#Lawrence Oleander Fanfic

[melonba11s]

Trying New Things (Lawrence/Fem MC Fanfic)

MC convinces Lawrence to go out for Poke Bowls with her! A more humorous fluffy fic, as much as you can get with Lawrence at least!

Contains: Female Mc, Mention of dead animals, mentions of sickness/human death, MC has seen the river.

Lawrence didn’t like exiting his comfort zone. His comfort zone did not include much. His apartment, the forest. That was it for physical places he dwelled. When it comes to food, well. He just got whatever was nearby, fast, available. This usually meant convenience store food, fast food. Anything that meant minimal contact with a living, breathing person. 

His trash can was a graveyard to the wrappers of greasy sandwiches, cups that once contained noodles, and an embarrassing amount of energy bars. 

So, how did he end up here? A small, brightly lit store, playing music just a smidge too loudly for his comfort, surrounded by people. 

The answer was always the same when it came to these things. Her. She was standing next to him now, his hand gripped within his tightly, reassuringly, grounding him. And preventing him from just walking out. 

She was the only one he trusted, she was the only one among the others who was like him. She had seen the river, she had remembered the river. She was his single thread tying him to this world, encouraging him to explore it and have fun in it. 

And this had been her idea, she had mentioned craving it lately. And she had finally convinced him to come with her, to try it for himself. 

“I think, I’ll get my usual salmon bowl!” her voice interrupted his thoughts. “What do you want Lawrence?” 

Shit. He was supposed to have been looking at the menu, deciding what he wanted. They were almost to the front of the line. He looked up at the menu. There was too much for him too take in in such a short amount of time. 

“You can order for me.” he mumbled, squeezing her hand. “You know what I like.” She gave him a smile, a smile that made him forget he was surrounded by people for a moment. 

“Sure thing, Law.” The well used nickname swirled in his head, and he barely registered her ordering, only really listening to what she was getting him. 

“My boyfriend-” boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. He felt like he had just ingested butterflies. “He’ll take spicy salmon, with jalapenos, Red onion, Cilantro, topped with Wasabi Mayo, Kimchi, and Chili flakes….. Oh, does he want a tea? Uhm… How about a Jasmine Milk Tea, Zero sugar, with bubbles?” 

Bubbles? Were they gonna shake it extra? Lawrence didn’t know, or really care much. He was just happy she seemed to be adding everything spicy she could see on the menu. He was flushing red just a bit, the cashier was looking at him with wide eyes. 

“Can you make it to go?” Lawrence asked, the only words he’d spoken to anyone else besides her. The cashier blinked and then nodded. 

“Of course! It will be up in fifteen minutes! Your number will be called!” The cashier handed them a slip with their order number on it. 

Fifteen minutes. He could last another fifteen minutes here. 

“What is this place, again?” he asked quietly, pressing himself against the wall, hoping no one would look at him. 

“Song Tea and Poke!” She said, “I used to come here all the time, they’re really good!” 

“And what’s poke, again?” he remembered her first explanation, he just wanted her to keep talking. Give him something to focus on besides all the people in here. 

“It’s a Hawaiian dish, but this place serves it as a fusion between Japanese and Hawaiian foods. So it’s raw fish on top of rice, with various toppings.” 

Raw fish… he’d never eaten raw meat before. On purpose. There was that one suspect burger he had gotten from a new chain that had opened near his workplace. Several days of living in his tiny cramped bathroom until eventually… 

A mass of gray, ever moving water, standing in it, remembering his last moments of his aching body, trying to give out more liquid, being unable too. Allowing himself to fall backwards, back to the world. 

Waking up with the most horrible case of cotton mouth he had ever experienced, and he had unfortunately also pissed his pants. Not much to piss at that point but, he still just threw them out rather than deal with them, and practically waterboarded himself in his bathroom sink trying to rehydrate. 

She hadn’t been around at that point. If she had, she probably would have prevented it from ever happening. Kept him drinking water, washed his pants for him. She cared like that, he supposed he did too. Even though both of them knew they would both come back. He’d turned her into a river walker as well. 

She was still so much better at this whole human thing than he was though. Able to effortlessly talk with strangers, order food, and go shopping. She was convincing him to do a lot of things too. 

He had enjoyed the museums, he had to admit. They were quiet, and he could stare for as long as he wanted. The zoo had also been fun, though none of the animals in the petting section had approached him, no matter how much corn he held in his hand. He hadn’t known what to expect, animals never liked him much. He had ended up leaving in a huff, childishly letting the feed fall from his hands like a child dropping something their parents would not buy for them. 

She had apologized to him for hours afterwards, even though he assured her he wasn’t mad at her. He was mad at the rest of the world for not understanding him. Mad at that damned sheep too. 

“Fifty three! You’re order is ready!” he was jolted from his thoughts. He glanced down at the receipt in her crumpled hands. Yep, they were fifty three. 

“I’ll go wait in the car.” he mumbled, watching her nod. He quickly made his escape, glad for the silence that was awaiting him in the vehicle. A few minutes later she came out, clutching the bag of food close. She was practically buzzing with excitement, smiling at him with a huge silly grin on her face.

He found himself smiling as well, she was the only one who could do that for him. Make him happy that someone else was happy. 

It didn’t take long for them to get back home…. Their home. A small apartment that they had picked out together, since realistically, she couldn’t fit all of her stuff into his previous one. Despite the new home, her presence, and everything she tried though, food still went bad just a bit too fast around him. 

He did like it when she did cook, when she found time and resources too though. Which wasn’t often, since she needed to find recipes that fed two without leftovers. Leftovers would go bad within a day around him. 

She had also brought something he hadn’t considered having before. A kitchen table to eat at. And she insisted they eat it whenever they ate at home. He didn’t really see the reason why the floor worked just as well. But he didn’t see a reason to fight it either, so he just went along with it. 

Pulling the plastic cover off the food, the first thing that struck him was how colorful it was. The vegetables were all fresh, the fish was vibrant and shiny. It reminded him of a garden, overgrown and blooming in early summer. 

“Here, straw.” He looked up as she handed him a straw. It was wide, and had a pointed end. She pointed to his tea, which was sealed with plastic. 

“Stab.” She said simply, holding her own in a fast before puncturing the cup. 

“Why can’t they just have a normal lid?” Lawrence asked, lining up his own straw. 

“So it can travel before being drunk, and won’t spill. I think.” she answered, doing a half shrug. Lawrence stabbed, as per her directions. The popping of the lid reminded him of how a deer corpse would finally pop, after the gasses inside had reached their peak. 

He set the drink aside, focusing back on the food. Raw fish, fresh vegetables. He was sort of afraid it would rot before his very eyes just because of how he was. 

He was struck again with the fact that he had never eaten raw fish before. But, if she ate it before, and was still fine, then he should be fine too. It crossed his mind suddenly, perhaps she first saw the river because she ate raw fish. 

It caused him to snort, in a small burst of laughter. 

“What’s so funny?” she asked. Her voice was muffled, she had already begun eating. She looked really cute with her cheeks stuffed to the absolute brim. 

“Nothing.” He answered, bringing a spoon full of food to his mouth. He had been expecting the fish to be unpleasant, slimy, way too chewy. Instead, it gave way easily, it was extremely tender too. He had never had anything like it, and the toppings she’d picked out for him meant it was super spicy too. 

“It has a nice kick to it.” he commented, taking another bite before reaching for the tea. It wasn’t like any tea he had ever made before. It looked like coffee his sister used to make. All Milk. 

He took a small sip first, letting the flavor wash over his tongue. Not sweet at all, just mostly herbal tea flavor, though the milk did dull the flavor a lot. Not bad though. He took another, deeper sip from it, closing his eyes, trying to draw out a deeper flavor profile- 

Something hit the back of his throat. His gag reflex made him swallow too quickly, and he began to cough, liquid spewing from his mouth and down his front. 

He couldn’t breath, and the knowledge of that sent his brain into instant panic, as he slammed a fist against the table, holding a hand to his mouth as he gagged up more tea. 

“Oh my god!” he heard her exclaim, she was out of her chair, grabbing a rag. “Are you okay?” she asked, wiping up his face in a hurry as he took in a few deep, heaving breathes. 

“I-I nearly saw the river.” He mumbled, staring at his tea sodden sweater. Too his surprise, he heard a small giggle. Then it grew into a full blown laugh. 

“Oh Law…” she said it with such affection it made his face heat up. He pointed at the tea, now noticing the brown spheres sitting at the bottom. He had figured it was a design on the cup. 

“Are those… bubbles?” he asked, remembering her order. Add Bubbles.

He wasn’t sure he really liked those bubbles.

[soup-in-my-fly]

Don’t let him know, Law, don’t let him know you’re straight JORKING it

(Fanart for Fervent Care of Dying Things)

[poodlewizard]

Fanart of a fanfic, now that's something I haven't done! Inspired by "Fervent care of dying things" by the user Tenuous on AO3.

[1schadenfreude1]

fluff headcanons for ren law and strade plsss :3

Thanks for the request <3 Ren - He himself is so fluffy. His ears and tail and fur are so soft and velvety - He loves cuddles and is pretty clingy, just being near you makes him so happy - He has nightmares about Strade and squeezes you extra tight when he's scared. It can be hard to wake him up Law - Not really a cuddly guy, but sometimes he stands a little too close for comfort so he can smell you - He has names for all his plants, and they start to seem like real people to you - He loves long walks in the park and out in nature Strade - The most fluff you get out of him is cuddling up on the couch when watching TV - He's not super cuddly but he is soft and warm and doesn't mind when you snuggle - He's a goddamn heater when he sleeps, there's no need for blankets when he's all up against you snoring away

[sweetrottenendings]

"Plea"

Lawrence Oleander x GN!Reader

I might make a part 2 to this idk i just luv my plant wife.

SFW, one single swear word, 899 words. You wanna go on a date with Lawrence. Maybe a little OOC? Still figuring out how i wanna portray him in my writing.

Once again MDNI i promise you this fandom isn't for you.

-

It’s been a long time since you’ve had fresh air- real fresh air, not just Lawrence opening the window a smidge after your pleading. Despite all the greenery littering his apartment (or- your home, the cage you’ll never leave.) it feels as if the oxygen has been sapped entirely. All that is left is the musk, the stench of rot and the way its salt infects your lungs. Is there a chemical mixture of salt and carbon dioxide? Probably, but it likely isn’t what you’re sucking in at the moment.

Sometimes however, it brings you comfort with the familiarity. Stockholm syndrome set in long ago, so long ago that you struggle to remember the moment it hit. You don’t think you’d have it any other way, you love Lawrence despite the revolting relationship that’s been curated in the space- you’re thinking about the air again.

The delicate sound of trickling water sounds out, Lawrence is watering the plants. He’s meticulous, as he is with everything he does. Eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed as he dictates the exact amount of water each plant requires. It’s moments like these where you get to observe him in his entirety. The way his form hunches, blonde hair that occasionally clings to his neck, bright blue eyes that used to haunt your nightmares but now soothe your dreams. If only there were a universe where you had met normally, where Lawrence wasn’t as disturbed as he is- and you could be a normal couple. One that goes on cute dates to the park, snuggles together at night when the rain gushes outside, loves each other like normal people and don’t prod at each others spinal cords-

You should stop that thought there.

A park date, you imagine that would be something he could enjoy- considering his affinity for nature. Perhaps he could even enjoy it in this universe? He loves you, he really does- in his own fucked up way. Plus you really, desperately need fresh air. You need to inhale it as hard as you can, to feel alive for once (But do you really want to feel alive?) compared to the hollow death you feel now. Lawrence would never take you out around people however, there will always be that part of him that worries you’ll run and abandon what you’ve created together. (You never will, he’s all you need.)

What about during the night? He could take you to any spot he chooses, hide you from anyone he sees- even tie you to him, surely you could make it look inconspicuous. It would be nice too, the weather during the night is pleasant and far more suited to what he’s used to. He might get angry though, he wouldn’t kill you but maybe he’d finally go through with the threat to cut off your limbs. After pondering for a moment, you decide it’s worth the risk.

Your voice cuts him out of the zone he’s found himself in- he turns sharply towards you. He isn’t as trembly as he used to be, now confident in his power over you. “Lawrence-” Your voice is soft, the way you’ve trained it to be, “I have a request…”

He stares at you, unblinking.

“This is t-the biggest thing I will ever ask of you, and I won’t be upset or surprised if you say no.” It’s not like your feelings matter anyway, but you hope it may soothe any anger. He places down the watering can with a soft sound and makes his way to you. You haven’t been tied up in a very long time, but sometimes you sit yourself in the same chair from the start- it’s almost comforting. He kneels down to your eye level with a stern stare, and nods- prompting you to continue.

“I-I want to go outside-” He inhales sharply “-with you…” He exhales. “A date, in a park maybe, during the night so there isn’t anyone around…” You give him a sweet smile, as loving as you can, “...it’d be just us, like it’s meant to be.” he continues to stare, blue eyes burning into your soul and eating whatever confidence you had left- jaws wide and unrelenting. He must be angry, surely, he’s going to cut your limbs off and tie you back up, you’ve destroyed everything!-

“Okay…” You blink.

“Okay?”

He nods “We… we can go out.” You feel your heart swell with the most joy you’ve felt in your life, it bursts at the seams like you’ve just gorged yourself at a buffet. You want to hug him- you reach your trembling arms out in hopes he understands, and he does. Taking you into his arms, soft yet oddly strong for someone like him, he wraps you into his being. A hand comes up to stroke your hair in a soothing gesture- you didn’t realise you had started crying. You nuzzle your face deep into his chest, a grateful mantra pouring from your forever scarred lips. He tilts your head up to face him- a warm smile splayed across his face, filled with nothing but love for you, only you, forever you.

His voice is the gentlest you’ve ever heard from him,

“If you try to run, I will kill you.”

You smile back,

“Good, I love you Lawrence…”

He doesn’t say it back, but he doesn’t have to. You know he loves you.

[kamimarroco]

Intending to expand the universe of my fanfics, I decided to do a little lore about the characters. It's not much, but I hope you like it! ;)

Random facts about MC (also known as immortal woman):

Unlike usual, Strade actually met MC at a cabaret she used to visit to spend money on prostitutes and get high.

Her clothes didn't last long and she soon started wearing clothes similar to Ren's.

MC has a lot of bad habits. Apart from her drug addiction, she has a diet very low in vitamins and minerals.

She died many times before meeting Strade, but he certainly helped increase those numbers.

Strade doesn't get the honor of having killed her first. That title goes to her mother.

Older than Ren, but younger than Strade.

Random facts about Strade (because why not):

Initially, he only planned to keep MC for a short period of time.

But the discovery of her immortality changed his mind. He then decided to keep her indefinitely.

What can I say? She is incapable of dying, basically an unbreakable toy.

He never took care of her wounds. He finds it a waste of supplies.

He thinks she's cute and often compliments her during torture sessions.

Although he likes MC, there are chances that one day he will want to get rid of her permanently. When and how, no one knows.

Random facts about the sweetest little fox (Ren, my beloved <3):

At first, his relationship with MC was not very pleasant due to his skepticism regarding her immortality.

But he eventually warmed up to her.

He began to care for her injuries and even feed her properly.

And a while later, Ren started decorating the basement to make the place comfortable and customized.

Of course, Strade didn't like this at first, but he grew to tolerate it because it meant less work for him.

Ren never felt anything for MC. The feelings he has for her are purely platonic.

Random facts about Lawrence:

Lawrence doesn't know Strade or Ren, but he has met MC a few times.

All of their encounters took place at The River after they died "at the same time".

They never had a deep conversation, just a few exchanges of phrases.

Even without showing it, Lawrence was happy to have found someone like him.

He plans to meet her in person one day.

[hvnnybvnny6606]

Ren x Lawrence hard nsfw

They get high together 🍃

Ren knocks on the door to Lawrence’s apartment gently waiting for it to open. This time he had come prepared, there wouldn’t be any mistakes in today’s events. His bag was heavy, pulling down on his shoulders and making him sore. His red hair rested gently at his shoulders laying over his grey hoodie. His hands moved down to brush out his tail, tangled in it were small twigs and dead leaves from the shrubbery outside. He drew in a slow breath through his nose, the stale air was nothing special, but the faint scent of blood on the other side of the door told him that despite how long he had been standing out here Lawrence was in fact on the other side. He knocked once more hearing the raps ring out in and echo in the small room. He heard a small groan and some shuffling on the hardwood floor and heavy tired steps approached. 

He heard the many many locks begin to be undone by their resident, and the wood door cracks open slightly. Sandy blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes standing at 5’11 was Lawrence. Ren pressed his palm to the wood pushing it open just a little more. 

“Oh cmon, let me iiiiin.” Ren took a step closer to the door sliding the front of his foot into the frame so it couldn’t be closed. 

“What do you want.” Lawrence’s tone was cold and distant. He clearly didn’t expect or want company. He tried to push back against Ren attempting to close the door until it met the tip of the other male’s shoe. The blonde takes a few steps back into the apartment accepting his defeat. 

“I just want a smoking buddy don’t be so serious all the time.” Ren slides his bag off his shoulder setting it down on the ground behind the door. He reaches behind his ear to pull out a partially smoked joint gently resting it between his lips. Lawrence sighs and walks to the edge of his bed, he struggles for a moment to open the window, the cool breeze flies into the room starting to air it out. 

“Why do you always come here when you need someone.” He turns around to sit down on the edge of his unmade bed. Ren follows him picking up a silver Playboy lighter off one of the tables in the room. 

“I don’t know, I guess I just like being around you.” He smiles at Lawrence lighting up his joint quickly and taking a long deep drag. 

“Well…I guess that's okay.” Law grins a little to himself and leans against the hard wall alongside his bed. He takes a moment to observe Ren. Smoke billows out of his lips as he exhales, the expression on his face is content and relaxed. Law admires this about him. Ren’s ears fold backward and lay against his head as he coughs his face contorting in a pained expression that lights a familiar fire in Lawrence's gut. While Ren is keeled forward over his knees the small of his back is shown. The bare skin feels almost inviting, as if Ren is taunting him. 

He slowly reaches forward, and he can feel the warmth that Ren is emanating, just as his fingers are going to graze the other’s soft skin ren turns around to pass him the joint. He takes it from him and presses it against his lips. The paper is damp. ‘Ren’s saliva.’ He slowly takes his hit trying not to meet Ren’s gaze. 

“So are any of these plants edible?” The sudden and unrelated question pulls law from his train of thought.

“Yes, uhm..” he pauses for a moment to think them through before getting an idea, “Have you heard of psilocybin mushrooms?”

“No?” Ren cocks his head to this side in confusion. 

“They’re a type of drug, they induce hallucinations and what some people would call “visions” they’re pretty fun.”

“Can we try some?” Ren looks around the room at the various potted plants.

“Of course, let’s just sit here a bit more yeah?” He reaches forward to place the joint in Ren’s mouth once more. He watches as Ren’s eyes widen in surprise, as he takes it from him. 

After a few minutes, Law gets up from the bed to walk to the counter in the kitchen just around the corner. He picks up a small round, green ceramic pot, he walks back over to show Ren. 

“Oh wow, they’re so pretty!” Ren reaches into the pot to pick one of the small shrooms, he breaks it off its think long stock and pops it into his mouth reeling over its harsh flavor. 

“Yeah they don’t taste the best but here pretty soon you’ll be able to feel the effects.”

Ren nods and rests against the back wall next to Lawrence, his skin is cold and uninviting as their arms brush up against each other. Law leans away for a moment to pick his bong up off the ground. He sets it in Ren’s lap and begins to pack the bowl. Ren grabs the glass neck circling his fingers around the inside of the mouthpiece. After waiting for a while they begin to feel it. For Ren it starts as a small pulsing wave washing over him and spreading out onto the stiff mattress he’s now sprawled out on. He runs his fingers over the coarse bedsheets and up onto the uneven texture of the wall. The smoothness of the paint spreads out onto his fingertips and down his forearms. He can feel the looming presence behind him, he can feel the holes Law has burned into his back with his gaze. 

For Lawrence, it started as that same small fire in his stomach as before. Sitting between his legs Law looks over Ren’s body, he’s frail and limp. Law can see under his hoodie, and Ren’s inviting skin peeks out under the dark grey hoodie. It’s draped over his hips revealing the small of his back and around the side of his body up his ribs. Once again law feels as though he’s being toyed with. ‘He knows what he’s doing to you.’ Law leans forward to place his hand on the back of Ren’s leg. ‘God. You’re so…warm.’ Law’s hand creeps up Ren’s side slowly finding his way up to his exposed skin. He can’t help but want to take a bite. Ren flips around quickly to look at law. 

“What are you doing?!” Ren tries to sit up and scurry to the other side of the bed. Law’s hand firmly grasps at his ankle dragging him back into place. 

“Oh, ren…” He grabs Ren by the hips with both his hands yanking him closer once more until their bodies connect. 

“Dude get off me!” Ren hurriedly puts his hands on Law’s chest trying to shove him back to no avail. 

“You can drop the act, Ren.” He grabs one of Ren’s wrists pinning it down to the bed. 

“Lawrence you’re hurting me!” Ren digs his claws into Lawrence’s arm trying to break his grip. He immediately breaks his skin the blood oozes out, down his arm and it slowly pools under his hand staining the once white sheets. 

“Good.” He smiles and eases Ren down laying him back out onto the bed. “Just don’t move. Don’t scream. You won’t escape me. You might as well enjoy it.” He flips Ren over onto his stomach grabbing a fistful of his hair and shoving his face into the pillows. Ren reaches back with his free hand trying to breathe through the thick fabric. 

Law leans down and kisses the back of Ren’s neck, peppering him with quick bursts of kissing and licking. The burning in his stomach grows from a small flame into a large yearning fire. He reaches around to undo the knot on Ren’s pants. Ren struggles more and more digging his claws deeper into Law’s arm. 

“Mother fucker!” Law lets go for a brief moment and Ren darts off the bed. Law grabs his ankle once again and pulls him back making Ren slam onto the hardwood floor. Blood drips down Law’s arms as he drags Ren back up enough so his ass is over the edge of the bed. Lawrence pulls his pants down to reveal his aching member. Ren stops fighting back, tears streaming down his face in spiteful acceptance. Law’s attention is then drawn to Ren’s tail, once puffed and stiff was now slowly resting down Ren’s back. 

“Good boy…See? That wasn’t so hard.” Law grabs the base of Ren’s tail as he slowly grinds against Ren.

“Shut up and get this over with.” Ren grits his teeth looking over his shoulder at Law. 

“Okay baby..whatever you say.” Law forces himself into the other male who cries out in pain. “Shut up ren.”

“It hurts!” Ren digs his nails into the wood under him as Lawrence begins to thrust himself back and forth. The calming waves that once washed over Ren were replaced with stabbing pains and a pounding headache. “I can’t-..it’s too much law please-~” 

“Shut up!” Law moves off the bed and onto the ground with Ren flipping him back onto his back, his hand comes up to cover his mouth and nose. Ren’s eyes widen and he reaches up to claw at Law’s face and neck. Lawrence persists. ‘I’m about to die..’ The thought Races through Ren’s head as the room begins to darken. He can feel his lungs running out of air. He tries to gasp through Law’s fingers but he gets little to no air. He tries screaming but Law uses his other hand to grab onto his throat to stop him. Law’s thrusts start getting more and more sloppy as he reaches his end. 

“Fuck..you’re so tight.~” Law’s head falls backward as he pumps. “Your ass feels so good. Fuck~” Ren’s vision begins to blur and he can feel his body get weaker. His arms fall onto the ground as he goes limp. He looks around the room and finally at Law. Law’s face is smeared in his own blood, sweat is running down his face and he finishes slamming his hips into Ren's and releasing his throat.

[apathetic-dry-rot]

Wilting Nerium- Chapter List

Chapter 1: Back to Black

Chapter 2: DEATH

Chapter 3: Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Chapter 4: Kill Bill

Chapter 5: It's Called: Freefall

Chapter 6: Possibly In Michigan

Chapter 7: Vampire Empire

Chapter 8: Hayloft II

Chapter 9: Where Is My Mind

Chapter 10: SPIT IN MY FACE!

Chapter 11: Dream Sweet In Sea Major

Chapter 12: Daylight

Chapter 13: Dark Red

Chapter 14: Why'd You Only Ever Call Me When You're High?

Chapter 15: Choke

Chapter 16: Dear Arkansas Daughter

Chapter 17: Gilded Lily

Chapter 18: Me and the Devil

Chapter 19: Bad Idea, Right?

Chapter 20: In The Woods Somewhere

Chapter 21: The Night We Met

Chapter 22: Body

Chapter 23: Oleander

Chapter 24 (Epilogue): No Children

[moss-bride]

Koi boi Chapt: 9

⚠️ WARNING! SMUT AHEAD ⚠️

She struggles to get the bonds loose. Rubbing and yanking she scoots the chair over to the plants where the scissors are. Trying not to make noise for the downstairs neighbor. Or any of the neighbors sharing a wall with them for that matter. If they heard her scream and fumble around they would for sure call the police and to have her Lawrence arrested would destroy her.

He left her and she feels shaken to the very core of her soul. Bleeding from her thighs the open air stings the shallow cut and cries out his name. To be carved again or to finish the job?

The sputtering start of a shower is the one sound in the apartment.

The sharp blade he used to cut her is close. If she could wiggle her chair close to the counter to grasp it, she'd be free.

She scoots the chair and winces at the sound. Looking to the bathroom door to hear any pause to his showering. Fog seeps out from the crack under the bathroom door. A bright spill of angelic cloud. 

She stretches her fingers and grasps it. Quickly maneuvering her hands so the sharp edge is against the bindings. Sawing it. 

“S-Shit…” She cuts her hands, the small nicks don't discourage her and manages to free herself. 

She rotates her wrists, rubbing the sore skin, doesn't bother trying to find a cloth to cover. Then rises unsteadily to her feet. 

A rational person would go straight to the front door, checking the locks or looking through the drawers if the kitchen for weapons but she's a fucking idiot. No smarts strategic snooping that people in her position would do. 

Bloody footprints track the floor on her way to the bathroom. The loss is making her woozy. 

She bled on the floor. Dragging herself to the door of his bathroom took a lot of her energy and she leaned against the door, panting. Hearing him splashing water. 

She imagines how he looks in the water, drenched hair stickling to his scalps and back. Eyes closed to allow the spray to cool his features. Pale blue eyes moving beneath translucent eyelids. Peaceful.

Her lips almost kiss the wooden frame, need overpowering all other senses.

She twists the door knob, quietly creeping in. Her toes tingle with the mist of condensation from his shower. Droplets sticking to skin and the wet floor imprints pink footprints. Wet air further aggravating her fresh wound.

The curtains are fogged but the cream of his body is visible and she hungrily chases the sight of him, however blurred. He hasn't noticed her there, standing like a hidden mountain lion. Salivating at the beautiful painting he makes.

The first body she's ever seen bared. Oh, how she hungered for the experience, the emotionally rampant sense of such a vulnerable act as to be naked in front of another human being. And here he is. The fulfillment of a wish. God answering her prayers and delivering onto her the sustenance to keep going.

She pulls the curtains away. Metal shower rings do a horrible screech.

Lawrence startles badly. Turning to her in fear. Blue eyes wide and full of terror then they  become dangerously narrowed. Lawrence’s chest heaves up and down and he hisses. “Get the hell out. Are you stupid?!”

Yes. Yes. Yes.

She stays silent and breathes heavily the scent of his skin, the soap he uses. Clutching the curtains for help against her fading control. “You want to die.” His blue eyes burn and he's about to get physical.

She steps in. The water hitting the ground becomes pink and so do the droplets on his white thighs and abdomen. She could write poetry about the important symbolism of her blood and his water. “Lawrence-”

 His hands immediately snatch her throat. He slams her against the wall hard. Her head bangs against the tiled wall, it is not a gentle motion. She sees stars. Her feet slide easily and she's held by his hand at her neck.

He is squeezing the life out of her. Clamping down on her airways and she can't breathe. Her body has no other choice but to spasm in an attempt to get air. Eyes feeling like they are about to pop out of their sockets like one of those stress toys they give you in therapy.

Then he unexpectedly releases her and she collapses to the floor. Unable to hold herself up any longer. She hears his angry bull pants

“If you don't do what I say, i- “ he cuts himself off. “ ..you can't be here.” The resigned tone in his voice makes her panic. Please don't be disappointed in me. I love you. I love you.

There is a darker decision in his voice that she's oblivious to. He can't let her be here any longer! She interrupts him, demands attention and walks freely around his place and he has no control. Needs total and complete control, if he can't have that then she'll have to-

Frustrated he stomps out. Agitated at her movements, he grabs a towel. Blood loss is overcoming all her senses , she can't muster up energy to stand and follow except, gazing at the pink water slipping down the drain.

Even as the warmth fades she wants him. 

“L-law… peash….uh”

She lurches forward. Forehead hitting his knee. Hands clawing the tiles she sticks her tongue out and licks his knee.

Under her tongue the vibration of his voice quiets. The explosive anger switched violently into another emotion. She's focused on his kneecap and the stubble of hair on her tongue. Her senses are shutting down and the warm water spray, the soaking clothes, the pain on her leg, it is slowly fading. 

It transcends time, it could be her most treasured memory. Confirming the clean taste of skin. Her consciousness fades in and out trying to concentrate.

Something threads through her hair. His hand. Gripping her head to face him. She can't make out his face and closes her eyes against the harsh bathroom light as it stings.

Clinging to life, clinging to him like a leper begging Jesus for the divine healing of his godly hands. This half alive state tempts him, a devil in his desert. Limp and slouched, the blood draining out of her leaves her skin cold, lush lips tinged the gray blue he recognizes and adores 

And on her…..the sight is enthralling. 

Whatever he sees he must like because his hand on her hair clenches harder. Eyes still closed and almost slipping away, a giant woosh of air scatters across her face. Lost in her own world she can't focus on Lawrence's intentions.

A warm wet bulb pressed her lips. Parting them. It's a wet spongy thing with a salty taste.

For a moment she's confused about what fills her mouth and brushes her tongue. Too much effort required in opening her eyes she remains in the dark. Until she feels the vibration travel down. A groan.

Between her lips moves the solid piece of flesh she had briefly admired when pulling the shower curtain back. The last of her brain fires back up and sends pulses of strength to her sluggish limbs. Cold hands struggling for a perch.

He tugs at her scalp and she releases a soft moan around his cock. Her hands skate his thighs for perch. With all her ability she finally took him down to the hilt, her nose at his pubic hair and her lower lip at the seam of his sack. Leaking drool. It spills down onto her breasts. He is warm and throbbing on my tongue. Her wide eyes plead with him. 'please. Cum. Please. please, please, please

She sucked him like her life depended on it. Like it's the last thing she'll do because it likely is. Swallowing him whole. 

Happiness. ‘Thank you for doing this. For having sex with something as disgusting and awkward as me.’ That's what she's trying to say with her tongue on the underside of his cock. Her life has been leading up to this moment, the skin to skin contact that society and media portrays as quintessential to the human experience.

I'm here! I'm like everyone else now! Aren't I cool!? Aren't I real?!

This new action of a blowjob sparks an insatiable need for more sexual experiences that rises about her blood loss. His hands tangled in her hair as he guides her. Since she is new to this she finds herself loving and reveling in his moans.

She gags but continues to swallow around him. Determined to feel him spray down her throat. Her tongue licks the seam of his balls and her nose buries in his pubic hair. Eyes gleaming with tears from pleasure, silently asking 'like this Lawrence?' and pink lips stretched. Drool leaks out of her mouth.

She makes a surprised sound as she feels him spray down her throat. His hips buck and shove her down until finally he's spent. She releases him with a pop. A string of saliva connecting her lips with his cock. "Did you see that? I swallowed it all." She babbles, beaming up at him. Vaguely proud that her first time with a cock was good.

Or, at least she thinks she says that. What comes out is a strange string of noise coughed up. Hardly understandable. Once his hand released her head she collapsed on the bathroom tile floor. 

She curls up, knees to chest to conserve warmth, her wounds are aggravated and the action squeezes out more blood. 

 

Eyelashes flutter closed with beads of water on each lash. She feels herself being carried. Her lips are smiling.

Lawrence watches her. 

He should stop the bleeding. The tourniquet is in disarray and if it isn't tightened, she'll die, if she isn't already dead. 

He checks her pulse and finds the best quiet but steady. Should he be relieved or sad? He remembers dreamily about how beautiful of a corpse she'd be and the urge to finish her off here and now makes him harden again. 

She's….. surprising. He hates those, has since he was a child and yet…. A twinge in the dead cavity of his chest tells him it doesn't bother him. 

Each step of the way in their odd journey together, she has proven time and again that she harbors a need to please him and in turn for companionship. 

He tosses a blanket on her and leaves to the corner store, he'll need to buy another medical kit.

At the corner store he finds one consisting of ten bandaids, tweezers, scissors etc. He spots lubricant and snatches a bottle. The back of his neck burns as he brings it to the counter.

The employee scans his two items without question as to why he got the strange selection broke from routine. What of his usual convenience store sandwich? He doesn't know what to say to either of those questions

[gvtted-ratz]

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Lawrence Oleander x M!Reader

Last Edited: 30/07/2024

TW: drugging, foul language, alcohol consumption, self-indulgent, self-harm scars, talk about addiction, 2nd person POV, reader wears a skirt, open-ended ending

Requested: No.

Word Count: 2,311

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes from gvtted-ratz (writer/creator): Male Reader wears a long skirt because fuck gender norms. We will add, the self-harm scars talked about here are present everywhere on the READER. Title is from the song: Beware by Deftones. We’ve been having a rough time with some IRL things, taking a toll on our health. The song this fic is loosely inspired by can give you some insight on our thinking. Our moods have plummeted a bit, and we hope that by making this fic, it will get a little better. If you really enjoyed this fic, feel free to comment, maybe? Those are so much nicer to read/see than Kudos or Hits. Thank you again for taking time to read our little hobby writing.

Notes from @rppik (editor/co-writer): mkee

It’s late when you leave your flat, the long piece of fabric around your legs swaying as you stroll down the side walk. Outside is neither hot nor cold, perfect for the walk towards the bar you frequent.

With how you’re dressed, along with the fact that it’s quite late, you look more like a sex worker more than anything. Now, you’re no lady of the night, but you do respect them; they’re putting themselves out there, sometimes in danger, just to get by in this hell-run world.

You may have paid a few for their company before, feeling lonely on nights you can't ignore that you really don’t have anyone. No friends. Family is more strained than loving. Neighbours are more shit than chill. A night with one of the sex workers, whether it be at a restaurant or even at your own place to enjoy some snacks or movies, passes the time. 

They don’t say it to your face, but you can see the pity; imagine getting hired by some guy in a skirt, just to find out you’ll be hanging out with him, no sex involved. Sure, it’s a break from the usual clients, some more rough than others– but on the other end of things, you’ve just been hired by some weirdo who looks like he’ll cry if you ask so much as a “Why hire me if not for sex? Don’t you have anyone to hang out with?” It’s pretty sad if you really think about it.

You can feel your thoughts start to become syrup in the worst ways: sticky, slow, and annoying to get rid of. The hope is that this funk will pass, washed away with ease by being near others, like you so desperately crave. Or maybe you can wash it down you just have to grab a few drinks first.

The bar’s closed door looks inviting in the dark, light spilling from the window and onto the dull concrete below your shoes. The doorknob is in your hand before you even know it, entering the building without a second thought.

The air is warmer than that from outside, with the lights all an orange hue. It appears cozy and welcoming; if anything of the opposite occurs, you know that the stoner in the back will be the one to remove whatever ruined the atmosphere. You only know this because you’ve watched that scrawny stoner drag a black-out drunk woman out of the place. She had been screeching on top of throwing punches; not only did she not land any of her hits, she was banned from the place too. There’s been others like her, but that kid really does know how to get them out of the building.

It’s busier than usual, making it much harder for you to sit in your usual spot. The deep-rooted shame of being stared at if you were to choose your preferred seat makes you hesitate. The scars that decorate your skin show an ongoing battle against the very real urges that have grown attached to the vessel you call a body.

Said urges are like that of a Japanese Barberry shrub. The poisonous whispers that plague your mind dig into your very being like the spines on the shrub’s twigs. It takes time to remove such invasive growth, made even more difficult when both the plant and your urges have a multitude of small twigs and branches, snuffing out the light to keep anything else from growing. The shrubs attract the black-legged ticks, just like how your scars attract the glaring stares of those who won’t understand. The yellow flowers that hide under the foliage during the spring are a taunt; you’re clean for the moment, although, it won’t be for long. The red berries soon arrive, lasting far longer than you’d like. The beads of red across your skin is just another thing to ruminate on. Cleaning them or simply wiping them away leads to more; there aren't any animals out who want to lick up those droplets, unlike the fruit on those shrubs. Once the fruit is gone, the cycle starts anew. A never-ending addiction that seems to be engraved in your soul.

A spot near the back catches your eye. The area is a bit darker than the surrounding place, lights more dim than the rest. A few tables are filled, but there is one that is nearly completely empty. A blonde man sits by himself there, no drink in sight. With there truly being no other option that you’re willing to take, you approach his table. He doesn’t give you a glance, possibly thinking you're just passing by. It’s only when you reach to pull out a chair that he looks up.

You try to plaster a friendly smile on your face, however, it comes across as more strained than anything.

“Mind if I sit? There’s nowhere else really,” you say, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible. You’re not sure of what to do if he declines. Seemingly sensing your dilemma, he gives a small nod. His eyes look anywhere, everywhere, but you.

“Thanks! You waiting on someone?” You take the seat in front of him, thinking about how it would be too personal to take one next to the guy. One would say it’s more intimate to sit across from someone, since it’s easier to ‘gaze into your partner’s eyes, seeing all the love they hold’ or some bullshit. Maybe you should stop reading all those books on shitty romance.

“Oh… Yes. He hasn’t shown, though…” He seems reluctant to talk much more. The more you glance over him, the more it becomes obvious he’s uncomfortable. Whether that’s because of you or because of the setting, you’re unsure.

“You good? I can leave if it’s me, you know,” you try to help ease him a bit. You really don’t want to try fighting through the crowd, but you will if it means making someone less tense because of you.

“No, no. You’re uh… Fine. It’s just crowded,” he tells you, still not looking at you. You hum in acceptance at his words. You lean back, getting a bit more comfortable as you pull out your phone. Usually, you’d be drinking by now, but you really don’t want to make the one guy you’re sitting with get even more tense. He did say his “friend” stood him up.

“Uhm..” You look up from your phone, raising a brow as the other man starts talking again. He fidgets in his seat as he gets the words out. “Are you… A girl?” That startles a laugh out of you. You’re used to being asked this, mostly because of the skirt. What you didn’t expect was to be asked by this guy.

“It’s the skirt, isn’t it?” A smile threatens to overtake the neutral line on your lips. His ears have a red tint to them. Looks like you’ve hit the nail right on the head.

“I don’t see anyone other than women wear skirts, so I… I thought you might be one.” He looks embarrassed to admit it; it only serves to make you chuckle.

“You’re fine, you’re fine. To answer your question, I’m not a girl. I just like skirts,” you end up waving your hand dismissively. It gives the impression that you’re not bothered by his question, which, in turn, makes him crack a small smile.

“I’ll be right back,” the unnamed man says, looking a little bit more confident. You give him a nod, looking back down at your phone. It appears that you’ve cracked a bit of the ice around the guy– a win in your book.

You scroll through different apps and webpages. There’s not much else to do while the guy is gone. The blond is cute, you can’t help but admit. He does have a five o’clock shadow that would rival any shut-in’s. Then again, he seems highly introverted.

You wonder how he met his friend and why they bailed on him. Thinking it over, the blue-eyed man didn’t seem excited like one does when meeting with a friend; it was more nervous than anything, like they were meeting for the very first time. 

The clinking of glass meeting wood draws your attention away from your phone. A quick glimpse of an alcoholic beverage in front of you has you putting your phone away. The shaky smile is back on his lips, looking around the place again.

You look at your drink, feeling like something isn’t exactly right with it. In a moment of lack of impulse control, you grab his drink instead, taking a sip from it. The whiskey burns, but not enough to get you tipsy from just the sip. The man looks surprised at your decision, bringing your drink closer to himself.

You set your claimed drink on the table, looking over the guy again. The five o’clock shadow and red-rimmed eyes shows how exhausted he is; you weren’t going to only go off the dark circles under his eyes, considering many people under stress have them too. “Thanks for the drink,” you take another sip to show that you appreciate the gesture.

“Uhm. Right…” The blonde man is back to his nervous fidgeting again.

“I gotta ask, though. What’s your name? Pretty lame to buy a guy a drink but not offer your name.” You’re trying to joke with him while also trying to dog for intel on him. You don’t know him nor does he know you; plus, he bought you a drink, so you might as well get to know the dude.

“It’s Lawrence,” the nervous energy dissipates the moment he says his name, eyes looking completely lifeless. Just saying his name seemed to have flipped a switch in the guy’s head. It’s a bit creepy to see such a fast switch up.

“Right… Well, nice to meet you, Law,” you give him a lop-sided smile. You’re really trying to butter him up by giving him a nickname. Maybe you really are that lonely to try and befriend some dude at a bar.

“Nice to meet you too,” though he words it like a good thing, his eyes are still empty of emotion; they remind you of a desolate river that never seems to end or have a spot to even begin.

“Any reason why your friend might’ve stood you up? You seem to be pretty chill.” Another drink of the iced whiskey washes away any nerves that try to pop up. It starts to feel like a bad idea the more you drink.

“No… Maybe he was busy. Sometimes he gets too busy and can’t make it.” You shake your head at his explanation.

“Still shitty to not give you a call in advance. Or at least a text. If any friend of mine stood me up on a busy day like this, I’d be pissed.” It’s like he suddenly remembers how crowded it is, his meek demeanour returning. Lawrence hunches over a bit, trying to make himself seem small. At this point, you’re starting to think he’s either acting or on something other than the drinks he got you both.

“Well, how about you?” His question surprises you for some odd reason. You weren’t expecting him to be curious about the guy sitting across from him, who, for the record, took his drink.

“What about me, Law?” More whiskey flows down your throat.

“Why are you here?” You finish off your drink, grimacing a bit at the burning. You let out a cough to try clearing the feeling. The last bit even tastes bitter, much different from the usual chilled whiskey you’re used to.

“Lonely. I don’t have anyone at my shithole of a flat, and I can’t exactly keep a friend around. Especially not after high school. Motherfuckers dropped me faster than a cat does a rat,” while you force out a bitter laugh, the frown you possess shows that it still upsets you to this day. “I wouldn’t be coming down to the bar, chatting up random patrons if I did have people, you know. This is all I got for socializing and getting out of my place, Law.”

The blank look is back on his face, staring at you in thought. “Something wrong, Law? Don’t like the scars on my face?” You motion towards the different discoloured dots from acne picking; on one check is a healed gash from the corner of the mouth towards the ear.

You can’t say you regret all the scars you’ve caused; however, you do feel shame when people stare too long at them. They’ve become a part of your life you feel lost without. They remind you of the bad and good, despite the mutilation of your own skin. When they fade to the point of being forgotten, you always end up having to remake them; you just can’t let go of that false comfort of control you have.

“Oh. No, it’s not that,” that dull tone grates on your nerves. There’s a bundle of alarm bells that start to distantly ring in the back of your mind. Maybe the alcohol had dulled your senses, since they’re only now starting to vibrate with sound.

“Then what is it?” Your voice sounds weird to your own ears, like it’s not real. There’s a cold feeling spreading throughout your body as parts of it go numb.

“You’re a little different from the others. But you’ll leave all the same.” He looks warped, maybe even distorted, as your vision swims. You’re getting weaker, limbs not wanting to cooperate. Your tongue feels heavy in your own mouth. The only sound you can let out is this confused gurgle as you try to say something, anything. For a split second, you think you smell decay before everything fades away into inky black.

[mushro0mshr0om]

someone PLEASEEE write a lawrence fic about mc and law hanging out or sum like slice of life im getting bored of the meeting trope💔💔💔

[melonba11s]

Dependent (Lawrence/MC Fic)

Several months ago I uploaded an incomplete version of this fic. Now the full version is here, and I hope you all enjoy it!

Minors and Ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked.

Contains: Description of rot, amputation, mutilation. Gender Neutral MC who has a vagina, Lawrence.

Morning was coming. You had been up all night. Not that you had much of a choice anymore. He controlled most of your life now, from what you ate, what you did… How you looked. You laid on your side, staring at the remains of what had once been working limbs. 

Skin twisted and fused over exposed bone and muscle, not unlike the gnarled roots of an old tree. Pushed and forced to bend to the will to the rest of the forest around it, or in this case, to the will of Lawrence’s crude stitches and strange salves. You couldn’t remember much from when he took them, only that smile on his face as he looked down at you. You thought for sure you would die. Visit the river and allow yourself to float away as he described. 

For a while you had found yourself wishing that you had died that day, blood pooling out of your severed limbs and flooding the floor around you. Warm but cold, you could still feel it lapping at your bare skin if you did not keep your mind occupied enough. You had moved past those feelings of wishing you were gone though. You had spent so long mourning the things you would never do again, from the mundane things such as holding a pen or snapping your fingers, to the joys of life such as petting a friendly cat or cooking delicious food. 

You had been depressed, and it had annoyed Lawrence. At first he had tried to help you feel better, you remembered the flower crowns he’d clumsily made from poppies, his favorite flower, the chains of clover he’d make out in the woods and bring in to dress you in. Gentle kisses on your eyelids, assuring you that you looked beautiful. 

You hadn’t felt beautiful though. You’d felt broken, a waste of space. And soon enough he grew sick of trying to comfort you. 

“Forget it.” he had said one day, showing you the delicate bird skull he had found in the woods, covered in moss. You had barely lifted your head in acknowledgment of his waxing poetics over the beauty of the thin bones. And his bitter tone had sent a shiver up your spine, and instantly, dread had filled your stomach. 

You had upset him. So you had struggled to sit up. 

“N-No! Go on!” Desperate, you whimpered in pain as you attempted to move towards him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” the apologies kept falling from your lips, like the petals from a cherry tree blossoming in spring. And with each apology, your world closed in around you until his apartment was all that was left of it. Upsetting him felt far worse than anything else in the world now. 

 Lawrence would bring you bits of the outside world that was now alien to you home. Food, Flowers, Plants, Bones, sometimes little gifts. On his days off, he would go to the forest to work on his art. 

His art… You had not been spared from becoming part of his artwork. Or at least, what had once been you. Lawrence hadn’t put those delicate fingers and lovely red strings of muscle to waste. You remember cringing and letting out a strangled sob when he first showed you the photos. What had once been your arms and legs had been broken and manipulated into crude poses, sticking up from the dirt and reaching for the sun and stars, a macabre flower. 

Eventually though you began paying attention to his words as he showed you the pictures he took. His art was different from anything you’d ever seen in a museum. Unlike a Van Gogh painting, which remained the same no matter how much time passed, every minute, every day, every month contributed to his pieces. 

You now asked to see the photos when he would return from the woods. Greens and grays adding themselves without being asked too, creeping across the skin like spilled paint. Maggots and beetles, forever moving, ensuring that the piece would never remain the same from one second to the next. Skin falling slipping and falling from now purple toned muscle, exposing pale bone that glowed in comparison to the dark colors surrounding it. 

    And how happy he looked when he’d bring out his phone to show you the photos, the shine in his eyes as he explained what had happened, what had been added by the earth to the art now. So you asked to see more, to see other pieces. If you could be so bold though, none of his other pieces compared to what he had made with you. Animal bones and flesh could only do so much, after all. 

But Lawrence wasn’t here right now. Your only source of human contact was gone more often than not. He worked a night job, and slept during the day. Thus you had grown used to sleeping during the day and staying awake all night, waiting only for him to return. And as content as you became to sit and wait for him, you still became restless. You could still remember the day, a few months ago perhaps? You’d had enough, no matter how much it hurt, you needed it. You needed to move, you needed agency. 

You had rolled yourself off the bed with a sharp whine of pain as you hit the floor. You laid there for what felt like hours, preparing yourself. Then you moved your left arm, resting part of your weight on it. It hurt, and you let out a sob. The pain would have to come second though. Tears flowed freely, though you kept yourself as quiet as possible, so as not to disturb Lawrences neighbors. Eventually you had managed to balance yourself on all fours, shaking, panting, choking on your own breath. 

You crawled around in circles slowly, leaving a trail of tears and spit as you kept going, telling yourself that it would hurt for a while. And that’s how Lawrence had found you, about to collapse, still moving, your stumps mottled with bruises, eyes puffy and red, mouth dry.  You were so immersed in your own mind that you didn’t notice him until he spoke, his voice louder than usual.

“What are you doing?” he had been angry, lifting you up easily and setting you on the same chair you had sat in when he first brought you home. You couldn’t explain yourself sufficiently to him, he couldn’t seem to understand how much you needed to move. 

“You’re never getting out of here. You’re mine.” he growled, his face close to yours. 

“I don’t want to leave, I don’t.” You kept repeating yourself, still in tears, but now those tears were from the knowledge you had hurt him, made him angry.  No matter how many times you said those words, you had not convinced him that you were not trying to leave. So for a time he had forced you to drink some strange tea before he left, leaving you there unable to move, unable to speak, barely able to breath. 

When did he begin to trust you? You thought hard back through the past. When he had first stopped making you swallow his bitter mixes, stopped tying you to the bed so you couldn’t roll off, stopped attempting to control your movements. Your thoughts were interrupted by the jiggle of a key. He was home. 

You slid yourself off the bed with practiced ease now, making your way across the floor, but also making sure you were out of view of the doorway in case someone was passing by. They wouldn’t understand either of you. They’d try to separate you both. You’d never see Lawrence again, a thought too painful to dwell on for long. Only when you heard Lawrence close the door behind him, and the harmony of clicks as he locked the door back up, did you make yourself seen. 

Moving as fast as you could across the floor, you lifted yourself onto your hind legs, pawing at his leg and whining, looking up into those stormy blue eyes as he smiled down at you. 

“There you are…” he mumbled, setting down his bags as he got to his knees, running a hand along your back, as if you were a cat he had taken in off the streets. He nuzzled his cheek against yours, pulling you close, his hug more like a vice grip. He buried his face into your hair, which had grown long over the months, running his fingers through it like a wind blowing through overgrown grass. He was inhaling your scent, the familiar musk of his apartment, the spiciness of the homemade medicine he would apply to your stumps, the ever so faint smell of fake lavender from the cheap shampoo he used on you. 

“I got you a gift…” his voice was soft, as he dug through one of the bags he had with him. “Don’t laugh… It’s stupid but, when I saw it in the machine, I thought of you. I figured maybe you’d like it.” 

He had stuffed it into the bag, crushed and folded to hide it from others view. But you could tell it was soft, fluffy even. He dug his hand into the soft fabric, pulling out a large, floppy rabbit. It was anything but natural, a bright blue, an expression more human than animal on its flat face. Unlike anything Lawrence would ever like, something he would never usually bring into his home. But he did, entirely for you.

“I love it!” you instantly dove into it, almost kneading it with your forearms as you nuzzled it with your cheek. Something to hold onto as best you could as you waited for Lawrence to return. “Thank you so much, I love it so much.” you repeated those words yet again. A practiced repetition. One that ensured Lawrence and comforted him, letting him know he made the right decision. You stopped your cuddling of your new toy though and fell still as your stomach growled, loudly. 

Lawrence fumbled around suddenly. Whenever you gave signs of needing something, like food or water, he would always rush to find the thing you needed. Scared of watching you wither away like one of his plants would if he were not attentive enough. 

“Dinner, that’s right. Uh.” He rustled through his bags. Lawrence didn’t keep much food in the house, he once told you that it all seemed to rot way too quickly. Much of the food you consumed thus, was either convenience store fare or fast food. Though you remembered fondly the time he had splurged a little, and gotten take-away from a family restaurant down the road. 

“I uh, got us some hamburgers today.” He held up the familiar brown bag, grease starting to soak the bottom of it. “Let me just, get us some plates and cut yours up for you.” 

He stood, hurrying off to prepare the food. At first, Lawrence had insisted on hand feeding you, something he still enjoyed doing now and then. But eventually, he allowed you to feed yourself when able too. You didn’t find it humiliating at all, crouched on the floor, eating off a plate like a dog, unable to wipe your mouth or pick things out of your teeth. Entirely dependent on him when you ran into something as mundane as that. 

Just the way he liked it. You watched patiently, from your spot on the floor as he prepared the food, carefully cutting your hamburger up into bite size chunks. As he set it down, the sloppily stacked ingredients fell apart and toppled onto the plate. It was becoming less like a sandwich and more like some housewives weird casserole. 

You didn’t mind though, there wasn’t much you could do about it, and in the end, it would taste pretty much the same. Unceremoniously, Lawrence dumped the fries next to them, before covering them liberally in ketchup. 

“Here you go.” he said, his expression soft and welcoming, the same he had when he watered one of his plants. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch as he patted your head, relishing in the affectionate touch as he set the plate on the floor with a soft clink. 

Lawrence wouldn’t mind if you just began eating right away, but you still liked to wait for him to settle down next to you. Lawrence didn’t really eat to enjoy things, rather, he ate to sustain his physical body. 

“Starving is a really painful way to die. So is thirst.” he had said once over a package of cup noodles. He did like spicy stuff though, and he was almost abusive with hot sauce and peppers. You glanced over at him as he sat next to you, holding his own food in his hand. You didn’t need to look though, just sitting near him you could smell the “Extra hot sauce, add Jalapeno”, ordered in a quiet, monotone voice. 

As it always was, eating was a messy affair. At first, you had felt gross, feeling sauce, grease and crumbs stick to your face. The embarrassment of sticking your tongue out, trying to lick it off. Bright red as Lawrence held your face and gently dabbed at it with a napkin. 

You no longer cared, you reasoned with yourself that there was no shame in having help if you couldn’t do something. You could feel Lawrence’s eyes on you as you ate, messily using your tongue to help pull food into your mouth as your lips pushed it away. 

Mealtime wasn’t really a period for bonding with Lawrence, as it might be for families or couples, so you finished eating as quickly as you could. You never finished before Lawrence though, having hands made eating so easy after all. 

You sat patiently as Lawrence began wiping off your face, using a familiar napkin that he had this time, gotten a little damp under the faucet. It was relaxing, like a little massage, and you found yourself getting a little drowsy from it, despite the chill of the water. 

“All done.” You gave a small squeak as Lawrence lifted you. No matter how many times he did it, it was always a shock. You had nothing to grip him with, no fingers to curl into his clothes, no limbs to wrap around him. You were completely at his mercy, he could so easily drop you. 

You evened your breathing though as he held you snugly against his chest, rubbing his cheek against yours, taking in your scent again. You could tell he was in a mood, one of his moods that would always end in the same thing. 

You wriggled in place as he sat down on the bed, the mattress sinking under your combined weight. You obediently moved your head as Lawrence moved down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and shoulder. His lips brushed against your pulse like a petal lost in the breeze, in contrast to his fingers, curled like the gnarled roots of an old tree gripping to the cliff it was perched on. Though in this case, that “cliff” was your hips. 

One of those hands eventually moved though, choosing to dance over the scarring of what was left of your legs. 

“Have you ever noticed…” He breathed quietly, tracing over the jagged uneven skin, “how when you’re injured… the surrounding area becomes so much more sensitive?” His tracing turned into slow strokes, and you found he was right. 

Each slight force of pressure sent tingles up your spine, and you bit down a moan as his hand warmed the area. 

“You’re hyper aware of any kind of sensation in the area…” He cupped the end of your thigh, circling his palm over it as if he were polishing it. You were so focused on his ministrations, how they sent hot flashes across your body, that you didn’t notice his spare hand sneaking down between your thighs. 

You let out a helpless mewl as he slid his hand over your underwear, pressing against your clit. 

“It feels similar, doesn’t it? The intensity of it.” He pressed, stroking over your folds at the same pace he did over the remainder of your leg. 

“Y-Yeah, it does…” You whispered, nodding. You could feel his erection, pressing through his sweats, against your back. Lawrence’s touch always got you aching for more so fast, you twisted around as best you could. 

“H-Hey, calm down, I’m sorry-” his apologies were cut off as you clumsily smashed your lips against his, writhing against him. You could feel yourself slipping off him, so your kissing became more fervent. Lawrence eventually came to his senses, shaking off the shock of your boldness, to grip your hips, pull you up his lap again, return your kisses. 

He wasn’t a very good kisser. He was nervous, never quite getting as into it as you would. He preferred his lips to be touching other parts of your body, such as your shoulders or stomach, rather than your lips. But he continued, and played along, because he knew you liked it. 

Distracted by kissing him, you barely noticed him grab your underwear, sliding them down with ease. You really wished you had hands, fingers, too curl into the waistband of his sweatpants, to pull his throbbing erection out with. To show him just how eager you were for him as well with your body language. 

Instead you were forced to let him lay you down on his bed, licking your lips as you stared up at him. Your arms instinctively moved to hug yourself as he pulled his sweatpants down, but the only thing that happened was the useless waving of your stumps. 

Stumps that before had the ability to hug someone, hold onto them, stroke their hair. Tears pricked at your eyes as you recalled again everything that you would never do again, what you would never be able to do for Lawrence. 

“Don’t cry…” Lawrence whispered, a hand reaching forward to stroke your face. He steadied your jerking movements with a hand on your thigh, spreading you open easily. 

Your eyes darted down to his cock, watching it twitch a little under your gaze. You figured what they said about tall men having bigger dicks had to be true, and even now, his size intimidated you. If you still had a forearm to use you’d insist on comparing the two. 

While his movements before were slow, meticulous, Lawrence always got impatient once he was finally out of his pants. He always felt more comfortable in less clothing, and him being more comfortable tended to lead to him being more frenzied. 

You bit your lip as he lined himself up, finding the right angle. He was panting softly, eyes squinted in concentration as he slid himself in. You were again reduced to small mewls, not wanting to startle him with a loud noise. Your eyebrows were furrowed as he pushed his way in, your walls flexing and pulsing around him. 

Getting used to his length always meant there was the first confusing, conflicting feelings of uncomfortable stretch, and how he’d rub against all your right spots. No matter how wet you were, it would always take a bit of time. 

Lawrence was fully hilted in you now, you could feel his pubic bone grind against your clit. He adored sinking himself all the way inside you and holding you in place, feeling your muscles twitch, the vibrations of your breathing and heart beating against his most intimate flesh. 

It always allowed you that precious time to get used to his length, shifting under him and moaning until- 

“L-Lawrence… p-please…” you began to beg for him to move. You never had to beg for long though, as much as you knew he enjoyed having power over you, you being dependent on him… You knew he’d always give in and give you what you wanted.

“Yes, of course.” he groaned, pulling himself out of your comfortable warm insides. He could never stay out for long though, snapping his hips forwards again to embed himself in again. 

You were at his mercy, no way to grab onto anything, as he quickly settled on his usual, fervent pace, pulling himself out nearly all the way before filling you up to the brim again. How his dick hit all the right places coming both in and out. 

Lawrence leaned against you, pinning your already mostly immobile body under him, moaning in your ear. 

“You’re so warm…” he groaned. “I can feel everything… the way your blood rushes through your veins and causes your flesh to swell, how soaking wet you are, all for me…” his words fell off into a groan as he gave a few harsher thrusts.

“You’re my own flower, I can unpeel your petals at anytime and make you bloom…” A hand dug into the back of your head and hair, pulling it up from the bed as you moaned. You were getting so close, wound up. 

“You’re such a tease, really… The way you coil up and contract… hiding yourself from me…” He was rambling now, something he usually did. And you were hooked onto his every word. 

“But I know you’re secrets… if I just… hit… the right… Spot…” You were shaking, panting, gasping for more. He was focused now, hitting your G-spot over and over again. Your stomach was tightening, a wave of emotions passing through you, thighs shaking, until-

“You’ll unfurl and show me your beauty…” he grunted, listening to you let out a cry of bliss, back arching to press against him while your head fell back against his grip, spreading yourself out for him. Lawrence managed a grin, his face soaked in sweat, before he hunched over, letting out a low moan. You felt his release spill inside you. 

You both stayed still for a moment, Lawrence liked staying inside as long as he could, feeling your walls contract around him as he grew soft. How he liked the feeling of pulling his limp cock out of your sensitive folds, how you always gave a small gasp as he came out with a small “pop”. 

“... I love you…” You mumbled softly, staring up at the ceiling as he buried his face back into your neck, planting those light kisses again. 

In your half awake state, you caught yourself thinking deeply again… Lawrence’s language equated you to a flower… You remember what he said once. 

Flowers are liars… They put on a colorful display to trick insects into helping them, either to reproduce or to eat. 

You were quickling nodding off, still feeling his lips on you, as they moved down to your collarbone. 

Was Lawrence letting himself be tricked by you? Or… was it more like a deer grazing in an open meadow. Your colorful display which helped you live, now letting the buck pick you out from the grass, devour you…

[soup-in-my-fly]

I just finished Fervent Care of Dying Things and BOYYYYY I am NOT ok

Also inspired some domestic ren x law fluff <3

(With accompanying lyrics from Dom andra by Kent)

Fic link

[rhysiewrites]

Fatal Attraction

Summary: Lawrence's latest captive escapes his binds. As Strade hovers above him, holding Lawrence's own garden shears in an iron grip, he can't seem to decide what he wants to do with him now.

Relationship: Lawrence Oleander/Strade

Word Count: 1.7k

Rating: Mature

A/N: i just wanted to write strade as the mc on lawrence's route lmao. hope its a decent read!

Read it on Ao3, if you prefer

Strade is above him.

It’s the first thing Lawrence registers when his eyes open.

Strade is out of the chair, and he’s above him.

His hair has fallen, framing his face as he looms over Lawrence, eyes wide and unblinking as he stares down at him. Red peeks at him from beneath the open button of Strade’s shirt, an uneven line traced by Lawrence’s finger, just above his collar bone. For just a moment, Lawrence is transfixed by the sight of him: raw, wild;

beautiful.

Strade looks so beautiful.

But he’s coming back to himself as the seconds tick by. Strade is out of the chair. Strade is in his bed. He shouldn’t be out of the chair. He shouldn’t be here, so close to Lawrence; straddling his hips and looking at him. Seeing him. He was supposed to listen. Not supposed to cause any trouble. Not be a problem.

Lawrence makes a move, attempting to sit up on his elbows. What he’s going to do, he doesn’t know; he doesn’t get far. Strade’s hand is planted firmly in the center of his chest, shoving him back down with a startling strength. “Don’t-,“ Strade growls down at him, sounding more animal than man for a moment. Lawrence’s heart flutters under his palm. He wonders if Strade can feel it. “-move. Stay right where you are. Or I don’t know what I’ll do to you.”

Strade’s other arm shakes for a moment, and Lawrence follows it down, eyes tracing the curve of flesh, the slight jut of bone at the wrist, then lower to the palm; the fingers. White knuckles curled around what Lawrence recognizes as the handle of his own gardening shears.

Fear. It prickles, cold at the base of his neck, spilling down his back as Lawrence looks back up at Strade’s face. He’s still staring at him.

“I should kill you,” Strade says before Lawrence can get a word out. “I want to. I want to watch you bleed; hear you scream. I want to tear you apart-,” 

It’s a threat. It should scare him, and it does, in a way. But the way Strade is looking at him now didn’t feel dangerous. 

Maybe.

Lawrence really can’t be sure; can’t trust himself to think clearly about this, because it was Strade. Because Strade looked beautiful. He still did, even now.

 “-wanted to since we met.”

Since they met. 

Lawrence remembers it briefly. 

The bar; his mandatory lunch break; too much noise. A man with bright eyes and a brighter smile pushing a drink into his hands, unperturbed by the way he’d huddled himself at a table in the corner, hood pulled up, staring at strangers for too long as they’d pass. An awkward introduction. A one-sided conversation. His heartbeat speeding up. Anxiety spiking. 

Too close, too loud, too much.

Lawrence getting up from his seat abruptly to leave.

The alley.

Footsteps.

Panic.

It blurs after that. He’s confused; afraid. Only gets flashes of a manic grin, or hands coming at him in the dark. Clarity returns once he’s standing above Strade; nose bloodied, unconscious on the pavement.

“I really-,” Strade leans down; closer, too close. Lawrence is brought back to the present. He can feel the heat of Strade’s breath.  “-hate being tied up, buddy.” He’s still holding the shears. Lawrence can feel the metal edge rub up against his waist when Strade moves.

Lawrence swallows. “I-…” he feels trapped, pinned beneath Strade’s intense brown eyes, seeming to shine gold in the light of the breaking dawn. “I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. But he’s not sorry, not really. He’d do it all again, to keep Strade looking at him like this.

Strade laughs, Lawrence thinks, sounding more like a shaky exhale than anything, but he smiles at him. Lawrence didn’t think he’d seen him smile since the bar. “There you are again. You’re being so unfair. What am I supposed to do with you?”

Lawrence doesn’t speak; can’t seem to find his voice again as Strade continues. “Lawrence…” he says it like a prayer, voice low, hushed, rougher than Lawrence remembers it being. He thinks, distantly, that might’ve been his fault. Memories bubble up again. Strade’s sleeve tearing in his grip and a roll of silver duct tape. 

Too loud, too loud, too loud. 

“Lawrence,” Strade says again. “Lawrence, Lawrence… You’re so interesting…” The shears are moving again, slow and deliberate this time as they slide upward along his waist. They come to a rest on his abdomen, cold and weighty. Strade’s fingers are still on the handle. Lawrence can feel his heart beat against his ribs. “I was going to take you for myself, you know. Dig into you, make you beg, cry, scream. Bleed you dry while I watched and listened to every little sound… Really get to know you, Lawrence,” he murmurs, eyes finally leaving his face. He looks down to his empty hand, palm still pressed flat against Lawrence’s chest. His fingers curl slowly, short nails biting at skin as they’re slowly dragged down, leaving white lines that quickly bloom red in their wake. “Cute, shy Lawrence.…” Strade looks back up to him again, “But you’re not who I thought, are you? Not at all.”

Strade’s words strike him, though it doesn’t feel like an accusation. The rage doesn’t come bubbling up to the surface like it might have otherwise. Strade doesn’t sound afraid, or disgusted. He isn’t staring at Lawrence like he’s a monster- a thing hiding away in the dark. He sounds entranced; fascinated, as if he’s never seen anything quite like him. Strade’s eyes bore into him still; Lawrence fidgets under the scrutiny, turning his face away in an attempt to alleviate the uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling of being seen. He’s still hyper-aware of the metal blades resting against his stomach, that Strade could kill him right now. That he’d said he wanted to.

But he didn’t. 

Why was he still alive?

Lawrence doesn’t have an answer for that. Strade’s still staring at him, he can feel it. Maybe he doesn’t have an answer either. Finally, he swallows the lump in his throat, and he speaks.

“You lied.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Strade blink at him, but he says nothing. Lawrence continues.

“You-… You’re not who you said you were,” Lawrence says. He looks back to Strade, who’s still watching intently, “You tried to hurt me. In the alley.”

Strade tips his head to one side, chestnut curls falling away from his face as he looks over Lawrence. “I did,” he replies. The side of his mouth twitches, slowly curving upward into a half-smile, “And you took me home. Why did you do that?”

Why? Lawrence furrows his brow. “I-… couldn’t just leave you there.”

“No? Why not?” Strade asks, making Lawrence’s gut twist. “A bad, bad man comes at you in a dark alley, tries to hurt you, but you knock him out. Most people would run away, call the police, maybe. But not you. No, no, cute, shy Lawrence… You brought the bad man home with you.” Strade’s eyes seem to shine as he continues, delighted by something that Lawrence can’t seem to understand.

“I-…”

He’s confused. He doesn’t like what Strade is saying; doesn’t want to think about what it might mean. Lawrence squirms minutely beneath him, overwhelmed with an urge to hide- or something worse, -but the cold steel of his garden shears keep him from moving too much.

“But, in a way, I think I’m glad you did,” Strade continues, almost to himself. Lawrence can’t conceal the look of shock that surely crosses his face when he does. He laughs again; low, dark, before leaning downward, that much closer to Lawrence’s face, “Well, if you hadn’t, I don’t think I would’ve ever known about this side of you...” Strade’s free hand moves, Lawrence can feel it, slipping downward along his chest, finding it’s way to Lawrence’s waist. “Just another pretty boy, all tied up on my basement floor. What a waste that would’ve been…” Strade leans even closer, so close Lawrence can’t see him anymore, he can only feel him; rough stubble brushing against his cheek, warm breath rushing past his ear. Lawrence can feel his face flushing in spite of himself. “I don’t want to give you up just yet, Lawrence…”

The sudden proximity, it’s almost too much. This feeling of another person above him, the heat, the weight, the movement, it leaves nothing to doubt. Strade is completely, unmistakably alive, and Lawrence doesn’t know how he should react. He feels teeth graze his jaw, and his arm comes up, pressing the back of his hand over his mouth to muffle the startled sound that threatens to escape in that moment. So many conflicting emotions are rushing through Lawrence’s head, now, he almost feels dizzy. Strade is a dangerous man. A dangerous man who wanted to hurt him, wanted to lock him away in a basement and torture him until his body finally gave out, like all organic things will in the end. 

Lawrence knew that. Knows that, still.

Strade still has gardening shears pressed up against his torso, a constant threat to keep Lawrence still; keep him compliant. Lawrence might’ve been angry, might’ve fought back, even, if it had been anyone else.

But it wasn’t. 

It was Strade.

And Strade is still so beautiful. 

Strade heaves a deep, self-satisfied sigh into his ear, and Lawrence fidgets again, fingers digging into the sheets below him in an attempt to keep still. He’s afraid- terrified of this, of what might happen next, even more than dying, but he tries anyway, because he likes Strade. He likes him so much, Lawrence doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s grown attached, like the suffocating vines of cuscuta gronovii invading delicate roots. He wonders, dazed, if Strade even realizes what he’s done to him.

The hand on Lawrence's waist slips lower, finding exposed hipbone just above loose sweatpants. Strade squeezes, and Lawrence jolts in place. He can feel the smile against his neck. Strade finally leans back, and Lawrence can see his face again, a deep flush had blossomed over his skin. “What do you say-..." The amber of Strade's eyes is reduced to a sliver behind dark pupils as he looks over Lawrence, tongue dragging across teeth, like the wolf who'd caught the rabbit.

 "-we get to know each other better, liebchen?”

[alemonyoyo]

Hey BTD Fandom. I understand that Derek/Lawrence isn't exactly a popular ship, but I think you'll like this nonetheless. It's like fucking both of them in an x reader at the SAME TIME. But it isn't.

Anyway, give it a chance or not. It's 3 chapters and I'm decently proud of it so I thought I'd post it here too. Do read tags before reading!

[sweetrottenendings]

"Budding Flowers"

Yeah i made a blog just to post Lawrence Oleander fanfiction and what. How do i make my blog look nice btw please help

MDNI !!!! this game series is not for u i pinkie promise u aren't missing out

-

Lawrence Oleander x GN!Reader

SFW, not much happenin tbh. 653 words.

-

The sun’s gentle light gleams in streaks throughout the store, illuminating each plant's colour in striking detail. From the common red rose, to the odd-looking bat flower, not a single one was left in the dark.  It was in moments like these that you truly felt at peace- at home. The silence, the colours and the smells. It was where you belonged. 

A sharp ding interrupts your peace, daring to shatter your dreamland. A scowl flits across your face before it settles- you have a job to do after all. Turning to the store’s entrance, you accidentally lock eyes with a customer. Blue captures your vision, a blistering sort of shade- hurts to look at for too long. The owner of said eyes, a tall- recluse looking man, flinches at your gaze and hurriedly scuttles into the store isles. You huff, stepping from your solitary spot to seek him out. Hopefully, your assistance will make him leave quicker.

You’re almost directly behind him as you watch his movements. His slumped form is currently looking at the Medinilla Magnifica- the Rose Grape in layman’s terms, a difficult plant to care for. It’s high maintenance, requiring a humidity of 90%- and no less! Along with its general temperature requirements, as well as its pickiness for remaining still. Like a child, but worse. He doesn’t seem fussed however, gently running his scarred hands along one on display. Not many are kept in store due to their maintenance, but there are plenty of seeds available. He picks up a pack, turning it around and seemingly reading its details. Putting a fake pep in your step, you finally stand by his side.

“Welcome!” You speak, a gentle dulcet tone lacing your voice. He jumps, nearly dropping the packet. “I see you’re interested in our Rose Grape flowers! Hard to look after, is that what you’re looking for?” Tilting your head cutely, hands clasped in front of your front- hopefully he couldn’t sense the distaste lingering. He stares at you with disgustingly wide eyes, taking a good minute to compose himself. When he finally speaks, you’re pleasantly surprised. His voice isn’t extremely deep, but it has a nice rasp and almost husky tone. “Yes, uh- I enjoy difficult plants…” He doesn’t elaborate, so you do it for him, “Ah! You must have experience then! Do you have a lot of plants at home? Maybe a garden even?” Another pause lingers as he finds his voice once more, this time with a smile gracing his lips. Cute.

He looks wistfully towards the display, “No garden, I live in an apartment- but I have a lot of plants. I love them, they need me- it’s nice.” odd statement, but you lean into it. “Plants are pretty delicate, we’re their life force after all- dictating if they live or die.” His eyes gain a shimmer at your words, and he stands up slightly straighter- excitement filtering into his voice. “Y-yeah, that’s true!...” The poor man can’t seem to find anything else to say, so you wrap up the interaction.

“So, anything else you’re after?” You pointedly look into his eyes this time, and watch him gulp. 

“Just- um- just a few things… I’ll be a moment.” You nod, swivelling away just to look back at him, “I’ll be at the checkout when you’re ready!” He doesn’t respond.

A short time later he floats to your desk, gently laying out his purchases in front of you. He fidgets with his fingers as you scan the items, his eyes lingering on your face. You read out the price, and he reaches to hand you cash. Your fingertips graze and you only just notice the way he shivers, it’s almost endearing. “W-what’s your- uh- name?” He stammers, a sudden confidence bursting through his veins. You smile, give your name to him, and ask for his in return.

He smiles,

“Lawrence.”

Maybe you’ll see him again.