#lawrence oleander x male reader

[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.

[avintmich]

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[shalotttower]

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[lord-of-the-harvest]

May i request a Lawrence Oleander or a Ren Hana x AFAB (Trans male) reader?

I can see what I can do Anon, can you be a little more specific? BTD/TPOF, smutt/fluff, any prompt in particular?

And tbh I do NOT know much about law, I mostly play for Ren! But I will go through his route soon! :))

[mlmdarkfiction]

I can and WILL get a dream cabin with my creepy tall love. Speaking of Lawrence, what’s some of your headcanons about him and how he and a boyfriend interact? (Either in the Lawrence kept you end or You Both Knew The Truth cause yknow) also this is the person who requested the skullfucking for Randall and WOW IT WAS SO GOOD!

I just want this skinny green bean of a man to be happy and cared for, is that too much to ask? also this is less headcanons and more of aaaa short story? because I couldn’t come up with headcanons in a way that actively expressed what I wanted.

ALSO HELL YEAH~ I’m glad you liked it. I had a lot of fun writing it actually so-

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17283383

Lawrence is a spooky bitch

[gvtted-ratz]

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[mlmdarkfiction]

Is the sentence thing still up? If it is;; What about "Stop biting your lips or I'll bite them instead" with Vincent and Lawrence? I mean, you can do it with whoever ya want if ya dont feel like this works. Feel free to change the wording bc im gay, tired and make no sense. - Eat My Ass

What a good prompt says me, a person who bites his lips a lot.

Lawrence:Your boyfriend is an anxious man, all the love in the world isn’t going to change that, and ultimately you’ve accepted it. Still you help him when you can. You try to stop him from biting his nails into a quick, or tugging his hair so hard he pulls some out. These attempts have been met with various success. Every time the two of you seem to make progress though, he just finds another, painful way to cope. 

You notice it when you bring him his tea, setting the mug down in front of him you turn, moving to gently rub his shoulders. “Babe- Are you anxious?”

He stiffens under the hold, but doesn’t push you away. Instead Lawrence gives you nothing, but a weak smile, confirming your thoughts.

“How can you tell?”

“You’re biting your lips.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Hey!” Immediately he’s gone back to biting. “Stop that! Seriously,” You whine in his ear, your head resting on his shoulder. “Stop biting your lips, or I’ll bite them instead.”

Without looking, you already know Lawrence’s face is bright red with embarrassment.

[mlmdarkfiction]

you posted something about Lawrence with a cannibal it makes me wonder how he feels about an s/o with autophagia!

This was interesting.TBH I feel like it’s something that at first would severely worry him, and then eventually he would start to get really really into lmao.

TW: Self Harm, Autophagia, Self Cannibalism

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17216171

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