►My Book of Oneshots◄ *REQUESTS CLOSED*

Go Jetters Fandom Secret Santa 2021 [gift for Jemma]: Lars x Reader Oneshot

Content warnings: None

British English -> American English:

Pavement = Sidewalk

Biscuits = Cookies

Trousers = Pants

Bonnet = Hood

Aeroplane = Airplane

Reader Insert Keys:

Y/N = Your name

H/L = Hair length

H/C = Hair colour

You dashed down the street as if the FBI was chasing you, countless houses whizzing past you as the wind weaved its way in and out of your H/L, H/C hair. You scanned the passing residences, checking the numbers like some sort of QR code app, searching relentlessly until you found the right number.

You skidded to a halt by the entrance, then resumed your sprint to his house after opening the gate by the pavement*. You slammed your metaphorical brakes and stopped right by the front door, then rang the doorbell violently until his mother opened the window.

"Hello there Y/N!" she exclaimed cheerfully, glad that her son's best friend was on time for the play date. "Lars is just around the back! Do you want to come in and bring him some biscuits* I made?"

You nodded your head vigorously as she disappeared from the window, then opened the front door a few moments later, a beaming smile on her face evident as she stepped aside to let you in. You gratefully obeyed, scraping your shoes on the welcome mat before removing them and walking toward the kitchen, where a tray of newly baked chocolate chip biscuits* stood.

You ever-so-carefully pinched the two nearest corners of the tray and slowly dragged it forward, placing the palm of your hand underneath it once it was off the counter enough. You gradually glided across the kitchen toward the back door, stopping momentarily to allow Lars' mother to unlock and open it for you. You nodded your head in gratitude and, being careful of the small step down, advanced into the garden.

A small sandpit stood in the left corner, a few stray grains scattered across the grass that surrounded its wooden barrier. The rain shelter above it, which was made of corrugated metal, guarded the sandy area from the birds that would often try to poo in it. Right in the middle of the sandpit, a young dark-skinned boy about your age was constructing sculptures of famous landmarks in the sand. A jug of water sat next to him, presumably to wet the sand and ready for construction.

The boy in question wore a green polo shirt with a white plant picture sewn into the left sleeve, black baggy trousers* and formerly white socks, which had been tainted a soft yellow by the sand. His dark, almost afro hair hadn't managed to escape the grasp of the grainy, dirty yellow mess, sand sprinkled about it as if he were trying to imitate the night sky and its starry complexion.

His emerald green eyes focussed intently on his handiwork as he refined the shape of one particular sculpture, carefully poking tiny holes with a stick and sharpening the top of the structure. That is, until he stopped abruptly.

He sniffed the air, obviously discovering the presence of his mother's home-made biscuits*. He lifted his head, preparing for a dive into the kitchen, then jerked his head to a halt as soon as he saw you holding the tray. His toothy grin grew even bigger as he waved at you, then beckoned for you to come closer. You obeyed, setting down the tray on the wooden borders of the sandpit and cautiously stepping inside, being careful not to break any of Lars' projects.