl] Yuki Satō; IC #[For lonely girls; it's always the same. Dreaming dreams that don't come true] Yuki Satō; Aesthetics #[’I'll roll along again today.’ The girl said; the girl said.] Yuki Satō; Headcanons #[Risen Tarnished] Michael the Brave; IC #[Bass Clef Guided by Grace] Michael the Brave; Aesthetic #[Foul Tarnished; in Search of the Elden Ring] Michael the Brave; Headcanons

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loveindefinitely · 4 months

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed.

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?”

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here?

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases.

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation.

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight.

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears.

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later.

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat.

You swallow, once, an unsure thing.

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation.

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end.

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own.

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence.

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room.

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right.

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone.

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading.

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all <3

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bby-deerling · 6 months

Text

distraction (law x reader nsfw)

law is a dork who has to plan out his rizz in advance. pre-timeskip law in mind. loose sequel to counting coins afab!reader nsfw, mdni, 18+, wc 2.8k

(read this fic by @grandlinedreams while writing this, it greatly influenced the direction i went with this!)

cw: edging, overstim, fingering, oral (fem receiving), piv sex, law likes it when you call him captain

Time often turns into an illusion when submerged in the dark depths of the sea, but the exhaustion in Law’s body tells him it’s well into the early hours of the morning. A textbook on diagnostics lay open in his lap, pages left unturned for quite a while as his eyes repeatedly glazed over the words and diagrams, unable to digest any of the information. Just as he thinks he might be able to regain the slightest bit of focus, he twitches as he feels your thigh move against his again. It was his own fault—he was the one sitting with his legs spread apart and refusing to budge—nevertheless, he was vexed at how much the slightest touch from you affected him.

You were nowhere near focused either. Despite having a variety of medicines in progress to write updates on in your lab notebook, your hand hadn’t written a thing in ages, your pen either bouncing on the spine of the notebook or tapping against your bottom lip, unknowingly torturing your captain. Eyes fixed against the wall as you leaned into the couch, mind adrift, he watched the subtle movements in your chest as you breathed. Your boiler suit was unzipped and hanging around your waist, and the flimsy yellow crop top you had on left little to Law’s imagination. No bra, as usual, he noted, trying and failing to tear his eyes away from you.

He had mentally rehearsed his plan an endless amount of times at this point.

In the months since your first meeting at a coin shop, you spent a lot of time working in close proximity with Law, just as he had promised. Despite a steep initial learning curve, you had proven yourself indispensable to the crew with your inventive synthetic techniques; the medicine cabinets had never been more well stocked. A self-taught doctor and his makeshift pharmacist—what a match.

Without realizing, he began to rely on your company, whether it was keeping him company in his office during nights like this one, or accompanying him on island trips to execute your now perfect tag team operation to get deals on coins he needed for his collection. The two of you had crafted an airtight plan together that had yet to fail; once he identified a coin he liked, he would silently give you a signal and switch a coin in your hands with his devil fruit ability so you could go haggle with the shop owner, working them down by displaying your expert knowledge of coin grading, always backing your statements up with references to prevent getting backed into a corner. Shachi and Penguin had once asked him why he didn’t just save the money and steal the coins with his devil fruit to begin with.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he had said with a smirk.

The real reason was that seeing you use your brilliant mind gave him an intoxicating tingle at the base of his spine.

He showed his appreciation for you and your intelligence in the small, seemingly innocuous touches he would give you from time to time—a squeeze on the shoulder, a pat on the head, often accompanied by verbal praise on your work. His words often made your cheeks flush bright red, smiling bashfully and sputtering out a “thanks, Captain!”, but he couldn’t help but want to push it further. Always quiet, humble and so, so sweet, you weren't the type to push boundaries, leaving Law to be the one to nudge the envelope. Slowly and methodically, he increased the frequency of his touches over time to the point where you began to reciprocate back. More importantly, you were now comfortable enough with him to sit close enough to be rubbing thighs with him on the couch in his office.

He was tired of walking through the plan in his head. It was time to pull the trigger.

You turn your head towards him as he says your name, startled out of your daydream.

“What’s up Captain?” you ask with a sleepy smile. His eyes meet yours, intense as ever; the feeling had once been intimidating to you, but you had slowly become accustomed to Law’s steely gaze ripping you apart.

“You’re distracting me.” he says as you try to read his face to no avail.

“I’ll head to bed then,” you say with a yawn, “g’nite Law!” his heart stutters when he hears his name on your lips; he had given you permission to use it in private, but you rarely took the opportunity to use that privilege.

He knew you would take his words as a dismissal—on any other night they would be—and he delights in the surprise on your face when he grabs your wrist and prevents you from leaving the couch. He stands, tattooed hand still pinning your wrist to the couch, and leans over you, tossing his bucket hat onto the floor. You’re already putty in his hands as he grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“I think I’m distracting you too, aren’t I?” he asks, allowing the smallest hint of a smirk to grace his face as he knows he’s finally got you right where he wants you. “You’ve been spaced out for hours. Haven’t gotten one bit of work done.”

“Guess I worked past the point of fatigue, Captain.” you reply, corners of your mouth quirked upward.

Law’s thumb runs across your chin, then grazes your lower lip; he delights in the subtle reaction he gets from you.

“You wanna know what I think?” he whispers, leaning in closer to your face.

“Hmm?” you hum, feeling electricity swirl in your veins as he traces a finger up the bare skin of your side.

“I think you deserve a reprimand for drooling over your Captain all night instead of finishing your notes.” he growls, finally bringing your lips to meet his. You kiss him back immediately, and he delights in the gasp you make when he slips his tongue in your mouth. Law presses your wrist further into the couch as it twitches in his grasp; he could feel how desperately you wanted to touch him back, but he was insistent on keeping things on his terms.

He had spent too much time and energy planning this out to lose control and not take his time with you.

With a flick of his wrist, you’re sitting on the edge of his bed and his hand is slowly crawling up your stomach under your sad excuse for a shirt. Taking a nipple between two of his fingers, he groans as your hips squirm against his.

“You wear this on purpose?” he asks, hand dropping to play with the hemline of your shirt. “You wearing this to tease your Captain? To drive me nuts while I’m trying to work?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t realize I affected you that much, Captain…” you reply, cursing yourself for not being able to banter with him like you usually would when he’s not affecting you this much.

Little did you know, Law was counting on taking advantage of your sheepishness.

He grinds his hips against yours slowly, arm hooked around your waist to make sure you felt every bit of his arousal rub against your damp core.

“Well,” he murmurs in your ear, “hope you can feel it now.” You let out a shaky breath and slam your lips against his, desperate to feel his tongue against yours again. He indulges you briefly, before pulling away again, eyes gleaming with mischief that made your face tingle in anticipation.

“Patience.” he scolds, running his slender, tattooed fingers across your jawbone. “I’m supposed to be teaching you a lesson, after all.”

Noticing you squirming your hips to get more friction against him, he steps back, still holding onto your face. Amused at your frustration at his teasing, he gives you a lopsided smile. He was a firm believer to sticking to his plans, and he still had to completely ruin you with his mouth and hands before even thinking of fucking you.

When you find yourself pushed back on the bed and Law slowly crawls on top of you, both of you now shirtless, you smirk, thinking he’s caved and was going to give you what you desperately needed; however, unbeknownst to you, you’d only backed right into his next little trap. Caged beneath him, you were now completely at Law’s mercy, and he meant to draw this out as long as possible.

“You’re always staring at my hands. Any reason why?” he asks you, fingers slowly roaming across your upper body; his touch is light and careful, not too far gone yet to lose his surgical precision.

Your face flushes, realizing he had caught on to the way you shamelessly stare at his strong, beautiful, inked fingers when you think he’s not looking. Even the most mundane acts—writing, inspecting coins, sewing up patients, using his devil fruit abilities—were enough to drive you wild, wanting to feel his touch all over you.

You feel silly at overestimating your ability to hide things from your Captain—after all, Law never misses a thing.

“I think you know why, Law.” you say, voice laced with lust and just the slightest hint of frustration at his teasing. “I want those pretty fingers everywhere.”

“Is that so?” he muses. “Tell you what—" the pressure behind his touches increases, causing your breath to hitch. “—I’m going touch you everywhere, and you’re going to tell me where you want it most.”

It starts with a hand cupping the side of your face; you nuzzle into his touch, giving him a smile that melts his cold heart so much that he almost thinks about cracking and giving you what you want. His touches don’t stay innocent for long, tracing his fingers against your lips again, before experimentally sliding two into your mouth, groaning as you eagerly suck on them, running your tongue along the digits. A third finger slips in your mouth, causing you to let out a moan that slowly turned into a muffled giggle. Law gives you a puzzled expression until you point at the three fingers he was using.

E, A, T

“Keep fooling around and it’s going to be another hour before I eat you.” he says with a scowl, though there’s no real bite to it. His fingers slowly pull out of your mouth, and he wipes your own saliva on the top of your breast. A shiver runs through your body at the sensation of the cool air in his cabin running across your own spit; this pleases Law as he starts to rub small, gentle circles into your nipple with his thumb.

“Right there…” you whisper, “Feels so good, Law, don’t stop...”

“Really? That’s where you want it most?” he teases. “I suppose I can just quit now then…”

“Law, please… keep going, please…” you huff. Never in all your months with your Captain had you seen him so incredibly smug.

Despite his threat, D continues to trace circles on your nipple as his other hand dances all over the bottom half of your torso; he’s intent on continuing his teasing, but still desperate to explore your body after months of craving.

The moans you let out once he finally reaches your inner thighs are music to the surgeon’s ears. “Is it here? This where you want it?” he asks, running A and T upward towards your entrance, and then back down again. “It seems like it…” he muses, “Unless there’s somewhere else you want me.”

“Please Law, rub my clit…” you whine. Being the target of Law’s slow, methodical affections was thrilling, but your bud was throbbing with need and you desperately needed release.

He chuckles as he pinches your nipple and complies with your request. “All you had to do was ask.” he says, you know, like a liar. His cock twitches in his pants, almost painful by this point, but he was still determined to mess with you just a little bit longer.

So, when he sees you’re nearly about to come, he pulls his hand away. You groan and ball your hand into a fist, nearly punching the bed in frustration. “Law…” you whine, head spinning and hips shaking.

“What’s wrong?” he says teasingly, hands exploring your thighs. “You went quiet, were you trying to focus on getting off?” you nod and give him a strangled mhm in response.

“Maybe you’ll remember how this feels next time you decide to distract your Captain when he’s trying to work.” he whispers lowly, slipping two fingers inside of you effortlessly.

“So wet…” he sighs, admiring the way your body tenses as he curls his fingers upward. “It’s here isn’t it? Where you want my fingers the most?” he asks.

“Mhm!” you moan, unable to string together a coherent sentence as you soaked his tattoos with your arousal.

“Knew it.” he says with a smirk. “Gonna come for your Captain?”

“Law—” you whine his name, only to let out a strangled moan of frustration as he pulls his fingers out of you and puts them in your mouth, shutting you up while you lick them clean.

“Was that insubordination?” he muses, “And here I was about to let you come.”

“Please, Captain…” you beg when his fingers leave your mouth, frustrated at him for denying you but still compliant with his little game. “I need you to make me come so bad Captain—”

“How’d it taste?” he asks, purposely ignoring your pleas.

“Tasted good, Captain…” you reply, praying he planned on using his tongue on you next.

He glances down at his watch. “Hasn’t quite been an hour since your last nonsense, but I’m getting hungry. Count yourself lucky.” he says, kissing your thighs before latching onto your clit. You nearly see stars when he laps at your extremely sensitive bud, and feel the warmth grow in your stomach as his fingers find themselves back inside of you; it was all almost too much. Drowning in pleasure, your head buzzed but he was purposely not letting the wire snap. You snap your hips erratically against his mouth, desperately chasing your orgasm and praying he wouldn’t stop again.

He doesn’t.

Pure ecstasy overtakes your entire body as you come, intensified by the vibrations of his satisfied chuckle against your clit. Your orgasm is long, lewd, and messy, and intoxicating to Law as he eagerly laps up your wetness. It was perfect, you were perfect, splayed out, twitching, and gasping just for him.

“You did so well for me…” he soothes, leaving tender kisses on your thighs as you catch your breath.

Once you regain your senses, you experimentally run your fingers through his hair, body still too much in shock to sit up properly. “Felt so good Law… ” you whisper, voice raspy.

When you tell him you need a moment to recover, he nods and crawls up beside you to hold you close, pressing comforting kisses to the back of your head.

“Hope it wasn’t too much…” he says, suddenly worried that he had gone overboard with his teasing.

“You’re perfect, Law,” you assure him as you turn around in his arms and give him a chaste kiss on the lips, “just no more teasing tonight.”

“Promise.” he says, hands running down your side towards your hips. “Can’t say anything about tomorrow though—"

His breath hitches as you run your fingers along the waistband of his boxers, dipping them under and tracing the skin underneath. He grabs your wrist and guides your hand to his aching cock.

“No more teasing tonight.” he insists as he slides his boxers off, your hand lazily stroking him.

“Haven’t I earned the right?” you ask with a playful smile as he lines up his cock with your entrance. Despite how pretty it was, he was determined to wipe that look clean off your face and devour you.

“Shut up and take it.” he groans as he bottoms out inside of you all at once, tired of the back and forth. He gives you no time to adjust, but his first few strokes are slow. However, he quickly picks up the pace, drunk on the feeling of finally being inside you.

You cry out from overstimulation as his cock hits your sweet spot over and over again, feeling the seeds of another orgasm blooming.

“Take it for your Captain. Come for me again.” he orders, gritting his teeth as he resists the urge to cum before you do. When your walls clench around him, he can’t hold back anymore and spills deep inside of you.

“Law…” you say as he lays on top of you and nuzzles his face into your hair.

“Mhmm…” he responds, starting to feel the tempting pull of sleep wash over him.

“You always gonna be that mean to me in bed?”

“Only when you distract me.”

#one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece scenario #one piece smut #x reader #mdni #law x you #trafalgar law x you #cmon f*ck me emo boy!#this might be a lil ooc idk

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