goddessmelon

[goddessmelon]

Lawrence Oleander x (gender neutral) Reader- Tease

CW: Teasing, sexual content, touching, restraining, oral sex

You went too far.

It’s a Saturday night… though probably late enough to be more like a Sunday morning. You know because it’s one of his nights off. Rain falls lightly against the building, and you kneel to peer out the window to watch droplets slide down the window, heaving a soft sigh of boredom to yourself. A few feet from you, your captor, provider, twisted-love interest (but oh, what are labels?) sits on the floor, his lower back propped up against the metal and mattress of his shoddy futon, and hunched over a thick book. It’s an encyclopedia of some sort that you’ve seen him read from before, the pages lightly water damaged but the bleeding colors not bothering him at all. You watch him as his eyes trail across the page slowly, fixing on an image here and there, his fingers idly tracing the shapes on the paper including the areas that bled. You think you can even catch a hint of a smile here and there. 

You can’t help but love moments like these; Lawrence wasn’t exactly a relaxed individual. Ever since he decided to keep you, even after breaking one of your legs and the other foot in a fit of what he considered love and protection, he still seemed constantly on edge by one thing or another: you, work, the outside world, or whatever else went on in his constantly brewing headspace. Seeing him relaxed was nice in a way, but deep down, a slightly meaner part of you wanted to take that mild tranquility away from him yourself, just as he took it away from you all too often. It wasn’t a good idea but… where did all your good ideas get you anyway? He was totally unpredictable. And sitting around with nothing to do, you felt like testing the waters. 

So, you sit against the wall to face him fully, holding your head up in your hands and holding a smile. For a while he’s too entranced in his literature to notice, but before he turns a page he looks at you. His lazy eyes meet yours and widen instantly, darting to the floor at your feet as if the eye contact alone equated to touching a burning stove momentarily. His face instantly looks a little flushed and he presses his lips in a fine line. “Stop that,” he says in a voice that must have meant to sound decisive but in reality came out a tad shaky.  

“What?” you ask innocently, still looking at his eyes through his downturned lashes. He looks up at you again to check if you had listened to him but upon seeing that you did not, turns to instead look back at his book, his face burning even brighter than before. 

“Y-You… you know what!” he sounds frustrated, flustered, voice rising just a bit before falling into silence again. 

“I just think you look pretty,” you say honestly, smiling again though sweating a bit internally. You never know what makes him flip. 

“Don’t.” He presses his forehead into the palm of his hand, sounding genuinely upset, yet still red in the face. He sounds serious enough for you to drop it though… for now. 

But you have some ideas of ways to make him tick. Frankly, it didn’t seem to even matter what you did and what you believed to be something “good” or “bad” for him. Obedience, silence, and acceptance were generally what he needed from you but even then, too much of a good thing drew him to scary extremes. Where would this bring him? 

So you let him read, but after a few minutes, he exhales sharply and closes the book, standing up swiftly. He must not be able to focus anymore. It wasn’t uncommon for the scatterbrained lunatic to drop something the second it no longer “felt right.” He goes into the kitchen abruptly and starts to brew something- you hear the water running as you watch his back while he works quietly. In the meantime you end up looking at his plant book yourself, flipping through the photos and diagrams idly. This page on poppies is pretty well loved… you notice a dogear and pull it open to a section on ferns. Some stuff about true leaves… reproduce through spores… a set of diagrams…whatever. 

Soon enough, he’s walking back over to you, two cups of steaming liquid in his hands. He sits on the bed this time, his legs a few feet from your head, and holds out one of the cups. “I… want to go to sleep soon,” he says, offering the drink to you. You recognize the familiar scent of lavender radiating from the liquid as you gingerly take the cup from him, alongside something else you couldn’t put your finger on. He’s been making both of you simple herbal teas rather than whatever it was before now that you were somewhat settled in, for lack of a better term. Probably still not completely legal in terms of ingredients, but it wasn’t something that would knock you out on the spot. 

You nod in response as you start drinking the tea, enjoying the lightly sweetened mix with what was probably a little bit of honey. Still kind of bitter, but it was a flavor that was growing on you. In between sips you peer over at him, watching as he stares forward with dull eyes as he downs the hot liquid, as if the temperature hardly bothers him. With another mischievous thought, you scoot slightly over and lean onto his legs. He jumps at first, gulping down what he had in his mouth, but after a quick look at you doesn’t make an effort to move. He seems stiff, though. Even though you’ve been physically intimate before, he can never seem to calm down, unless he is the one initiating. It’s cute, in a way… and it’s why you feel this sudden urge to tease him. When he’s looking away again, you reach an arm up and begin to trail it down his thigh lightly, only to yelp when he grabs your wrist, hard, holding up your arm with little effort as he stares at you. You can feel his glare even as you look away with a whimper. Realizing your pain, he drops your wrist and you let your arm fall weakly to the floor. For a moment you both just sit there quietly, until you break the silence. “It’s okay, you didn’t hurt me.”

You look at each other shortly, before he replies quietly. “I… don’t know what you’re… nnn…” Your gaze trails down his body to the obvious tent forming in his sweatpants. When he notices where your eyes are, he clears his throat and puts his hands in his lap to hide it, eyebrows furrowed and face flushed again. 

Before giving him the chance to do anything else, you start to limp-crawl away toward the bathroom. “Well! I’ll be getting ready for bed!” you stammer awkwardly. You can’t see if he reacts any further since you quickly shut the door behind you then climb to sit on the toilet, breathing heavily. God, he was so easy to mess with, but you were afraid of what the consequences of your actions could be. After all, taking it out on you wasn’t ideal with how rough and insensitive he was but… you shook your head as you pictured his flushed face again. You couldn’t help but want to see where this went. Removing the unholy thoughts from your head, you start to freshen up, brushing your teeth and washing your face. 

After enough time to calm yourself down and what you hope is enough time for him, you push open the door to find him standing there before you, causing you to make a surprised noise. Unphased, he holds out a large t-shirt toward you, watching your hands. “Here… it’s clean.” It was not an unusual act; since you mentioned once that his clothes were comfortable, he’s been giving you a pair most nights to sleep in and washing what you came in that first day occasionally enough for you to continue wearing during both of your odd waking hours.  

You take the oversized clothing and thank him in a soft voice, quickly changing into the shirt as usual and… also as usual, asking him about the shorts in his other hand, “can you help me?” 

Normally, he didn’t think anything of it, and since he didn’t, eventually, neither did you. He loves when you need his help with things, and while you probably can do it yourself at this point, he never let you after the first time he watched you struggle and in pain over your freshly broken bones. He always thinks he knows you better and, at this point, you just ask because you can tell it makes him happy. 

But today, with still a blush over his face, he looks reluctant. 

“I… can do it myself,” you start to say, noticing him standing there unmoving.

“No, you can’t,” he says, quickly moving to his usual position on his knees before you. With you looking at the wall and him at the ground, you both go through your usual act of you shimmying out of your pants while he helps pull it off your legs so you don’t have to bend down and then delicately placing your legs into the new pantholes. Today, though, it’s much more tense. You’re blushing, and so is he. Shit, you didn’t even have to try with this one, but now it was weird for you too. Even when it’s said and done, he stands up and clutches his arm with that same uncomfortable energy as before. You hear him swallow loudly as he appears to debate something internally. “I can… b-bring you to bed… so you don’t have to, um,” he gestures toward your legs.

Of course, you could still sort of crawl by only putting weight on the unbroken knee and, as much as he enjoyed to see you struggle without him sometimes, sometimes he was offering (actually, usually skipping the asking part) to carry you to where you needed to go, whenever he was in a mood.

Tonight is apparently one of those nights, and so when you nod your head, he sheepishly hooks one arm under your legs and another under your back and carefully hoists you up off of the toilet. You bury your face into him so as to not have to meet eyes and can feel his heart pounding for the few seconds he takes to bring you over to his futon. His hand squeezes your thigh as he involuntarily shudders before bending over to place you down in your spot beside the wall and climbing in next to you. With no room for personal space and no desire to give you any, he wraps his arms around you tightly, tighter than usual, and you listen to his heavy breathing. Silently, you press in closer to him, grazing his crotch with your butt “unintentionally” and intertwining your non-broken leg with one of his. You notice his breathing becoming raggedy and pretend not to notice any other changes your action causes. When he doesn’t move, you whisper your goodnights with a racing heart yourself, and eventually are able to fall asleep with the help of the tea. 

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

When you wake up, Lawrence is sleeping like the dead behind you, quietly breathing against your ears. Turning around in his now loosened grip and propping yourself up by an elbow, you survey his sleeping face. He looks peaceful, but the dark circles stamped against his eyes darker than normal have you wondering how much he even slept at all. His hair was messy, his lips were bitten, and on top of that…

You look down under the covers to try to determine if what you thought was pressing into your stomach was what you thought it was, or just his hip bone. Not being able to see much, you slowly, rather shyly, dive a hand into the sheets to confirm… and your stomach turns over when you feel him hard in his sleep. Very lightly, you run a few fingers along their landing point back to your stomach, until, to your dismay, his eyes snap open. Lawrence shoots to an upright position and when you start to let out a startled shriek, one of his hands flies to your mouth and the other grabs both of your wrists, forcing you to drop to your back against the mattress. His pupils shake as he stares at you, his face burning. But it wasn’t just from shyness, he looked angry. “Y-You! I’ve had enough of this! I…” he shakes his head and releases the hand against your mouth. “I-I haven’t been able to sleep, or just… fucking… relax, because of you.” Hearing him curse startled you, not that he never did it, but he must have genuinely been pissed off.   

“I…” you start, as if to apologize, but he suddenly gets up and, grabbing your shoulders, forces you upright and glares down hard at you. He then looks toward the chair in the center of the room, and your heart sinks. “W-Wait!”

Lawrence ignores your protest and easily lifts you out of the bed under your arms to roughly place you down in the wooden chair. You know better than to fight back as he tapes your ankles and wrists to the chair, and can’t help but wince with the little care he applies to your poorly “healed” leg and foot. When he gets back to his feet, he looms above you looking calmer, albeit still frustrated, with a thoughtful look on his face. “Th-then… we’ll just see how you like it… when you, err, I-” he groans, as if trying to say what he wanted was a challenge. 

You feel the tension in your shoulders loosen when he proclaims his intentions. He looks… vengeful? But the violent glint in his eyes that’s usually there when you find yourself in the chair isn’t there. 

He doesn’t say anything else as he stands, as if calculating what to do, then smirks slightly. He double checks that your arms are sealed and quickly dips around the corner with purpose. “Lawrence?” you call out softly, and though he doesn’t say anything, he quickly comes back before you with some kind of bandage wrap in his hands. “..What’s that for?”

Not answering your question, he bends down to your level and, looking past your gaze, starts wrapping the soft material around your head at eye level, effectively blindfolding you. Again, you call out, “what are you doing? Lawrence?”

Feeling slightly anxious with your sight taken away, you don’t feel any better when the only response given to you is a thoughtful hum as Lawrence stands somewhere before you. After a few moments of the following silence, you start to feel his cold, clammy hands, running through the hair not behind the thick bandage. Your breath catches in your throat as one starts to trail down your neck in a featherlight touch, gasping when his fingernails eventually graze your shoulder. His other hand runs down the side of your face and stops at your lips. His thumb and forefinger grasp gently at them and you swallow. For a moment, he allows your saliva to just barely wet his thumb as his other hand runs down your arm to grasp your own, lifted just slightly against the tight tape. He rubs circles into your palms in a way that can only be described as sensual, and when you start to softly pant against the tip of his thumb, he sighs contentedly.

“I know what makes you tick,” he says finally, decidedly. Both hands lower further to your chest, though still clothed, and he gives your nipples a gentle squeeze through the fabric. You let out a yelp, much to his supposed satisfaction, as this makes him momentarily squeeze a little harder before releasing you fully. 

“And I’m not done yet… I want you to…” he struggles to find the right words. “I want you to know h-how it feels.” The way he puts it is negative, but you only hope for him to touch you more. Your insides were fluttering from his carefully calculated strokes and grasps. You wonder if he had wanted you to touch him more, too, though knew he’d never admit it if it were the case. In the end he was taking out his frustrations on you. And you couldn’t help but want more of it. 

You open your mouth as if to say something but quickly stop when you feel Lawrence’s hands grip your sides just above your hips. His hands roam as they hike up your shirt just slightly, and you shudder as you feel him drag his fingers across the skin of your belly by the nails. He must be kneeling at this point but you can’t seem to get a feel for where he is while focusing so intently on his touch. You bite your lip when his hands drop lower, running over your thighs and then moving inward to your nether regions. You start to gasp slightly, “Lawr-”

He quickly covers your mouth and coos, “shh, just relax.” When you nod your head, he begins to palm your most sensitive area, definitely noticing the evidence of your arousal even through your clothing. When you whimper into his hand, he begins to press harder, rubbing you up and down rhythmically yet never dipping inside your clothing. You try to get his attention but he doesn’t uncover your mouth and continues to tease you from the outside, methodically testing your limits. When the mix of pleasure and intense desire for more becomes dizzying, he finally releases the hand blocking your mouth and, lightening his touches on your lower areas to gentle strokes, leans in so that you can feel his breath on your neck. “How does it feel? How does it feel to b-be messed with like this?” he interrogates you though never lets up, awaiting your answer.

“G-Good,” you moan out, bucking your hips further into his hand as much as the chair will allow you, feeling controlled by arousal brought upon you. “Please… I want…”

But before you can finish talking, he removes himself from you again, much to your dismay. You can hear the sound of metal clinking softly as well as the subtle movement of fabric. No time is given to you to ask anything more before he starts to cut the tape off of your legs swiftly, followed by your wrists. As soon as you’re freed he pulls you out of the chair by your underarms and places you on your knees, leaving the blindfolding bandages around your eyes. You wince at the weight placed onto your hurt leg, but when you instinctively try to lower your body he straightens you back up and mutters something about staying still. Then he pinches your nose and, when you open your mouth to breathe, feel his long, throbbing cock push into your mouth, causing you to let out a surprised garble against him. He moves to hold your head in his hands as he continues stuffing himself down your throat until your nose brushes against the hairs of his crotch, making it difficult for you to breathe. You weakly take in air through your nose, sex still throbbing, and he speaks to you again in a wistful voice. “You… you take my breath away. S-Sometimes, it’s hard to deal with. So now…” his voice stays matter-of-fact. “I’ll take away yours.” 

Gripping your head securely, he starts to rock his hips against you, thrusting himself in and out of your mouth slowly, at first, but very quickly picking up the pace, though never pulling out enough to let you take in a breath. His fingers tousle your hair as he scrambles to find a place to grab onto as he continues to plunge his dick down your throat repeatedly, his breathing becoming more irregular by the second. Your eyes water and the desire to gag plagues you, but your body isn’t given the chance. 

Feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen, you use your free arms to try to push him away, but he only responds by pushing even harder, moaning quietly above you. “Don’t… stop…” he breathes out in a heated pant, though leaving you no choice in the matter either way, his body rolling into you again and again. His hold on your head gets harder, pulling at your hair painfully. He ignores the tears that roll down your face from the intensity of his movements and the pain it’s causing you. His breath hitches as you notice his thrusting becoming more needy and erratic. You keep trying to breathe, struggling against him still, fearing that he may actually cause you to pass out. He must be getting close, and with what effort you could muster to get him there faster, you stroke your tongue along the underside of his cock as it slides through your mouth. He gasps out loud, provoking you to work harder, tears still falling from your eyes and collecting with drool that drizzled from your mouth around his massive size in what must be a horribly messy scene, but all you can focus on was trying to get him to finish, and the way it was making you feel. 

Lawrence’s moaning and gasping sounds grow louder and you feel his manhood become even stiffer than it already was. He was moving in strokes as long and fast as he could get. The man pounding into your mouth gave you no warnings as he bottomed out in your throat, pulling your head against him as far as it could go just before his cock started to throb as he came to a shuddering orgasm. Your stomach lurched as he came heavily down your throat, gasping for breath. His knees buckled as he finished, and he stayed in that position until the throbbing fully stopped. With a contented sigh, he pulls himself out from your mouth and continues to gently hold your head up as you start coughing and sputtering, gasping for air. Your arousal now even greater than before, you moved a hand to grasp at him yourself, but he let you go and took a step back. 

“Lawrence,” you moan, still breathing intensely. “Please, I need you to…”

“I have to go,” he says over you, seeming to have collected himself already. He spoke in a self satisfied manner, as he continued, “I need to… get some things from the store before work.” He brushes sweat-slick hair from your face gently, and coos, “you’ll be okay.”

“W-Wait, but I-” you start, but he comes around and takes a hold of your wrists from behind and begins to tape them together behind your back.

“You won’t need these, either,” he hums, preventing any way for you to be able to touch yourself when he leaves. You grind hopelessly against your good foot with a needy cry, but the only sound you can hear is the opening and closing of the apartment door behind him. He leaves you kneeling on the floor, blindfolded with tied wrists, with no indication of when he’d be back. 

You knew it before, but he ground it into you this time. Lawrence was a grudge-holder, and he always got his revenge.

[goddessmelon]

prologue to potential law x reader fic????

see on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49072756/chapters/123805720

Lawrence Oleander x Fem reader 

CW: stalking 

You weren't sure where you saw the vision first: a pair of icy blue eyes and a stare that seemed to undress your very soul. It must have been a dream; lately, they've been too vivid for your comfort. It was hard to remember... no, not to remember, but rather to understand or even simply describe what happened beneath your eyelids each very late night. Something changed one day, and you didn't know what, but you've been feeling more on edge than ever before. It always felt like someone was watching you, especially when you were alone. 

It was the same tonight, as it was many other nights in the past few weeks. You were attempting to work on whatever needed to be done, maybe make a dent in the things that just kept seeming to pile up over the days. Going to work and then coming home to try to tackle even more tasks became somewhat normal over the years, albeit not ideal, but at least you were able to carve out some time for yourself. Your apartment was a bit unkempt at best, cycling between an objective mess and a little cluttered here and there when you were able to get yourself to clean up. The lonely apartment was your prison, and yet you were always happy to scramble for your keys at the end of the day to pass through the door separating the world from yourself. Now, as you sit down at your desk, you find yourself once again lost in a messy headspace that's been plaguing your mind since whatever had caused your internal struggles as of late. You can still feel the cold stare, and the feeling becoming more welcome by the day. It was an almost comforting feeling now, this imagined watchful gaze, your guardian angel. It watches you as you turn your attention to a small pot of peonies, admiring the gentle way you stroke their torn petals, and the way you carefully use your own drinking water at the desk to nourish it. 

You sigh as you run your finger down one of the stems and over healthy green leaves of the plant. It’s much better looking now than when you bought it, but you were not entirely sure how that even happened. Maybe it was the summer’s sunlight that provided the means for it to flourish again. You wonder if it would help you out, too, but you didn’t get out much; you liked to be alone, which is why you’ve been feeling that much more unsettled by an odd sense of company. You peer outside of your window, inspecting the darkness between the cracks of the blinds. There is nothing but the thick ebony night air to return your gaze… at least that you can see. The night is quiet and the silence is biting. With another hard stare at the covered window, you let out a sigh and try to get back to whatever you were doing before.

You looked like someone who didn’t think much of yourself, but perhaps thought a lot of others. It was something he could relate to immensely. He didn’t know why you captured his interest so heavily, but now that it was there, he couldn’t seem to get rid of it. He liked the way you looked so thoughtfully at your surroundings, and he loved watching your tired face lit up by a computer screen or a desk light at late hours, the look on your face when you finished something, the little quirks of yours that you only did in the privacy of your home... He sometimes watched you scramble things together in the kitchen after a long day, wishing he could get a taste of whatever you graced with your touch. He couldn’t tell if following you home that day was the best or worst decision he’s made in a while. 

The day he met you was a moment he continued to repeat in his head for hours. You and he had both been at the nearest grocery store. He was only there to restock on essentials he had been putting off restocking for too long. Hand soap, paper towels, some shitty 3-in-1 shower gel, and more fertilizer while he was there anyway. It was a Friday evening, and he didn’t have work that night, so he waited until the store was 15-minutes-till-close before scurrying around to find what he needed. He preferred that the store was relatively empty, and that those who were still there were in too much of a hurry to find some last minute items to notice him. The lights in the back of the store being turned off also was a welcome change. When he had gotten his toiletries, he made his way to the plant area of the store, which was nearly completely dark when he got there. He was scouting out his usual product but stopped when he noticed that he wasn’t alone in the damp greenhouse. A woman, he noticed, using the light of her phone screen to better see the plants she was hovering over. You were silent, running your hands over the flowers with a trace of a smile over your face. He watched carefully, at first only waiting for you to leave so he didn’t have to squeeze past you, but very quickly transfixed by the way you treated the plants. You didn’t look like you had any idea what you were looking for, and he wondered if you had ever even been in this part of the store before. You handled them so gently, like they would crumble beneath your fingers, but continued to go through every single one at that specific table before picking up a pot of slightly withered peonies. The flowers were a beautiful deep velvet color, but looked as if pests had gotten to them more than the others. He gawked as you gingerly added the pot to your cart and began to leave. He immediately stepped out of the way before you could pass by him, but he swore he noticed your eyes meet his for a moment. He turned away and pretended to look busy at the nearest shelf, but the moment your back was turned as you passed to exit the store, he looked towards your back and watched silently until he lost sight of you turning around a corner. 

The sound of the store loudspeaker caused him to physically jump. “Attention customers, we will now be closing in 5 minutes. No check-out lanes will be open after midnight. Thank you for shopping with us!”

He threw a random bag of fertilizer into his cart and hurried to check out.