foxaftershocks

[foxaftershocks]

Mine (Lars Pinfield x f!Reader)

Synopsis: You don't like the way some of Lars' fans talk about him.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, possessiveness, jealousy, marking, semi-public sex

AN: Another one for the Ghost Boy series. I'm taking a break after this one so I'll see you all when I'm back.

“Ohmigod, I can see him,”

You stood outside the fire station, waiting to get the moment the Ghostbusters emerged on camera. They were about to make a statement about the latest threat to New York City, one you’d written for Gary. It was always a toss up whether he would say what you wrote, but if you could live stream it, at least more people would see it.

“How is he hotter in person?”

There was a crowd around you, a group of young women standing close to you. You had to shift if the live was going to be worth it. But the crowd had packed itself pretty close and you didn’t think you were going to be able to find another spot. You sighed, lowering the phone.

“I know he’s a total nerd but I bet he’s a beast in the bedroom.”

Familiar eyes swept over the crowd from the side of the door. Lars was looking for you. That much was clear. You took the opportunity to watch him without him being aware of you. You did have to admit he was looking particularly handsome.

“No, he looks like he’d be really tender. Like it would be really emotional.”

His eyes snagged on you and you saw the way he brightened. He stood straighter and it almost looked as if he was going to take a step towards you. You smirked at him, a little wink making his cheeks flush, just enough for you to notice. He hated being in front of the camera and you knew he was only there today because you’d asked. The amount of power you wielded was intoxicating.

“I don’t care what he’s like. All I know is I want to climb that fine specimen of a man like a tree.”

Your teeth clenched. It would be stupid to complain about the comments from the women near you. You’d asked Lars to be there because of women like them, the kind who appreciated every time he was on the socials. That didn’t mean you liked hearing the way they spoke about your boyfriend.

You’d both agreed to keep it quiet at this point. Not that it was something to announce on the company’s social media. And Lars didn’t have social media of his own. But you knew you’d gained a few followers from the hopes of seeing Lars on there. They’d been disappointed, not wanting the speculation that was sometimes in the comment sections.

“I just want to run my fingers through his hair. It looks so soft.”

Gary stepped out of the door to a loud cheer. You raised the phone again, hoping the women would quieten down as he spoke. Lars straightened again, his eyes going to the other man, a barely contained curl of his upper lip just visible. Next lesson with him might be working on his poker face when in public.

“The first thing I want to say is that ghost got busted,” Gary said to wild cheers.

The women beside you were still whispering amongst themselves and you had to lower the phone. There was no chance you were going to be getting a clean shot. Rather than tune in to Gary reading from the speech you’d written, you turned your attention on Lars, standing in the background, hands clasped behind his back. With the sun shining down, he was so stupidly handsome.

“Do you think he’ll stick around when that guy is done talking?” one of the women asked, loud enough to interrupt your appreciation.

“If he does I’m definitely going to go shoot my shot,” another of them said.

You pressed your lips togethers. There was reading it on a screen and then there was listening to a group of women talk about hitting on your boyfriend. You weren’t usually a jealous person, but you’d never been with someone who got so much attention from other women. And looking at them, some of them were stupidly pretty.

He caught your eye again. You wrinkled your nose at him, watching the way a slow smile spread over his face. He could be so stoic sometimes it was gratifying to watch him with his heart on his sleeve when it came to you.

“Ohmigod, he’s totally smiling at me.”

“Duh, you’re like so pretty. I bet he wants you to come talk to him afterwards.”

“Ohmigod, no way, I can’t.”

“If you don’t I will.”

And there was the kicker. You rolled your eyes, looking down at your phone. The response online to the speech was going well, a few people live tweeting about it from fan accounts. When you looked up, the smile had slipped from Lars’ face, instead watching you with more interest than he should have. You pointed over to Gary, waiting for his attention to shift.

Good boy.

The tension kept ratcheting up the longer you listened to the women beside you. Giggling and laughing, they were obviously trying to get Lars’ attention. Flicking hair and batted eyelashes. Your jaw was clenching and you were just counting down the seconds that you could get Lars alone.

“Thanks guys,” Gary said, folding the paper you’d given him, shoving it in his pocket with an affable smile.

He turned, reentering the fire station. Lars lingered, his wandering back towards you. You flinched as the girl immediately to your right screamed his name. His attention shifted, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. The women surged forward, surrounding him before you could even take a step. With a small sigh, you waited long enough to see Lars shrug them off before entering the firehouse himself, almost scared of them. Their disappointment shouldn’t have made you feel better, and yet when you slipped inside there was a sense of smugness within you.

He was loitering in the entrance, watching for your return. You didn’t bother saying anything, grabbing his hand and dragging him away. He went with you willingly, not questioning you as you took the stairs down towards the containment unit.

“Are we filming something, love?” he asked.

“Not unless you’re looking for a scandal,” you replied.

You pushed him against the wall beside the stairs. The way he was looking at you was bemused, like he couldn’t figure out what you were doing but was more than willing to participate. Keeping him pinned there, you pushed up onto your tiptoes, lips grazing against his. You nipped at his lower lip before drawing back.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Proving a point,” you replied.

Not to those silly little girls. Mainly to yourself. And to him a little bit. But mostly to yourself.

Your hands slid up his body, fingers delving into his hair. You tugged him down, kissing him roughly. His hands were warm as they closed over your hips, holding on tight enough that he might be leaving bruises to be found later. He groaned into your mouth as you tugged on his hair, pulling it harder than you ever had before. You knew you were being a touch too rough with him but you wanted to leave your mark.

Your lips trailed down, finding that spot behind his jaw that was soft and vulnerable. You dragged your teeth over it, feeling the rumble in his chest as he moaned. Your tongue soothed over his skin. With the fingers still in his blond hair, you tugged his head to the side. Your lips took their time trailing down his neck until you came to his pulse point.

Your teeth sunk in. He yelped but didn’t push you away. You sucked at his skin, wanting to bruise him, to see your mark left on him. You wanted those girls to see he wasn’t available for their fantasies since he was too busy fulfilling yours.

“Fuck, love,” he groaned, but his hands were tight on you and you could feel his interest growing against your hip.

Your hands skimmed down his body, not bothering to take your time. You wanted him, no two ways about it. And you were going to have him.

Deft fingers found their way through buttons, seeking out warm skin to touch and taste. Your tongue was tasting the salt on his skin as he groaned, leaning back against the wall as if he needed it to hold him up. It was once your hands had slipped past the waistband of his trousers that he seemed to remember where he was.

“Love, they’re all just upstairs,” he said.

“So?” you asked, lips brushing over the beautifully developing bruise on his pale skin.

“Someone could walk in on us,” he said.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Your hand curled around his length, hot and heavy in your hand.

“No,” he hissed.

“Then be good and quiet and I’ll make sure it’s worth it,” you said.

He nodded his head, enthusiastic as you began to slowly drag your hand along his length. Pushing up, you kissed him again, wanting the taste of him on your tongue. He whined into your mouth as your hand continued to work him, feeling all the ways he was growing in your touch. Twisting your wrist, you massaged his tip, feeling his hips thrust into your hand.

“You like that, huh, ghost boy,” you said, drawing back so you could watch the way his face contorted in pleasure.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “fuck.”

You were being almost lazy about it, taking your time as you worked him over. The feeling of him in your hand, the weight of him, it was one you’d never grow tired of. His cheeks were flushing, a pretty pink colour, eyes blowing wide, the blue a thin ring surrounding his dark pupils. He was watching you from under hooded lids, lips parted as his breathing came heavier.

“Don’t want anyone else like this, do you?” you asked, increasing your pace.

“No,” he groaned, head falling forward, seeking you out.

His lips were desperate when they met yours, hands grasping you, holding on as you stroked him. Large hands on your ass, tugging you closer while your hand was on him, hips pressing into your touch.

“No one else makes you feel this good,” you told him, right as you did that thing that always made his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“No,” he agreed, “no one else.”

The weight of him in your hands, soft skin and hard length smeared with pre-cum, thumb swirling over the head. All of it was heady when mingled with the power you had over him in that moment. You paused a moment, listening to the sound of people moving upstairs. His tiny whine was addictive.

You were slow to start up again, hips rutting into your hand, your lips finding a place on his throat. He was doing so well, keeping quiet, the flush on his skin and his heavy breathing the only indication he was growing close. Your tongue licked a long strip up his throat, tasting the salt on his skin and your teeth nipped at him. His fingers were digging into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he tried to keep quiet.

You could tell when he began to get close, the small noises in your ear growing more desperate hips more insistent as he pumped into your hand. Pulling him into a kiss, you did that thing again, feeling his whole body shudder. Warmth spilled over your hand, hips stuttering, your name a soft groan in your ear.

Pulling your hand out of his trousers, you licked his cum from your skin. The way he watched your tongue was gratifying in its own way. You grinned up at him, feeling so much better.

“Fuck, darling,” he said when he caught his breath again, “I don’t know what came over you but I’m loving it.”

“Those girls…” You shook your head, “I know it’s silly but something about listening to them talk about you…”

“I thought you liked that women found me attractive. That it was good for the business,” he said, doing up his belt.

“Sure but this was in person and they were planning on shooting their shots and they kept talking about what you’re like in bed and I don’t know. It just hit different,” you said.

“Were you jealous?”

Large hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you back towards him. He looked down at you, quirking one eyebrow up but the satisfied look on his face ruining the entire effect.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, “but you’re mine. And I know no one knows but I guess I don’t like it when they hit on you.”

“They try and hit on me online,” he said.

“Yeah but you’re not the one reading the comments. I am. So it’s fine,” you said, “it just got to me today, I guess.”

He lent down, lips findings yours in a soft kiss. You could feel it, the way he loved you, just from how careful he was being with you. Drawing back, he pushed some hair behind your ear.

“You’re the only one for me, love,” he said.

“I know, ghost boy,” you replied, “I was just being silly.”

“Well, any time you decide to be silly, my body is willing and ready for you to work it out on,” he said.

You laughed, falling forward until your face was buried in his chest and his arms were around you. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his own puff of laughter warming you up from the inside out.

“We should probably get back to work,” you mumbled, muffled in the material of his shirt.

“Must we?” he asked.

“You don’t want to go run some tests on the latest ghost?” you asked.

You knew his answer before he said it. He’d been talking about getting his hands on the latest ghost the entire night before. He threaded his fingers through yours, tugging you towards the stairs.

“This might be the best day ever,” he said to you over his shoulder.

You laughed again, letting him drag you to the car so you could return to the lab. Your heart had returned to normal and it was easier to shrug off the comments from those girls. As if he would ever want them when you made him this happy.

[foxaftershocks]

saw that you were asking for lars request so here my like idea, like oldest Spengler Daughter (she’s an adult trust chat) like needs to move out of the firehouse and get her own place and lars like offered his place until she finds a permanent place but eventually without even knowing they kinda just become roommates until one of them confesses is when that becomes official? if you can’t write for this i understand it’s just an idea

Here you go Anon!

“I can’t stay there anymore,” you said, stabbing at the buttons on the computer in front of you, “I love my family but they’re driving me crazy.”

Lars looked up. He’d only been half listening as you talked, focused on extracting the ghosts from his collection of items. You weren’t looking at him either, your glare levelled at the screen even as you sighed. He had to admit, you certainly looked frazzled, dark circles under your eyes and a weary set to your shoulders.

“Well, if you need, you can stay with me until you find your own place,” he offered.

He should have thought about it before letting the words come out of his mouth. You perked up, finally looking at him over the top of the computer screen. The hope in your eyes made his lips pull up into a smile and he realised he’d let you move in with him despite knowing it might kill him. He could already see the torture he was in for and yet he thought it might be worth it if you kept smiling like that.

He hated being in love with you when you could never love him back.

“You’d really let me do that?” you asked.

“Sure.” He shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Oh my god,” you squealed, jumping up from your chair, “thank you thank you thank you.”

You flung your arms around his body and he knew you had no idea the turmoil it caused him. On the one hand, feeling you there in his arms was like heaven, on the other, it was like being Tantalus, so close to what he wanted but forever out of reach.

“I’ll help you move this weekend if you want,” he said, sounding gruffer than usual.

“You are the best man I know, Lars Pinfield,” you said.

He wore that compliment for the rest of the day.

On Saturday morning he pulled up out the front of the fire house in his beat up Toyota, trepidation in his heart. It was easy enough to walk in as a member of the team. You were in the kitchen, feet kicking as you sat at the bench while Gary was busy cooking up something that smelt sugary. You brightened when you saw him, perking up.

“You’re here,” you said. Gary turned, raising his eyebrows at him.

“I said I would be,” he replied.

“You sticking around for pancakes?” Gary asked, “they’re chocolate chip.”

His stomach grumbled.

“Please stay,” you said, reaching out a hand to him, tugging on it until he was taking a seat in stool beside you.

“Do you have much to bring down to my car?” he asked.

“Nah, us Spenglers travel light,” you replied, flashing him a bright smile, “the joys of constantly moving.”

“Can you get your sister?” Gary asked.

“PHOEBE!” you shouted towards the staircase.

Lars winced, pressing a hand to the ear closest to you.

“Well, I could have done that,” Gary said, not even slightly phased by it. Then again, he’d been living with you long enough to grow used to it.

“Sorry,” you said to him.

He shrugged it off, fingers twisting together on the bench in front of him. You placed your hands over his, your skin warm against his and butterflies bursting in flight in his stomach. You weren’t even looking at him, already in conversation with Gary about the latest capture. It was hard to know if you were aware of the effect you had on him, but he guessed not.

If the chaos of the pancake brunch was anything to go by, he could understand why you’d been desperate to move out. It was lovely and warm but loud and frantic and while there was so much love it was also overwhelming. Good in small doses but all the time he could see why you needed a break.

The actual process of moving your things into his car took one trip, a couple of boxes, a few bags, not much at all really. You were bright, chattering to him about the book you’d stayed up too late reading the night before and the explosion that came from Phoebe’s room at 2am. He enjoyed the patter, the rhythm of your speech, the way you were so invested in everything you talked about.

And then you were in his flat, looking at all the things he owned. You’d put your bags down on his second hand couch, looking at the photos he had up. He bit back the impulse to ask what you thought about it, wanting to hear what you were thinking and yet equally terrified to hear what you were thinking too. You’d softened, picking up a picture of him with his mother and sister from his last trip home for the holidays, your smile so pretty.

“I’ve uh… I’ve set up the spare room for you. It’s only a pull out couch because I used to use it as a workshop but the door closes so you’ll have your privacy,” he said.

“You’re the best,” you said, turning your attention back on him, “I promise I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

He wanted to tell you not to hurry on his account. But then he thought about all the ways living with you was going to wreck him and he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Despite your promises, you were still there three months later.

You were on the old couch in nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of shorts when he rose one Sunday morning. Running his hand through his hair, he paused in the doorway of his room. The thoughts running through his head were not appropriate but he couldn’t stop staring at all the skin on display, your legs stretching out over the cushions. You were scrolling through your phone, a cup of tea clutched in one hand, the steam rising towards your parted lips.

“Morning,” he muttered, shuffling past you.

You looked up, hair tumbling over your shoulders, a smile ready for him. In his own pyjama pants and the old t-shirt from his university days, he felt self conscious. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him so dressed down, but when you were splayed on the couch looking like you’d stepped right out of his dreams it was hard not to feel self conscious.

“Your tea is steeping,” you said, not even looking up, “hey, what do you think about Queens?”

“For what?” he asked.

“As a neighbourhood to live in,” you replied, “because there’s this place that feels like it’s too good to be true.”

“It probably is then,” he said with a small shrug.

“Yeah,” you sighed.

“Rats and awful neighbours and mold,” he said, tipping sugar into the hot mug.

“And the commute to work,” you groaned.

“Best to just stay here,” he said.

“I promise, I really will get out of your hair soon,” you said.

It was like an ongoing joke between the two of you now. You shifted your legs so he could sit on the other end of the sofa and then immediately placed your feet into his lap. He froze, not quite sure what to do. You still weren’t even looking at him, so easy and free around him. It baffled his mind that you didn’t feel the tension. But of course you didn’t. You weren’t in love with him.

“Do you have any plans today?” you asked, eyes finally flicking up to him.

“Going into the lab?” he said, more of a question than a statement.

“Oh come on, it’s the weekend, Pinfield, let’s do something fun,” you said.

“Such as?”

His hand came down, landing on your ankle, soft skin warm against the palm of his hand. You grinned, slow and lazy, raising the mug to your lips. He felt his breath catch, wondering if you knew exactly how temping you were. He doubted it, and yet there was a twinkle in your eye that meant he couldn’t be sure.

“We could go have a picnic in the park,” you suggested.

He looked to the window, rain lashing the glass. When he turned back, your smile had turned indulgent.

“Alright, maybe not in the park. But we could have one inside,” you said.

“You really want to have a picnic?” he asked.

“You can’t work 24/7. Have some fun with me, Lars.”

Oh god, you were dangerous when you looked at him like that. All hopeful and mischievous and naughty. Like you were convincing him to do something he shouldn’t do. But like he would enjoy it if he agreed. You lent towards him, waiting for his answer.

“And what would we eat on this picnic?” he asked, shifting closer.

“All kinds. I’ll make you a cake,” you offered.

“A cake? Well, how can I say no to that,” he said.

“You can’t,” you replied, sliding closer.

His hand was slipping further up your leg, feeling more skin and you were only pushing into his touch. It was a specific form of torture, being given what he wanted and yet not what he wanted at all.

“I better get on it if I have to make a cake for lunch,” you said.

Your legs slipped from under his hand as you stood and he felt bereft. Then he cursed himself, trying to get his head screwed back on. He didn’t even notice as you slipped into the bathroom, face buried in his cup of tea to avoid staring at you.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bother looking out as he crossed the living room. The door for the bathroom was flung open and a warm body ran into his. Catching you around the waist, he found himself stumbling back, tripping over his own feet and landing with a hard oof on the ground. Your weight pressed down on him and he blinked, wondering if he’d hit his head hard enough to begin hallucinating. It certainly felt like he might be with every curve of your body pressed against his.

“Shit, Lars, are you okay?”

You lifted off him, sitting just enough to look down at him. His eyes slammed shut the moment he realised you were in nothing but a towel, clasping in your hand to keep it from falling open and giving him the kind of eyeful that would sustain his fantasies for a good long while. A warm hand cupped his cheek and he let out a pained moan. You had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Lars, please say something so I know I didn’t kill you.” You sounded worried, more worried than you should have.

“I’m okay,” he muttered.

He squinted his eyes open, finding your face still way too close, able to count the freckles that dusted your nose and the eyelashes that framed your beautiful eyes. Your lips pulled up into a smile and he watched a stray water droplet slide over the curve of your shoulder before landing on his shirt, darkening the material. The scent of your soap clung to your skin and he was close enough to be enveloped in it, his head spinning.

Just the feeling of you on top of him was waking him up better than the planned shower would. Or rather, a certain part of his anatomy was waking up.

He pushed you off his body, eyes widening and shame curling in his stomach. He left you there on the floor, not looking back as he locked himself away in the bathroom. Almost hyperventilating, he sunk onto the closed toilet, burying his head in his hands.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” you called.

“Fine,” he called back, strangled and desperate, needing you to leave him alone. He could still feel the ghost of your body pressing against his.

You must have sensed it because you left him alone, not trying to check in again. He sat there long enough for his prick to lose interest before having the coldest shower of his life. Not looking for a repeat of earlier, he climbed back into his pyjamas before slinking into his room to get dressed properly. Jeans and t-shirt. Nice enough. Casual enough. You might not even make fun of him for it.

The first weekend you’d been in his home he’d come out in the clothes he would normally wear to work, tie included. You’d teased him about it but with the kind of fond smile that meant he didn’t care so much. At some point he’d slipped back into how he acted usually at home, despite your continued presence. It was nice. Too nice. It was the highway to heartbreak.

“I’m making chocolate. I hope that’s okay. Everyone loves chocolate cake, right?”

He hadn’t realised you were in the kitchen, back in what looked suspiciously like one of his jumpers and another pair of shorts. You were really killing him. You must know exactly what it was doing to him. You had to. It was beyond a coincidence.

“Chocolate is good,” he replied.

“Good,” you said, smiling at him with a radiance he found spellbinding.

He sat on the couch again, laptop balanced on his knees, trying to ignore the sound of you in the kitchen. If he didn’t he’d just end up watching you and he was aware enough to know that would be considered a level of creepy that was unacceptable. Although then maybe you’d move out sooner and he could go back to not being on edge all the time.

And ruin any chance he might have with you. Which he was growing more certain was nonexistent anyway. But it was the principle of the thing.

“Hey, can you get this for me? I’m not tall enough.”

You were looking at something on the top shelf of the kitchen, both hands on your hips, a smudge of flour on your cheek. He wanted to wipe it off, fingers itching to touch the apple of your cheek.

“Sure.”

Stretching up, he grasped the baking soda, t-shirt riding up as he did. Settling back, he turned to hand it to you, noticing the way your eyes flicked away from him, teeth sunk into your bottom lip. His breath caught, wondering what it would be like to do the same to you, to bite down on that full lower lip, to tug on it, to listen to your breath hitch as he did. Shaking his head, he placed the baking soda down on the counter.

“I’m going to run to the shops,” he said, needing a moment of escape. Clearly the day was doing something to him, “do you need anything?”

“Fresh strawberries, if they have any,” you replied.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“You manage it and I’ll let you lick the spoon.” You winked at him.

Shrugging into a waterproof coat, he grabbed his umbrella and keys and left you to your baking in the flat. The cold air was like slap in the face, waking him up from the dreamy quality that had come over his home. He didn’t know what it was about you, but it made him lose sense of himself, drifting into you like a blackhole, wanting more than he could ever rightly expect to receive. You weren’t his to want.

And yet…

The shop was mostly empty, leaving him to his thoughts as he stalked the aisles. He had to stop focusing on you, had to get over his crush or else he might be buried by it. Just because you were beautiful and funny and so smart, he had no right to think of you the way he did. He had to stop or it would destroy him.

Returning back to the flat, the smell coming from inside was enough to make his mouth water. He shucked off the cart and hung it up, leaving the umbrella by the door to dry. You brightened as he slid a punnet of strawberries across the counter.

“You’re amazing,” you said and for a moment he thought you might fling your arms around him again.

That might undo him.

“You’ve set up a whole picnic in here,” he said, looking over the living space.

A blanket was spread over the floor, cushions scattered over it, the coffee table pushed to the side. The twinkle lights you’d strung up one weekend just until you moved out were on, reflecting in the window where the sky outside was darkening. A storm was on the way.

“We said we were having an indoor picnic,” you replied, “so I got us ready for an indoor picnic.”

“Right,” he said.

“And I’ve even got the food ready. The cake will be a bit longer and then it has to cool before I can ice it, but we can eat now.”

You moved around the counter on bare feet, your smile enticing as you stepped onto the blanket. He followed, knowing he always would when you were looking at him that way. He was so far gone for you.

You sat down, patting the spot next to you for him to join you. He was slow to lower himself beside you, worried about being close enough to touch.

“I got peanut butter cups from my secret stash for you,” you said.

His heart squeezed painfully.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Are you okay? You seem off,” you said, shuffling closer.

“Fine,” he replied, tightly.

“Have a peanut butter cup.”

Your fingers pressed one to his mouth and he couldn’t say no. Your fingertips brushed his lips and his eyes squeezed closed. And then warm breath puffed against his mouth and his eyes blinked open and you were right there.

“What are you…” he tried to ask.

“Hang on a moment,” you murmured.

Your lips brushed his and he felt the need to pinch himself. He didn’t let himself touch you, worried this was some kind of hallucination from wishing too hard. You drew back and he let himself look at you. There was such trepidation in your expression, worry like you’d done something wrong.

What was he going to do other than reach out and pull you back to him and kiss you like his life depended on it?

You climbed into his lap, knees falling either side of his hips. His hands were on the bare skin of your thighs, fingers digging in as your tongue licked into his mouth, tasting of chocolate and sugar and everything good in the world. He groaned, and your fingers had tangled in his hair and you were everywhere and everything and every dream come true.

“Lars,” you moaned into his mouth and he could hear you say his name over and over again, on repeat, for the rest of his life.

“Wanted this for so long,” you mumbled, pressing open mouthed kisses down the column of his neck.

His head fell back and all he could do was feel the soft skin under his palms and the warmth of your mouth on his neck and the press of your curves against him. He didn’t know what to do with himself with a lapful of you.

“Fuck,” he groaned as you sucked on his skin, teeth nipping at his pulse point.

“Tell me you want this too,” you said into his skin.

“I’ve wanted this since the moment we met,” he said, head tipping back to give you more room.

You kissed him again, and he could only submit to you, thankful he got to be on the receiving end of your kisses. Your fingers tugged on his hair and he groaned, hands sliding up your legs, around your hips, to press into your spine. Your body was held tight against his, and he could just drown in you.

An alarm went off and then he was cold, lap empty of you as you were walking to the kitchen, lips kiss stung and warm skin begging for his hands again. He watched the sway of your hips, trying to cool off but not able to when you looked so delicious. You bent at the waist, pulling the cake out of the oven, and he felt dirty watching you and yet not able to stop himself. You turned, catching him and a slow smile spread over your face.

“Are you checking me out?” you asked, putting the cake down on the cooling rack.

“Yes.” He had no interest in lying.

“Naughty boy,” you said and he liked the sound of it on your tongue.

You lowered yourself into his lap again, arms twining around his neck as his curled around your waist. He loved the feeling of your weight on top of him, a lapful of you like heaven.

“Have you really wanted this since we met?” you asked, not drawing closer to kiss him again much to his disappointment.

“Of course,” he said, “you’re the girl of my dreams.”

“Stop,” you said, shoving at his chest, “really?”

“I think if I wrote a list of everything I’d want in my perfect woman, you’d have all of them,” he said.

“You think you’re so smooth, don’t you,” you laughed.

“I’m just trying to be honest,” he said,

“I can’t believe you offered to let me stay with you,” you said, “I mean, if you already felt this way it must have sucked for you. Just this morning…”

“Why do you think I locked myself in the bathroom for so long,” he replied.

“Were you jerking off?” A delighted laugh fell from your lips even as his cheeks flushed.

“No!” You seemed to find joy in his embarrassment, “not that time.”

“Naughty boy,” you murmured again, leaning forward to kiss him, your tongue in his mouth.

“What about you?” he asked when he came up for air, “I’ve spilled my secrets.”

“Oh I jerk off to thoughts of you all the time,” you said.

He liked the thought of that a lot.

“Do you remember that day in the lab where you looked over my shoulder and corrected my math?” you asked.

“Which time?”

“Asshole.” You swatted at his chest again.

“I do,” he replied, softening at your smile.

“I’ve been falling for you ever since,” you said, “you were so smart. It made me tingly all over.”

“You like when I show off my intelligence?” he asked.

“It’s pretty sexy,” you said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, leaning up to kiss you again.

He was never going to grow tired of your taste.

“Stop looking for a new place,” he mumbled into your mouth, wanting you on tap all day every day.

“Seriously?” You drew back, refusing to let him kiss you again.

“You already live here. Let’s be honest, this is your home,” he said, “you moved in and I don’t want you to move out.”

“That’s moving pretty fast,” you said.

“We did things backwards. Who cares? Stay. Please. Say you’ll stay.” He knew he was begging but the thought of not having you there made the entire flat feel less like home.

“Alright. We’ll make it official,” you said.

You sealed the deal with a kiss.

[foxaftershocks]

what’re some of your upcoming works?

I have a request coming and another installment of the Ghost Boy series but then I think I'm going to take a bit of a break

[foxaftershocks]

thank you for keeping the lars fandom alive!! i look forward to all your works, you’re an amazing writer who encapsulates both him and the reader perfectly! <3

Aw, thank you so much!

[foxaftershocks]

Heyyy first off I just want to say I’ve read all your Lars x reader content and I’m obsessed omg you are so talented!!

If you’re still happy to take requests… :)

I can’t stop thinking about a ball/fancy dinner and dance type situation with Lars and the reader and probs the rest of the Ghostbusters. This would be pre-love confession and Lars is all smitten cuz the reader’s in a pretty ballgown or something but doesn’t know how to tell her. And then because I’m a wh0re for jealous Lars maybe reader dances with someone else and it fuels him to confess later on?

Hehehehe I hope that all makes sense!! Thank you so much <333

Here you go! I hope it was worth waiting for.

“I don’t know about this.”

You tugged on your skirt as you descended the staircase, the fabric silk, your leg able to move through the high slit up your thigh. You were watching your feet, your heels sky high, terrified of falling on your face after tripping, a twisted ankle and embarrassment painting your cheeks pink. your hair was swept up off your neck, a few strands falling around your face, curled and pretty and nothing like you usually looked. Painted lips and painted skin, you felt like a trussed up clown and yet when you’d looked in the mirror you’d felt a sense of wonder at your own reflection.

“You look beautiful, stop fussing,” Callie said, not even looking at you as she straightened Gary’s bowtie.

Phoebe had her nose wrinkled, tugging on the cuff of her suit. Trevor was looking at his reflection in the side mirror of the echto-1, fiddling with his hair as Lucky shoved at his shoulder. Lars was standing off to one side and when you looked up upon reaching the bottom of the stairs you felt your breath catch. His gaze swept over you, fingers frozen on the bridge of his nose as he adjusted his glasses, mouth falling open. A wave of self consciousness went through you and you smoothed your hand over your skirt again.

“How do I look?” you asked him, voice soft, unsure of his answer.

“You look… I mean, you’re so… You’re…. You’re…”

“Come on you lot, we’re running late,” Callie said, interrupting before he could get a single sentence out, “in the car. Now.”

It was a shuffle to get everyone into the car. Your thigh was pressed against Lars, shoved into the car together, pinned between him and Phoebe. Lucky and Trevor were together, whispering together, and you were trying to hard to not fiddle with your skirt anymore. Darting a glance up, Lars eyes swept away from you, looking out the window as the city began to rush past.

“Now, you’re all to be on your best behaviour,” Callie said, turning to look at them, “the mayor will be there and we don’t need him getting any more reasons to hate us.”

“He doesn’t hate us,” Trevor said, “we have his full support. He said so. Can’t go back on it when it was on every news channel.”

“Oh to have such innocence,” Lucky said, ruffling his hair.

He shoved at her, going back to fixing it in some kind of order. Your lips pulled up in a smile and you felt a pinky finger brush over your thigh. Your eyes darted up, find Lars looking down at you with a twinkle in his eyes. His own lips were pressed together and you knew he was holding back some kind of snarky comment. You lent into him, shoulder to shoulder, his warmth seeping into yours.

The car pulled up outside the venue, coming to an abrupt stop. The door opened and he slid out, offering you a hand, helping you out in your tight dress and your stupid heels. You held on, looking up at the beautiful building, lit up as other well dressed people streamed up the steps.

“Alright, you lot,” Callie said, striding up the stairs, “remember…”

“Best behaviour,” Phoebe muttered, moving past you.

Lars hand in your was warm and steady, helping you as you took slow steps towards the door. You wouldn’t have agreed to be there if the entire team hadn’t been expected to make an appearance. Phoebe wouldn’t have either if her complaints were anything to go by, but there was something about seeing Lars in his tux. You wound your arm through his, letting him escort you into the event.

The ballroom was beautiful, some of New York’s richest people collected together to celebrate the continued thriving of the city. If you hadn’t felt out of place on the steps outside, being surrounded by such juggernauts of industry in the city certainly did. Your fingers tightened around Lars’ arm, anxiety building. You weren’t meant to be there.

Unfortunately, you were swept through into the crowd on Lars’ arm, surrounded by the rest of the team.

Sitting at the table, it was clear your invitation had come through gritted teeth from the mayor. You were on your own, shoved into a far corner, the lighting leaving you in shadows and right under a vent blasting cool air down on your team. You shivered, not wearing something conducive to such a cold temperature. Your dress was built to be beautiful, not practical.

“What do you think this is?” you asked Lars, looking down at the soup in front of you.

“Green,” he replied.

“And cold,” you said, picking up your spoon.

“At least it isn’t foam,” he said.

“I’m sure we’ll see that later. The people are demanding it. Rich people haven’t discovered solid food yet. Kind of like babies.”

His eyes cut over to you and you could see the way his lips were tugging up at the corners. You offered your own smile to him, leaning into his warmth. You loved the way his lips formed words, vowels and consonants sounding so much better on his tongue. His eyes dipped down, taking you in as your shoulder found his, resting there the way it had so many times before during late nights in the lab, working side by side in companionable silence.

“Oh look,” you said as the next course was placed in front of you, “foam.”

“Filling,” he said, scooping some up.

“At least I won’t burst out of this dress,” you said, expecting to hear his chuckle but instead finding his eyes flicking over you then back to his plate. You thought in better light his cheeks might be a delicate pink but you couldn’t be sure in the shadows.

You managed to get through the remaining courses, wondering how rich people lived. You weren’t looking for more food, the corset top of your dress tight enough to make that feel dangerous, but for any normal person it was enough to leave you wanting. Was that the secret? Rich people were always just hungry? You were never going to find out.

“I’m going to the bar,” you said when it became clear that the left over awkwardness from dinner wasn’t dissipating, “it is open, right?”

“Best behaviour,” Callie said, catching your arm as you shuffled around the table.

“I won’t get drunk,” you replied with a roll of your eyes, “I promise.”

Music was just starting up as you reached the bar, strings striking a chord. Securing your glass of wine, you stepped aside, watching as some took the floor, the ballroom clear enough for actual dancing. You hadn’t been expecting that, despite the invitation mentioning dancing. So rarely was there actually dancing.

Money seemed to offer everything.

You knew the wine you were drinking was better than the stuff you bought from the shop on the corner of your block. It was richer and more full bodied and yet you weren’t sure it was worth the hike in price. Either would make you feel warm and loosen you up enough to consider enjoying the evening.

You watched the swirling couples on the floor, most older than you, clearly the kind of people who would drop thousands of dollars to sponsor the ballet or a museum. They might have entire wings named after them for the generous donations they gave. All you did was chase ghosts and build silly little machines to trap them. They would be horrified if they saw how you usually looked in your daily life.

“I always find these kinds of event stifling.”

You looked up, a tall man having sidled up beside you, watching the dancing couples as well. His sharp jawline and dark hair led you to believe he was handsome. Strong eyebrows and piercing blue eyes when he looked down at you, full lips pulling up in a small smile, just enough stubble on his chin to make you think he didn’t want to look as if he was trying too hard.

“It might just be that I have a habit of making my tie too tight,” he said, “Dylan Wilson.”

You murmured your own name in reply as he held out a hand to you to shake.

“You’re one of the Ghostbusters, right? I saw you guys get that thing in Central Park,” he said, “it was very impressive.”

“All in a day’s work,” you replied, never quite sure how to take compliments about your work.

You went back to watching the dancers in silence. The more of the wine you drank, the more you felt a yearning to be out there, moving to the music too. Only you weren’t sure you knew how to dance to that kind of music. Couples swept past, circling the dance floor.

“Would you like to dance?” Dylan asked you.

“Oh, I’m not sure that I…” You didn’t want to admit that you weren’t quite high class enough to know how to dance.

“I promise I won’t step on your toes or let you fall,” he said, offering his hand again.

You hesitated another moment before sliding your hand into his. Placing your almost empty glass of wine down on the closest surface, you let him guide you onto the floor. His hand landed on your back, your’s resting on his shoulder. Thinking too hard about your movements, you were stiff and stumbling, overthinking every single thing.

“Am I making you nervous?” he asked.

You dragged your gaze up from your feet to his face, finding amusement dancing in his eyes. You shook your head, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You saw the way his eyes followed your tongue before he looked away from your mouth.

“There’s not much reason to dance like this when you’re a Ghostbuster,” you replied, going for a half truth.

Handsome men weren’t something you had a huge amount of experience with. Certainly not when they were self assured and in a suit that probably cost more than an entire year’s worth of your rent. He chuckled softly, tightening his hold on you.

“You lot are heroes to the city. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were invited to plenty more of these events,” he said.

“We’re more focused on the work,” you replied.

He let you continue to dance in silence for another few moments, but the conversation had done it. You had relaxed, focused more on what he was saying than on your feet tripping over themselves. It was easier if you focused on him, letting him lead you in the dance, keeping your mind working on other things. Such as the wiring you’d been working on before you’d had to get ready for the night. It kept sparking in the wrong place and then not working and you were having trouble figuring out why.

“You’re thinking awfully hard,” he said, interrupting as you followed one of the wires in your mind, trying to find the source of the sparks.

“Just… thinking about some work stuff,” you said.

“No ghosts set to make an appearance tonight?” he asked.

“I hope not. It might be difficult to fight them in this get up,” you replied, unthinking.

“It might not be conducive to ghost busting, but you do look exceptionally beautiful,” he said.

Your cheeks heated and you had no answer for him. It was the kind of thing you’d hoped Lars might have said to you when he saw you, but coming from one of the rich and powerful was still pretty good. You ducked your head, not wanting him to see you so flustered. You felt that if you gave him an inch he might take a mile, the privileges he was accustomed to making him willing to push for what he wanted.

You knew you were making a lot of assumptions about him but it was hard not to when you knew everyone around you had bought tickets that cost more than your entire wardrobe would be valued at. Your team was the charity case, there to be paraded out for the rich and powerful like entertainment, to be gawked at and spoken about like you weren’t real people.

“I can’t be the first one to tell you that tonight,” he said.

You weren’t going to admit that he was.

“I’m very out of my element here,” you said, figuring it was close enough to the truth to get you through the conversation.

“You’ll grow used to it,” he replied.

“Only if I keep being invited,” you said.

“You will.” He sounded so confident, “either through your own merit or maybe because… you’ll be on my arm?”

He phrased it like a question and he seemed hopeful but there was a moment when you thought maybe he was so certain of your answer he didn’t feel the need to ask. You straightened your spine, not giving him an answer.

“Can I cut in?”

You let out a relieved breath, stepping back from Dylan. For a moment his hands tightened before he released you. You turned, offering yourself up to Lars, standing behind you, his lips pressed together into a thin line. His familiar blue eyes were focused on the man behind you, harder than you’d ever seen them, tension holding his body tight.

Your hand landed on his shoulder, his own resting on your waist as he swept you away. Your breathing came easier, the familiar scent of Lars enveloping you, washing away the expensive aftershave lingering in your nose. And yet when you looked up, expecting to see your saviour, his eyes were focused on something over your shoulder, hard and uncompromising.

“I didn’t know you could dance,” you said softly, hoping to draw his attention back to you.

“I bet there’s plenty you don’t know about me,” he replied, not relaxing like you’d been hoping.

“Lars,” you said. His gaze flicked down to you then back to whatever he was looking at over your shoulder, “Lars.”

Your hand slid to curl around the back of his neck and finally, finally, his eyes met yours. You raised an eyebrow at him and while he didn’t look any calmer, there was a smile flirting with the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been making friends tonight,” he said.

“We have to make a good impression, right?” you replied.

“Who is he?” he asked.

“Dylan someone. I don’t know. He’s not important,” you said.

“He’s set to be the next Zuckerberg so others might not agree that’s he’s not important,” he replied, “and he’s making it no secret he’s interested in you.”

“What are you talking about it?” He was being obtuse, and you thought he was doing it on purpose.

“He’s watching us very closely. I think he’s trying to work out if we’re involved and probably calculating how to change that answer if it’s yes.”

You snorted. His arm tightened around you, pulling you half a step closer, bodies slotting together. Your amusement faded and you didn’t know what to say, the lines of his body making your thoughts spiral where they rested against yours.

“I know. Ridiculous to think you’d ever be interested in me.” His hand slid to your hip, burning through the thin material of the silk, “hard to compare when you have Dylan Wilson flirting with you.”

“Lars,” you breathed.

“Not that is surprises me. You’re the most beautiful woman in the room. You’re the most beautiful woman in every room. What man wouldn’t want you?”

You flushed at the compliment. It was the exact thing you’d wanted to hear from him for so long and yet he’d always remained silent on the matter. Even tonight, when he’d first seen you, no words had come. And now he was saying it but through gritted teeth, like he didn’t want to.

“Lars, you don’t-“ you tried to say.

“But you should know that you’re worth so much more than that piece of shit looking to spread AI across the world until humans are no longer necessary. You deserve the world and he can’t give it to you,” he all but growled, eyes turning back to the man presumably standing over your shoulder, eyes so hard it almost scared you.

“I know,” you said, soft to his hard.

“He’s just… so… what?”

His eyebrows drew together as he looked back to you and you had to press your lips together to keep from smiling. Confused Lars was a rare sight and yet you loved it every time you saw it. Your nails scraped along the skin of the back of his neck and you felt the full body shudder that went through him.

“He’s a pompous ass. And it’s hard to like someone when I’ve already got my eye on someone else,” you said.

“Oh.”

You took the last half step closer, closing every inch of distance between the two of you. With your hand on the back of his neck you could draw him down, leaning in until your lips brushed his ear as you whispered.

“And jealousy is an interesting look on you, Lars,” you whispered, “it’s a bit sexy.”

His hand flexed before tightening on your hip. You let him return to his full height, his cheeks flushed but his eyes staring down at you with such intensity it made your own cheeks heat.

“Who said I was jealous?” he asked, but he didn’t quite so cool about it.

“No one had to. You’re not hiding it very well,” you said.

“If not Wilson, who have you got your eye on?” he asked.

“If it’s not obvious by now, maybe you’re not as smart as you claim to be,” you said.

“I need you to say it,” he said.

You let him lead you in the dance for a few more moments, standing on a precipice. Your words would change everything. It was possible to turn around now, to keep it as it always was, to not go out on a limb. You hadn’t gone too far yet. You didn’t have to do this.

“Please,” he begged.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me why you were so jealous that I was dancing with another man,” you said.

“Because I wanted to be the one that was dancing with you. Because the moment you walked down those stairs you took my breath away. Because I’ve been trying o find the words all night to tell you how beautiful you are tonight and how beautiful you always are and how I’ve been falling for you since the moment we met.”

Okay, you weren’t expecting that.

“You’re the one I have my eye on,” you said, breathless from his confession, “you’re the only one I see.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he said, a smile spreading over his face.

“Are you going to kiss me now, or do I need to take matters into my own hands?”

He didn’t bother answer, leaning down to claim your lips with his. It was soft and sweet and all too fleeting. You had to fight the impulse to pull him back in, indulging in your desire to spend the rest of the night wrapped up in him. His hand tightened on your hip, eyes flicking up then back down to you. With how close you were standing, there was no room for Jesus even if he was two dimensional.

“Your friend is coming over here,” he said.

“Do you want to go somewhere else then?” you asked, “because I don’t care about this whole thing.”

“Will it disappoint you if I want to continue dancing with you?” he asked instead.

Your lips curled up into an incredulous smile. His hand slid from your head to the small of your back, pressing a kiss to the back of the hand he was holding. You felt yourself melt, realising you wouldn’t be able to say no to him. Not when he was looking at you with such hope and so much softness.

“You want to dance with me?” you asked.

“There’s something romantic about it. Dancing with the woman you love in a beautiful ballroom,” he said, a touch bashful and yet it only made your heart beat feaster.

“You’re a secret romantic.” The wonder in your voice only seemed to make him more embarrassed.

“May I cut in?”

Dylan, back again, clearly not reading the room correctly, or not caring.

“No,” Lars said,” you may not.”

He spun you away, taking you far from the rich asshole. You laughed, a sense of impossibility rising within you. The entire night was gilded with unreality, like you’d stepped into the pages of a novel or onto the silver screen. It was like fiction.

“Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?” you asked when the laughter subsided, not even bothering to wipe the lovesick look off your face.

“I don’t believe so,” he replied, giving you one of those cocky half smiles you’d grown used to whenever he managed to impress you.

“Let me fix that then,” you said, tugging on the hair at the nape of his neck, “you look devastatingly handsome tonight.”

His lips pressed against yours and you had no idea how he was keeping you dancing when all thoughts flew from your head. The way he smiled when he drew back was bright, like you’d made all his dreams come true. And maybe you had. But he’d made all yours come true too.

[foxaftershocks]

Hey can you please write where Lars has to take care of y/n after they get an either a tooth extracted or their wisdom teeth taken out.

Please and thank you

I hope you like this one.

“Lars!”

You flung your arms around your favourite person in the whole wide world, not caring that he stiffened, both arms pinned to his sides. You blinked up at him, expectant smile on your face, ignoring the sting you were only vaguely aware of. Right on the outskirt of your perception, something in your mouth pulled, a throbbing that was new and uncomfortable.

“Let’s get you home,” he said, still caught up tight in your embrace.

“Home,” you groaned, “I like home.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to take you there.”

“You’re coming with me?”

You weren’t sure you’d ever felt such joy as having Lars in your home.

“Just like we agreed,” he said.

He disentangled himself from your hold, ignored your pout as he slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you out the door. You were gazing up at him, caught up in the way sunlight seemed to play over his skin and in his hair. Your heart ached from how beautiful he was.

“Do you know how pretty you are?” you asked, feet clumsy as he guided you across the parking lot.

“Well, I, uh, thank you,’ he said, not quite looking at you. You wished he would. He had such pretty blue eyes.

You were leaning into him, enjoying the way the long lines of his body felt against yours. He was holding you up, fumbling for the door of his old car. You loved that car. Inside it smelt of years gone by, like sunlight and dust and electricity. Chasing storms and chasing dreams. You loved it, more than words could ever express.

He deposited you in the front seat, doing his best to avoid your grasping hands. You wanted to pull him closer and tell him exactly how much you loved his car. To whisper in his ear so no one would hear.

He played your hands in your lap, bent over as he settled you, pulling the seatbelt over your chest and securing it in place. You lent forward, kissing his cheek, feeling the stubble threatening to emerge scratch against your lips.

You ached when you smiled up at his wide eyed expression.

He shut the door on you, hurrying around the back of the car to slide into the driver’s seat. you turned in your seat, head resting against the head rest, watching him closely. He moved fluidly, so much more graceful than you. You reached out, hand knocking his as he changed gear on the car. His eyebrow quirked when he looked at you and you were slow to reach up, tracing the length of his eyebrow. He caught your hand, lowering it back into your lap.

You dragged your eyes away from him, watching as a bicycle stopped beside the car at a red traffic light, keeping your pout to yourself. And yet you heard when he chuckled, indignation rushing through you.

“You’re mean,” you said.

“I’m trying to get you home safe and sound,” he replied, not denying it.

You hunkered down in your seat, refusing to look at him, arms crossed over your chest like a petulant child. He kept to his side of the car and you refused to reach out to him. He didn’t deserve your attention if he was going to be so mean to you.

The car came to an abrupt stop, pulling up on the street outside your apartment building. Struggling with the seatbelt, you tried to leave the car without Lars, not needing his help when he was going to be acting so mean to you. He pulled the door open for you anyway, helping you get out of the seatbelt, an arm still wound around your waist.

He was so warm and so comfortable and you could just burrow into him if he let you. He never let you.

“Okay, stairs,” he said looking at them in the entrance hall, “no lift?”

“It’s broken,” you replied, “it’s always broken.”

He sighed but didn’t falter as he made for the stairs with you. You dragged your heels, too tired to consider climbing four flights of stairs. He sighed again, swinging you up into his arms before you could protest. He was so strong. Sometimes you forgot when all you did was sit in a lab and talk about science all day. He should do this more often. You liked how strong he was. Nice strong arms that could hold you easily.

You rested your head against his shoulder. He always smelt so good, like soap and aftershave and something that was only ever around when Lars was. You pressed your face into his neck, listening to him breathe as he climbed.

“Alright, where’s your key, love?” he asked.

He was slow to put you down, your knees unsteady, like they’d turned to jelly. You rummaged in your bag, finding all kinds of things you didn’t need like bobby pins and lipstick and some mints. None of it was your keys. You dug deeper, fingers scrabbling for the cold metal you knew you’d thrown in there when Lars had picked you up earlier.

His hand steadied your as you inserted the key, guiding it into the keyhole. His hand was so warm, skin brushing skin and a steadying force when you felt so weak. Your tiny apartment was the same as always, a bit messy and very lived in and one of your favourite places in the world. You fell onto your couch, secondhand and overstuffed, comfortable beyond comfort.

“Are you hungry?” Lars asked, shutting the door to keep the rest of the world out, “thirsty?”

There was still an ache in your mouth but a more insistent one in your stomach. Your throat felt scratchy and you hadn’t realised how much the thought of food would make you salivate.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding, considering getting up.

“To which one?” he asked.

“Both,” you said.

He left you there, taking the three steps it took to get to your kitchen. You turned, pushing up for your arms to rest along the back of the couch, chin resting on top as you watched him. He knew your home well enough to be able to begin making something. Fruit and milk and yoghurt and a blender.

“You’re not allowed to have food that needs chewing,” he said.

He passed the glass over to you. It was so cold, like a block of ice in your hands, and you brought it closer to your chest. You looked down into the slightly pink drink and felt tears prickle at the corner of your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You’re so nice to me,” you said.

He took a seat beside you, the sofa cushions dipping until you felt your body tip towards him. He caught your glass before the smoothie could tip out onto you. He passed it back to you once you’d stopped moving. Taking a sip from it you hummed, going back for another one.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you said, licking the froth from your top lip.

“It’s not that good,” he said but you could see the way his lips quirked up into a small smile.

‘Seriously. You’re like a genius. A proper genius. How’d you get so smart?” you asked, shuffling even closer, until your thigh was pressed against his.

“Just lucky, I suppose,” he said, “finish your drink.”

You did as you were told, both hands holding onto the glass. You drank deeply, your empty stomach aching with need. It was like you’d been emptied out, a hollow vessel for smoothies. He took the glass from you when it was empty, setting it down on the floor beside his feet.

“Do you want another one?”

You nodded. He paused, looking down at you and you found yourself leaning into him. He was warm, shoulder encased in a soft sweater beneath your cheek. You brushed against it, enjoying the sensation against your skin.

“Come on, love. You have to let me get up if I’m going to make you another one.”

It was with reluctance that you let him get up again. He took your glass and you listened to the blender again. You lay back on the couch, curling up as you waited, trying to be patient. His fingers stroked over your hair as he passed you the glass again. You sat up, bringing it to your lips.

“Do you need anything for the pain?” he asked.

You shook your head, chugging the smoothie. When you put it down, he immediately picked it back up, taking it into the kitchen. Sitting beside you, you curled up against him again, not able to stop yourself when he was right there.

“Can we watch Bridget Jones?” you asked.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

He jostled you for a moment, grabbing the remote for your old tv, getting the movie playing. He reached for the blanket on the back of the couch, draping it over you. You spread it over his lap too, curling against his side. His arm draped around you, warming you up from the inside out.

Somewhere between the tarts and vicar party and the cheating scandal, your eyes slipped closed. He was so warm and comfortable and all the good things in life. It was easy to relax until you were melting into him.

So when you woke up some time in the middle of the night, draped over his chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath, the blanket curled around you, all you did was snuggle closer to your nurse.

[foxaftershocks]

Hello, if you still take prompts for Lars: I think it would be extremely funny if he and the reader are pining after each other so bad, even the ghosts in the lab are annoyed and try to play matchmaker for them.

In any case I love your writing have a nice day :)

This took a while but I hope it was still worth waiting for.

Your mouth was hanging open. Hidden in the shadows of the enclosures, you could watch without being seen. Lars was in the main area, the light highlighting his blond hair and pale skin. You watched as he stretched, arms above his head, spine straightening. Your breath caught in your chest, a flush of warmth going through your body.

He was entirely too tempting for your own good.

Something tapped on the glass beside you. Looking down, the handle of a mop twitched and you sighed.

“I know,” you sighed to the possessor.

It tapped on the glass again.

“I’m not doing that,” you said.

It tapped more insistently against the glass.

“Everything alright over there?” Lars called.

You froze for a moment, grimacing down at the possessor. The traitor began banging on the glass again, louder and louder.

“Yeah, I think so,” you called back, hoping to keep him away long enough for you to get it to shut up.

“You sure?”

Great, he was right there.

“The possessor is trying to make a point,” you said, “it’s not working.”

That last part was directed to the mop waiting in the window. It slammed against the glass, more aggressive than the previous teasing. You shrieked, jumping backwards, not expecting it. Warm hands landed on your hips, holding you steady.

You were slow to turn your head, looking up into worried eyes. His head had bowed towards yours, close enough that you could feel his breath stir your hair. You stilled a moment, feeling his warmth seep into you, wondering if you it would be such a bad thing to lean forward and press your lips to his.

You jerked away from him, taking a deep breath in. He took a step back, averting his gaze, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You levelled a glare at the mop before turning tail and fleeing back to your station. You had plenty of work to get one with. That was all. It wasn’t because Lars had been close enough to taste. Not that he wanted you to try anyway. So it all worked out for the best.

It wasn’t until a few days later that you found a Stay Puft wandering around your desk. With a sigh, you offered your palm to it, letting it climb aboard to carry it back to its enclosure. It nipped at your finger and you cursed, pinching its body between your thumb and forefinger and lifting it.

“You’ve had an escape,” you said, passing by Lars’ desk.

“Prison break season already?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“That or this one’s gone rogue,” you replied.

Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention as it nipped at your finger again. You yelped, dropping it as a drop of blood bloomed on your skin. You sucked it into your mouth, the sting quick to disappear.

“Bitch,” you muttered, already following it.

Lars was hot on your heels, wending through the desks and the mess from all the research going on. You didn’t take notice of where you were going, rushing after the small marshmallow body as it sprinted through the lab. Rushing through the door it had slipped through you didn’t realise your mistake until you heard it slam shut behind you.

“Fuck,” you said, turning around only to run face first into Lars’ chest.

His hands came up, clasping your waist with a strong hold, keeping you from reeling back and landing on your ass. You froze, the feeling of his body enough to make your thoughts spin. The room was dark and you couldn’t quite make out his expression.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, trying to take a step back.

Your back hit something hard, digging into your spine and you realised exactly where you were. Cursing again, you tried to reach around him for the door. All you managed to do was bring your body against his, arm curled around him as if in an embrace, the doorknob not turning.

“Uh…” was all Lars managed to say.

“We’re locked in,” you said.

Which was about when you realised your face was practically buried in his chest. You jerked back only for your head to hit the shelf behind you.

“Oh,” Lars said.

His hands came up, cradling the back of your head, fingers pressing in. You winced when he found the bruise and he muttered an apology. His fingers began to gently massage the base of your skull, a soft sigh coming from between your parted lips.

“I think you’ll live,” he said, voice whisper soft.

You looked up into his face, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness. He was so close, practically surrounding you in the small space. His scent of soap and coffee wrapped around you, invading your very senses. His warmth was washing over you, inescapable in the small closet. You couldn’t hide the way your breath came out as a stutter, caught within the cage of his arms.

“Shouldn’t we try and get out?” you asked.

“Didn’t you say the door was locked?” he replied.

“I could have been wrong.”

His fingers slipped from your hair as he turned to try to the doorknob again. It rattled in his hand but wouldn’t turn. You sighed again, this time from frustration rather from the feeling of Lars’ touch.

“Have we seriously been outsmarted by the Stay Pufts?” you grumbled, “this is a new low.”

“I’m sure it’s just a matter of getting the angle right,” he said, still rattling the doorknob.

“We’re never going to live this down. We’ll be the laughing stock of the lab. Everyone’s only just gotten over the yoghurt thing and now this. I think I’m the least cool person in this lab. And that’s saying something. Barry is middle aged and balding. But at least he plays the saxophone. What have I got? A sad tiny flat and no social life to speak of. I’m so uncool.” You knew you were rambling and yet you couldn’t stop the word from tumbling from your lips.

“You’re not uncool,” Lars said, interrupting your flow, “I think you’re the coolest one here.”

“In this closet? Because I think that means you have some self esteem issues,” you replied.

“I think you’re the coolest person in the lab,” he said, “definitely cooler than Barry. Have you seen that guy at a party? No shirt, just a tie on, playing the sax on top of a table. Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

“Yeah but he’s never been outsmarted by the Stay Pufts,” you said, fingers twisting together.

“And neither have we,” he said, shoulder slamming against the door. It rattled in its frame but didn’t open, “okay, maybe we have been but we can get out of this.”

“At what point do we just start shouting for help?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

His hands on your hips burnt through your clothes, and you barely noticed he was switching your positions, leaving you with your back to the door and him able to look through the contents of the tiny closet you were stuck in. You pressed back against it, trying to give him as much room as possible. His hands were moving through the dark, using touch more than his eyes to figure out what you had.

“How’re your lock picking skills?” he asked.

“About average for someone who has never done it before,” you replied, “besides, I can’t actually feel a lock on this door.”

“You can’t?”

He turned back to you, hand reaching out to try and feel the doorknob. His searching fingers found yours, skin against burning skin. Your head was slow as it turned up to his face, finding him already looking down at you. You felt your lips part, always so caught up in him whenever he got close enough to touch.

“I’m beginning to think this mischief might have been planned,” he said, voice whisper soft.

“They’re working against us?” you asked.

“Not just them. They’re not smart enough on their own. Someone else has mobilised them,” he replied, “my money is on Bonesy. He’s the brains of the operation.”

“To what end?”

Lars shifted on his feet, eyes darting away from you. Clearly he had more information than you did, a theory already planted in his mind. He was looking down where your fingers were still touching, his tapping tapping out a rhythm against yours. If he didn’t stop you thought your knees might buckle. And yet you couldn’t muster the strength to pull away.

“What aren’t you telling me?” you asked, breathless and needy.

He mumbled something, words you should have been able to hear so close together and yet it was a jumble. Tripping over themselves, the words were unintelligible. And worse of all he still wasn’t looking at you.

“What was that?” you asked.

“The ghosts might have picked up on some underlying feelings,” he muttered.

“Underlying feelings?” Oh god, he knew.

“They might have realised something about… us,” he said.

“Anything they think they know about us is wrong,” you said, now the one tripping over your words in an effort to get them out fast enough to cover your own ass.

“It is?” His eyebrows drew together.

“Totally,” you said, nodding your head.

“What do you think they know about us?” he asked, “because I thought we were talking about my feelings for you.”

“Your… your feelings for me?” You’d lost the thread of the conversation already.

“Yes. Look, the ghosts might have realised that I might have some romantic feelings towards you and this might be their version of forcing me to say something instead of staring at you from across the lab all day,” he said.

“Oh,” you said, “I thought we were talking about…”

“About?”

“About the ghosts picking up on my romantic feelings for you and this being about them making me do something about it instead of just fantasising about you,” you said.

“Oh,” he said, “and those fantasies…?”

“Aren’t appropriate for work,” you replied, feeling your cheeks heat again.

“I like the sound of that,” he said, lips pulling up at the corner, lopsided and endearing.

“So you like me?” you asked, needing to hear it confirmed.

“I thought you were clever enough to keep up, love. Maybe I was wrong,” he said.

“No need to be an ass,” you laughed, “I might not kiss you if you are.”

“Kissing is on the table?” He sounded so excited about the concept.

“Now who isn’t clever enough to keep up?”

He lent down, lingering close enough for his breath to ghost over your lips. The soft whine from you only seemed to make him press closer. And yet, when he kissed you it was soft and sweet, the kind of kiss at the end of a romantic movie as the music swelled and the happy ending was secured. You sighed into his mouth, arms curling around his neck as you pushed your body against his.

His hands grasped your hips, pushing you against the door behind you. You couldn’t stop, tongue sweeping into his mouth, kissing him deeper as he groaned. It was better than you’d ever dreamed, the fantasy no comparison to the reality. Heat was rushing through your veins and you clutched him tighter. The way he kept you pinned against the door suggested you weren’t the only one feeling the need to tear off each other’s clothes.

The surface you were leaning on tilted back and you fell, a shriek coming from you. Strong arms caught you around the waist, hauling you up against Lars’ chest. Adrenaline and desire were a heady mix, and as you tried to catch your breath, you found his twinkling blue eyes sweeping over you as lips ticked up into a smirk.

“Falling for me already, are you?” he asked, barely containing a laugh.

“Shut up.”

With both hands on his chest, you pushed yourself back onto your feet, turning to look at the door swinging open behind you. His arm curled around your waist, as if not able to stop touching you. A smushed Stay Puft was leaking from the doorjamb. You wrinkled your nose, edging past it back into the real world.

“Looks like I was right,” Lars said, “they conspired against us.”

“With us, Lars,” you corrected.

“Right, with us.”

His hands tightened on you and you had to wonder if he was ever going to let you go. You weren’t sure you wanted him to. You hadn’t considered Lars as being handsy, and yet you weren’t disappointed to find out he was.

Walking past the possessor, his arm slung over your shoulder, tucked into his side, the chair tapped against the window, perky and excited. You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, alright, you can stop now,” you said to it.

“Butt out of our personal lives,” Lars said.

He led you back into the main part of the lab as you chuckled.

“Although they did help. You weren’t going to say anything without them,” you said.

“Neither were you,” he objected.

“Then we were lucky they did step in,” you said, pushing up onto your toes to leave a lingering kiss on his lips.

He hummed in agreement, catching you around the waist before you could slip away, pulling you back for a longer kiss before releasing you. Yes, definitely too tempting.

[foxaftershocks]

can we get a sneak peek on what you’re working on?

Alright, here's something I wrote last night in the upcoming request.

“Uh…” was all Lars managed to say. “We’re locked in,” you said. Which was about when you realised your face was practically buried in his chest. You jerked back only for your head to hit the shelf behind you.

[foxaftershocks]

Oh my gosh I just read your most recent Lars Pinfield oneshot and I am in LOVE with your writing. Is it possible for you to do one where reader is with him & Lucky during the power outage scene, but like not *in* the main area they are at, more over by the Possessor's room. Hopefully you kinda get what I'm saying lol

I think I got what you were saying. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it even if I didn't.

Watching the possessor try and get Lars’ attention shouldn’t have made you feel a burst of warmth in your chest and yet there you were, pressing your lips together to suppress a smile.

“Can’t play right now,” Lars called as the chair tapped against the window.

You were sitting on the floor in front of the enclosure, knees bent towards your chest as you enjoyed the calm of being in the lab at night. During the day it could be so frantic, all kinds of noises and motions going on as the other researchers worked. At night like this, it was quiet, easy to just exist in your own body as you did what you loved. Especially given it was only people you happened to love still there too.

Or rather, person.

“I know you see me working,” he called over as the possessor continued to try and get his attention.

You stifled a laugh, the chair drooping down in sadness. It was like having a puppy in the lab and Lars had clearly been designated its favourite person.

“If you’re good later on you’ll get a tennis ball,” he said.

The chair perked up, the screech of the metal loud in your ears. You tapped on the glass, bringing its attention back to you. You smiled in, playing with it to give Lars and Lucky the chance to finish up their work in peace. The sound of their work was a familiar backdrop as you let your attention slip away from them.

That was until the possessor slammed the chair against the glass over and over again and the power went out. You were slow to climb to your feet, uncertainty filling your body.

“Uh… Lars?” you called out.

“Yeah, I know,” he called back, “just give it a minute.”

“I’m not sure…”

With one hand splayed on the cool glass of the possessor’s cage, you hauled yourself upright, leaning on it to keep yourself steady. You didn’t like it, the ambient noise of the lab making chills crawl over your skin. You held your breath, on tenterhooks, waiting for something to happen. The tension in the air was ratcheting up the longer it took for the generators to power back on, each second stretching out for an infinite amount of time.

“Lars, why haven’t the ghosts escaped yet?” Lucky asked, slow to make her way towards you.

It was like they’d been waiting for the question to be asked. The possessor slammed its chair against the glass to the right of your hand, cracking it outwards. You snatched your hand back as Lucky screamed, breath catching.

Stumbling back, you felt a cold chill going down the back of your neck. You were slow to turn into the waiting gaze of Bonesy, the skeletal face staring right back at you. Another crack from the glass behind you was loud in the otherwise silent area.

The frantic clicking from Lars on the computer filtered through and you watched as the lights flickered back on. Bonesy was pulled back through the glass as the proton fields turned on, missing you by a hair’s breadth. You slumped forward, relief coursing through you, making you light headed. Sinking to the floor, you did your best to take some deep breaths, forehead pressing to the tops of your bent knees.

“Okay we need to shut that thing up,” you heard Lars faintly say from back in the main lab.

Only then you heard his scream. Scrabbling to your feet, you rushed over, panic taking over your brain. Any rational thoughts were gone, taken over by your need to make sure he was okay.

He was bent over in front of the ionic separator, the brass sphere on the ground in front of him. His groans of pain were going through you, striking you like lightning. Lucky was standing close by, weight shifting from foot to foot, as if unsure what to do.

You grasped his shoulder, feeling him there under your hands, real and still warm. His breathing was coming fast and he was cradling his hand to his chest.

“Lars,” you said, trying to get his attention.

His blue eyes dragged up to yours, the pain contorting his face. You clutched at him, wanting to bring him closer.

“Don’t,” he shouted as you took a step towards him.

“What?” you said, freezing.

“Don’t touch it,” he gasped out, eyes darting down to the sphere at your feet, only an inch from your bare skin. You were careful as you shifted your feet away from it, trusting him completely. He’d never steered you wrong before.

“Lars,” you breathed out.

He was doubling up again, another groan coming from parted lips. With your hands still on his shoulders, you manoeuvred him around the sphere, sitting so innocently on the floor. He followed you, trusting you just as much as you trusted him.

“Leave it there until Lars can tell us what happened,” you instructed Lucky as you took Lars towards the medical centre.

Of course the nurse was long since gone, the bay dark. You flicked the lights on, helping him onto one of the beds. He was still curled up.

“Honey, I need you to tell me what happened,” you said, keeping your voice gentle, trying to coax him out.

“Cold,” he managed to gasp out, “I touched the sphere after it failed to extract the ghost inside and it was cold. Freezing. Fuck, it hurts.”

“I know it does, sweetheart,” you said, “can I look at it?”

He was slow to uncurl, offering his hand towards you. The skin was an unnaturally pale colour, the cold burn spreading over his palm, along his finger, making you wince just from looking at it. Your hands hovered over it, not sure what to do, where to touch, if you even should.

“We should warm it up, right? Oh god, I’m not a doctor,” you muttered to yourself.

“Warm water,” he said, “I need to soak it in warm water.”

“On it.”

He watched you as you filled a basin with warm water, a thermometer sitting in it as you brought it to the right temperature. Offering it to him, he eased his hand into the water. The wince he gave and the shaky breath suggested it wasn’t more comfortable.

“Are you going to be okay?” you asked, holding the bowl steady for him.

“I think,” he hissed, “I’ll survive.”

He looked up at you, standing close enough for his knees to brush you. Looking down at him, you felt your breath catch. It wasn’t your fault. He was so handsome, even when he was in pain. Not that you should be thinking about how gorgeous he was as you were trying to nurse him back to health.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softening.

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t even get hurt. I’m more worried about you,” you said.

“But you were surrounded when we lost power,” he said.

His other hand hovered right over your hip, as if worried to touch you. Before he made contact, he took the bowl from your hands, putting it down on the bed beside him, keeping his hand submerged. You didn’t know what to do with your hands without hold it, fingers twisting together.

His touch rested on them, stilling your wringing hands. You looked back into his eyes, the touch of your skin against his making your heart flutter. The way he was looking at you was making your head spin.

“If anything had happened to you…”

You wanted to know what the end of that sentence was going to be.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

His fingers slotted between yours, holding your hand. Pulling you forward a step, he tugged you between his legs, thumb brushing along the length of your index finger. Your breath caught.

“We could die,” he said.

“We’re not going to die.” You weren’t even going to entertain the thought.

“But we could. And if we do I’m not dying without ever doing this.”

His hand disentangled from yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. Guiding you down, your eyes fluttered shut, waiting for him. His breath ghosted over your lips before they brushed together. You whimpered, pressing closer, fingers closing around his shoulder again.

The groan he let out made you draw back, worried he was in pain again. He didn’t give you the chance, pulling you back in, kissing you deeper. Clearly the pain wasn’t too bad if he could kiss you with such skill it had your knees turning to jelly.

“Hey guys, is Lars okay?”

You drew back from him, cheeks heating up as you whipped your head towards the door. He chuckled, falling forward, forehead pressing to your stomach. Your fingers found their way into his hair, winding around his curls.

“I’m fine,” he called back before Lucky stepped in.

“Are you?” you asked.

You gently lifted the hand from the bowl of cooling water. The skin still looked wrong, too white, like a layer of wax over his palm.

“We should probably go to the emergency room,” you said, “I don’t think we’re equiped to fix this.”

“Can you drive?” he asked.

“Of course.”

You left Lucky with strict instructions to not touch the sphere and to keep an eye on the ghosts. After the night you’d had, she needed to make sure nothing more happened while you took care of Lars.

And yet if this was a portent of things to come, it was only going to get worse.

[foxaftershocks]

i am obsessed with every single one of your lars works omg you are so good at writing him 🙏🙏🙏

Aw thank you! I’m hoping to have something new up really soon 🩵

[foxaftershocks]

just wanted to say i look forward to your works everyday!! youre doing absolutely amazing, i love how you portray both lars and the reader. can’t wait to see what you do with james! <3

Aw thank you so much! If you have any requests for James send them in. I hope I do them justice!

[foxaftershocks]

Hello I love your writing and I fell in love with Lars (First Egon and Ray what can I say I love men with nerdy glasses and are smart)

I was thinking that the reader could be friends with a ghost that they captured. After everyone leave she talks to her about Lars. She talks to her how Lars and her are close friends but sometimes it is so hard to tell if he likes her too. The ghost comes up with the idea to process the reader and every night she will tell the reader what happens in the daytime. Like the ghost makes the reader flirtier and touchier but also tries to make Lars jealous. Which confuses but also flusters Lars because he does like this type of attention the reader is all of a sudden giving him. Finally the ghost does something that the reader would never do and Lars figured out she is processed but just waits until the reader actually gets the courage to make a move on him. He obviously is his sarcastic self but softens and can actually reciprocate his feelings for her.

I hope this made sense. I like the idea of a ghost wingman but Lars is too smart to not figure it out. Man would probably figure it out in like 2-3 days haha.

This made total sense. I actually had a lot of fun writing this one. I hope you enjoy it!

“I dunno, maybe I’m just making it all up in my head.”

You were sitting on the ground in front of the enclosure, finger drawing meaningless patterns on the floor in front of you. You couldn’t even look at your friend in the face, scared to admit it. Having the glass between you softened it a bit, the embarrassment contained if it’s behind some kind of barrier.

“I don’t think so. I think he just needs a push,” Jessie said from behind the glass.

You probably shouldn’t be confiding in one of the ghosts the lab had under observation. No doubt Lars would tell you off if he knew. Not that you ever would. Especially given what you were talking about.

“Yeah well, I’m not about to do that. What if he laughs in my face?” you said, “he won’t even be my friend anymore.”

“Or maybe he’ll grab you and kiss you,” she suggested.

“I can’t risk it,” you said, finally looking up to her.

A smile began to stretch over her face, pretty, like the kind of woman who would never be in this kind of relationship. You bet that if Jessie had a crush on one of her friends she would go after him. She had that kind of confidence. You weren’t sure any guy had ever not been interested in her.

“I have an idea,” she said.

“Should I be worried?” you asked, feeling dread already curdling in your stomach.

“No, no, it’s really good,” she said, “how about during the day I’m in control of you and then at night I can tell you everything that happened? If he doesn’t already, he’ll definitely like you by the time I’m done.”

“No, he’ll like you. This is such a bad idea,” you said.

“It’s a great idea,” she said, “give it a shot. If it doesn’t work then we can stop.”

“I don’t know,” you said, not wanting to admit just how desperate you were.

“One day. If you hate it we don’t have to do it again,” she said.

You thought it over. Lars would probably kill you if he ever found out. Winston might even fire you if it was revealed. It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea.

“Okay,” you whispered.

👻👻👻👻👻

Lars was humming under his breath as he walked towards your bench. You were sitting there, spinning in your chair as you looked up at the ceiling. There was a smile on your face, a giggle falling from your lips like a child. He paused a moment, watching you. Something was different. You looked lighter, like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened overnight.

“You look happy,” he said, dropping the notebook that was in his hands in front of you.

You looked up at him, your wide smile turning into a smirk, almost predatory. He felt warmth full his body as your eyes swept up and down his body, lingering in places he knew weren’t appropriate to look at in the workplace. And yet he liked it. He liked it a lot.

“Well hello, handsome,” you practically purred.

He’d never heard you speak like that. He looked down at you, curious, one eyebrow asking in a silent question. You lent towards him, fingers grazing over the cuff of his shirt, fluttering your eyelashes.

“You’re in a mood today,” he said.

“A good one after seeing your face,” you replied.

“Alright, well, I’ve got the observations from last night in there so give it a read and stick it in the datafile,” he said, nodding down at the notebook.

“Is that the only thing something is getting stuck in?” you asked.

“What?”

He had no idea what was going on.

“No other data?” you asked, “why? What did you think I meant?”

He blinked, then settled into a smile. It must have been in his head, the way you’d given him a heated look as you asked, the innuendo in your words heavy on your tongue. He shook his head.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said.

He left you there, acutely aware you were watching him as he walked away. Something was different, something in the air making it heavier, making it thicker. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the way you were looking at him. His cheeks heated and he wished he knew what was going on in your head. It had never been like this before.

When you sat down at your usual table for lunch with him, your foot grazed over his calf. He could shrug it off as an accident in settling in your chair. When it happened again it was harder to brush off. A third time and he knew you had to be doing it on purpose. You didn’t mention it, but for a moment your eyes met his over your sandwich and he felt a jolt of electricity.

“Have you got something more entertaining for me to do with the rest of my day?” you asked.

“You could help me with Pukey,” he said.

“The six words every girl wants to hear,” you said, offering him a little smile, “but I suppose with you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“You’ll want to wear your coveralls,” he said.

“Why?” you asked.

“Well, he’s not called Pukey for nothing,” he replied, as droll as ever.

“Aw you do care,” you said, fluttering your eyelashes again, “is it because I look so cute in this outfit?”

You lent back in your chair, spine lengthening, showing off your body. His eyes swept down and he had to admit, the confidence looked good on you. Not that you didn’t usually look good. He’d always thought you were beautiful, even when you weren’t being so outwardly confident.

Sometimes he thought you were at your most beautiful late at night, hair tied up in a ponytail half falling out, tired as you rested your head against his shoulder. Maybe he just like how soft you were, half asleep, talking about science in a low voice with him, curled up in a chair or resting against him. Those were the moments he treasured the most, when the lines blurred and everything felt more real.

“I’m just trying to save you from being uncomfortably wet and sticky for the rest of the day,” he eventually said.

“Well now, that might be fun.” You looked at him from under your eyelashes and he felt the flush travel up his neck at thought of you being wet and sticky, “we could find out together.”

“I’ve been on the receiving end of Pukey’s interest. Trust me when I say you don’t want to be,” he managed to get out.

“Perhaps we’ll save that for after work then.”

The wink you shot him made him feel flustered. He shoved back from the table, not quite sure what to make of the entire thing. He was used to the butterflies and the way you made his head spin, but this was something else entirely. It was usually so soft with you, so easy. Now it felt like things were about to get hard.

Clearly the euphemism problem was catching.

You spent the afternoon brushing your fingers over him, hands grasping at him every chance you could get, body brushing against his. It was infuriating and compelling and frustrating in equal measure. Every brush of skin, every warm touch, every small smile was driving him insane.

Until he was so distracted he found himself covered in the ectoplasm shooting out of Pukey’s mouth. He went home for the day after that.

👻👻👻👻👻

“He was definitely blushing.”

You groaned, head thunking against the glass of the enclosure. Jessie was sitting close enough she could reach out and touch it, palm pressed together.

“What?” she asked, “I thought you’d be more excited about this. He’s totally into you.”

“Or maybe he’s just a bit uncomfortable when I touch him and flirt with him,” you said.

“What are you talking about? He was so into it.”

“It’s inconclusive evidence,” you said.

“So we try again tomorrow,” she said, “seriously, give me another day and he’ll be confessing his undying love to you. Or trying to hook up with you. Either way, there’s your answer.”

There was a thought you hadn’t had before.

“Promise me that if he tries you won’t do that with him. Not even a kiss,” you said, pushing up onto your knees, frantic now, hands pressing to the glass.

“Aw, but I get it. He’s cute when he’s all flustered. I bet he’d be fun,” she said.

“I don’t want my first kiss with him to not be me,” you said, “please Jessie.”

“Fine. But when you do kiss him I want to hear all about it. I bet he’s good at it. Tender. Probably give his all to it. Enthusiastic but in a way that makes you feel special rather than like an object. You know?” she said.

“I’ll tell you all about it if you stop talking about him like that,” you said.

“Deal.”

👻👻👻👻👻

“Hey there, hot stuff.”

Lars jumped, not having heard you sneak up on him. Your warm breath brushed his ear, lips practically ghosting against the skin. He turned, too abruptly, almost falling off his stool. You smiled, a small giggle passing over your lips. Your eyes were sparkling with mirth and he found himself wondering why he’d never heard such a thing come from you before.

“What’s got you looking so deep in thought?” you asked, pushing up to sit on the bench beside his computer.

His hand, resting on the keyboard, was close enough to brush your thigh. You kicked your feet, looking down at him, popping a previously unseen lollipop in your mouth. He felt himself shiver when your cheeks hollowed as you sucked on the flavoured sugar.

“Just… looking over some of the readings from last night,” he said.

You nodded, leaning towards him. Your foot gently rested on the side of his stool, brushing his leg as you steadied yourself. Your pink tongue dragged over the red lollipop, staining it an enticing colour. He found himself leaning towards you in turn, focused on your mouth, watching the way you worked the lollipop.

“See anything interesting?” you asked, red stained lips forming the words so beautifully.

He certainly did.

“What?” he asked.

“In the readings from last night,” you replied, leaning back, shoving the lollipop into your cheek until it bulged.

“Oh, right.” He blinked, “some, although I’m unsure what caused them. I’ll run some tests later.”

“Need help?” you asked.

“Don’t you have your own work to be getting on with?” he asked.

“You don’t want me around?” You pulled the lollipop from your mouth to pout at him. The effect was… interesting. Very interesting. He wanted to see if it happened every time you did that.

You broke out in another giggle, shoving at his shoulder before you hopped down from his bench. Your fingers trailed over his shoulders as you rounded him, leaning forward again to whisper in his ear.

“Come find me if you want to have some fun.”

He turned to watch you ver his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if you were aware of his gaze but your hips were swaying in a way that made his mouth dry and his heart beat faster. He had to get a hold on himself. I mean, it was you. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with his feelings. It’s not as if you felt the same way.

Except you kept flirting with him.

He shook his head, certain he was misreading you. He’d done it before, early on in your friendship, and while his crush had never faded, he’d grown to accept that you’d never feel about him the way he felt about you. So he got stuck into his work, trying to ignore the way your lips had perfectly wrapped around that spun sugar, tongue flicking over it, cheeks hollowing with every suck.

Yeah, he was going to need a cold shower when he got home.

When he looked up a few hours later, he immediately found you across the lab, with Hank, the parabotanist. It was like the world turned to slow motion as you laughed, your hand coming up to rest on his bicep. You lent into him, just like you’d lent into him just yesterday and he felt his jaw clench.

Your eyes flicked up, finding him and you offered him a sweet smile and a small wink. It was like something hot came over him followed very quickly by cold. He kept watching as you lent closer to Hank, whispering something in his ear, laughing when he said something, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you looked up at him from under your eyelashes. His lips pressed together and his fist clenched so tightly his pencil snapped.

“Something on your mind, Lars?”

He jumped, Lucky having snuck up on him. He shook his head.

“No, no, no. Everything is fine,” he said, looking back to his work.

“That pencil might disagree,” she said.

“Ha ha,” he replied, the sarcasm dripping form his words, “do you need something?”

“Well I was going to ask for a pencil but…” She looked down at the pieces left on the notebook he’d been using.

“Moving on,” he said.

“They look close,” she said, pointing her chin towards you and Hank.

“They do,” he said, pursing his lips, refusing to look.

“Much to think about,” she said before twirling away, going back to the testing zone and out of his reach.

He looked back to you, only to find your fingers clenching Hank’s shirt, up on your tiptoes as you lent into him. Your face was so close to his. He felt ready to burst.

You giggled, pulling him down towards you. He pushed away from the bench, fists clenching at his side, stalking out the door. Maybe a walk would cool him off. Maybe dunking Hank in the Hudson would help.

Taking some fresh air, he stared out at the industrial wasteland that surrounded the lab. It made no sense, the way you seemed to flip flop on him. Sitting there in the morning with him, making him lose his mind over his need to taste the sugar on your tongue. Then to turn around and make him lose his mind by flirting with Hank.

You were going to be the death of him.

“Am I interrupting some kind of meditation?”

Why must you continually find him when he was trying to screw his head on properly? Your arms appeared in his peripheral vision, resting against the railing next to his. Your shoulder brushed his and his fingers clenched around the cold rusting metal.

“Just getting some fresh air,” he said.

“That’s not like you. Usually you have to be dragged kicking and screaming out of the lab,” you said with a small smile, intimate, like you knew him better than he knew himself.

“What can I say? Times are changing,” he said with a small shrug.

“Not too much, I hope,” you said, leaning into his side, “I like you just the way you are.”

“Not enough,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

Your wide eyes looked up at him and he shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“You know, if there’s something you want to ask me or say to me you always can,” you said.

He considered it, just for a moment, what it would do it he told you exactly what had been going on with him all day. All the thoughts he’d been having about you. The spike of jealousy at seeing you turn your flirtation on Hank. But the way you were looking at him was so open, almost like you were expecting him to say something life changing. He could do it, admit exactly what he wanted and get the girl.

Except then he remembered how easily you flirted with Hank and he had to wonder if he’d been reading it all wrong. That he wasn’t special. That there was no way you’d return his feelings.

“I know,” he said, “shall we get back to work?”

You wound your arm around his, huddling closer as you fell into step beside him. The feeling of your body brushing against him was almost painful. It was like you’d plucked his dream straight from his head, the feel of you going to be burnt into his head for the rest of his life. And you had no idea what you were doing to him.

He would have groaned if you hadn’t been close enough to hear him.

You kept close for the rest of the day, hovering around him as you worked together. Any time he looked up he caught your eyes already on him, eyebrows drawn together as if trying to work out some kind of problem, like he was a maths equation.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Sure.” You smiled brightly at him, “you’re just acting a bit weird today.”

“No I’m not,” he replied, too quickly.

Your hand reached out again, resting on his forearm, the warmth of your touch going through him. He looked down it then back at you. You offered him a little half smile, one that made his heart beat double time. He wanted to lean forward and kiss you. Maybe you saw something of it because you lent in, lips parting, eyes turning liquid.

He coughed, turning away. Now was not the time for that. He couldn’t be thinking those things. It was work and you were you and you deserved more respect than his thoughts were giving you.

When his eyes darted back to you he thought he saw disappointment on your face. He should just ask you, then he wouldn’t have to keep wondering.

Until you got up and rejoined Hank and his stupid plants.

Clearly he had misread that again.

He sighed, just wanting to get through the rest of the day. He loved when you flirted with him in the moment but then the moment you worked away he had no idea what to think. Beyond the fact that all he could think about was kissing you.

He needed some space to get his head on straight and breathe. Then he could tackle it tomorrow.

👻👻👻👻👻

“He was so totally jealous.”

You groaned, head falling forward into your hands.

“What?” Jessie asked, “this is good. When guys get jealous they do drastic things to win you over. Seriously. He’s going to like punch that plant guy or something.”

“I don’t want him assaulting anyone,” you moaned, feeling sick.

“Okay well he probably won’t punch him. He doesn’t seem the type. But he might kiss you,” she said.

“You mean you,” you said.

“No, because I promised I wasn’t going to kiss him,” she said.

You sighed. You’d been right. This was such a bad idea. You should call it off now. Let Lars think it was just two weird days, aberrations before you went back to normal. This was not going to end well. He was going to hate.

“Look, I have a plan. Tomorrow I’m going to push him to the brink. Seriously. Right to the brink. And then the day after you take over again when he’s so wild with desire all he’s going to do is grab you and ravish you.”

All you could do was gape at her. There was nothing you could say. Your life had turned into madness and there was no one but yourself to blame.

“Great plan, right?” she said, grinning at you.

“I don’t know.” You sounded faint, “I guess.”

“Just you wait and see. It’s going to be perfect.”

👻👻👻👻👻

Lars was on alert for your presence. He felt like he had to protect himself or else he was going to do something he regretted. Like confess his feelings at your feet. He didn’t know what had changed, but your behaviour was driving him insane. In all the best ways. But still insane.

He shouldn’t have worried. You were perched on Hank’s desk, fingers stroking along the leaves of his latest plant. It was a caress. And the way Hank was watching your hands, he knew exactly what he was thinking. Probably because he was thinking similar things. Things about having those hands caressing him.

So he did the reasonable thing. He slunk away so he didn’t have to watch as you made someone else fall for you. Or at least chat you up until you went home with him.

Only you had grown an annoying habit of finding him when he least wanted to be found. He looked up from the shadowy corner he’d found himself in, studying the newly returned possessor. The tennis ball bounced around the room, smacking against the glass as he noted down observations. And watched the senseless destruction.

“Are you avoiding me?” Your voice was sweet and he would happily drown in it under different circumstances.

“No,” he said, pushing his glasses up with his index finger, “of course not.”

“I was looking for you,” you said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Do I need a reason to want to spend time with my favourite parabiologist?”

The way you smiled at him was making his head spin. You took a step towards him, stumbling until his hands came up, catching you around the elbow to steady you. Your hand landed on his chest, burning through the layers of clothing. You were slow to drag your eyes up to his, fingers clenching around the fabric of his shirt.

You pushed up onto tiptoes, something fierce coming over your face. He stumbled back, inadvertently pulling you with him, his back hitting the glass of the possessor’s tank. You pressed forward more insistently, pinning him there as you tugged on his shirt, pulling him down towards you.

“Don’t you just find shadowy corners so sexy?” you whispered, lips brushing against his ear.

He shuddered. Your teeth nipped at his earlobe and a rush of something went through him. His eyes blinked open, resting on the enclosure behind you. Pressing closer, he felt you suck his earlobe into his mouth.

His fingers tightened on your arms and he wanted to drag you closer until your skin was against his. Only his eyes were still on the enclosure behind you. The very empty enclosure. His eyebrows drew together even as he felt the tug on his earlobe.

If the ghost was free…

It was like something thunked into place. Three days of such changed behaviour in you. Three days of something different. Three days of being driven mad.

He shoved you away, eyes scanning over you. Your cheeks flushed and he could see the sting of rejection in your eyes, something he never wanted to see there. But was it you? Or was it…?

“I’m sorry,” you said, sounding breathless, the well of tears in your eyes, “I thought…”

You shook your head, turning on your toes and fleeing. His hand reached out, wanting to stop you, to drag you back, to hide in an even more shadowy corner. Instead, he stepped forward, hand resting against the cool glass of the empty enclosure. Peering in, it felt as if his worst suspicions had been confirmed.

He wasn’t sure what to do.

👻👻👻👻👻

“You scared him off.”

All of those thoughts you’d had before were screaming at you. Of course agreeing to this foolish plan was a mistake. Lars was never going to speak to you again after the spectacle Jessie had made of you. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were fired for her behaviour.

“I can fix this. I swear it was all going to well. I can make it better,” Jessie said.

You were pacing backwards and forwards in front of her tank, not able to stop. You had to do something or else you might burst into tears.

“You can’t. You’ve ruined everything. He’s never going to so much as look at me again. I should never have agreed to this,” you spat.

“Don’t blame me. You were the one so desperately in love with him you needed my help,” she said.

“And all you’ve done is made sure he’ll never want me,” you said.

“I’ve always wanted you.”

You jumped, whirling around. A shadowy figure stepped forward, your heart in your throat. Tears jumped into your eyes and you found yourself taking a step back, even as the shadows parted and you saw the man standing back, keeping his distance.

“Lars,” you breathed.

“You know we’re not meant to let the ghosts out,” he said.

“I know.”

He took another step towards you, just one, and you felt the need to flee. How much had he heard? Enough to say that he… that he…

“You want me?” you asked.

“I’d rather not have this conversation with an audience.” His eyes darted to Jessie then back to you.

“Oh, don’t mind me. I’m pretty invested in this love story,” she said.

“And that’s why I’d like to do this elsewhere.”

He held out a hand to you. Without conscious thought, you went to him, his hand resting on the small of your back to lead you away. The warmth of his palm against your spine made you feel breathless. It wasn’t the first time he’d touched you, but it was the most significant. Or at least, you thought it might be.

He led to you to small couch you’d convinced Winston to bring in, for those late night work sessions. Many nights you’d curled up on it, you and Lars whispering theories to one another in the dark. More than once you’d nodded off against his shoulder. Now, you kept to your side of the couch, tensing your muscles to keep from sliding into the middle where you would inevitably touch him.

“You’ve been letting Jessie possess you,” he said.

You couldn’t look at him. The only response he got was a small nod.

“Why?”

You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut before turning to look at you. He was already looking back and when you turned, your knee brushed against his thigh. You looked down at it, the small connection between you. Fingers tilted your chin back up and you felt your breath catch.

“Please tell me why you would do that?” he asked.

It was dangerous how easily you gave in to him.

“We’re friends,” you said, “but the way I feel about you is more than platonic. And sometimes I thought you might feel the same way but I couldn’t tell. So when I was talking to Jessie about it she suggested that she… She knows how to flirt and make men like her. It was stupid, I know but I was desperate. Loving you has become torture.”

“That doesn’t bode well for what I’m about to say,” he said.

His fingers were still under your chin, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. His other hand slid along your knee, resting on your thigh, fingers gently digging in. You were breathless, falling into him like a wormhole.

“I wish you’d just talked to me about this. You wouldn’t have had to go through all of this,” he said.

You braced for the rejection.

“Because I feel the same way.”

The way he was looking at you was making you reel. A half smile, a cocky smirk, but eyes that felt liquid, smouldering as he looked at you. You were leaning towards him and his hand was climbing up your leg.

“You do?” you asked, voice soft, not quite able to believe it.

“How could I not fall for you? You’re perfect just the way you are,” he said.

He pulled you closer, lips brushing together. You gasped, pressing closer, fingers sliding into his soft hair, pulling him towards you. He fell into you, pushing you back against the arm of the sofa, body aligning with yours. He fell between your legs, keeping you pinned to the couch cushions as you arched into him.

His kiss was soft and intense, desire melting through your veins like ice. You wanted more, to feel him everywhere, to drown in him. The way his tongue licked into your mouth had you moaning, tugging on his hair until he growled into your mouth. His hips pressed more firmly into you, almost grinding against you.

“Hey, if you two are getting it on, can you do it where I can see?”

He grumbled something into your mouth but pulled back with a parting kiss. You felt drunk off him, hazy and needy. He was slow to stand, hands brushing over your body as he did, only making you squirm. Pulling you up, he curled his arm around your waist, pulling you closer again.

“Guys?”

You ignored Jessie, pushing up on tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He hummed, arm tightening before releasing you.

“Are you guys still there?”

“Goodbye Jessie,” he called over to her enclosure.

His hand closed around yours, tugging you out of the lab, into the dark of the night. You stumbled closer, the cool wind making you shiver. You pressed closer, leeching his body warmth in the chilled night.

“Can you just…” You tried to figure out how to word it, “can you just say how you feel again?”

“I’m completely and stupidly in love with you,” he said without missing a beat, arm curling around your shoulder to keep you close, “and if you want to keep flirting with me I won’t be upset about it.”

“But as me properly, right?” you asked, “not like Jessie?”

“She was too intense. I want the real you,” he said.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear as you came to your parked car. You looked up into those blue eyes you’d been dreaming about, fingers curling around the collar of his jacket, tugging him down.

“Then you should know that I find you hotter than an exothermic reaction,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

He groaned, kissing you deeply against the side of your car, as if he couldn’t help himself. You laughed, nipping at his bottom lip as you drew back.

“I much prefer your form of flirting,” he said, forehead falling forward against yours.

“Good,” you said.

He kissed you again and you melted against him. Stupid plan, stupid ghost, stupid insecurities. You could get the guy all on your own.

[foxaftershocks]

[foxaftershocks]

pls pls pls deliver us some james x reader 🫡🙏

Gimme some prompts and I just might

[foxaftershocks]

hiya! just wondering if you write for james as well as lars? thank you :)

Fuck it, why not?

[foxaftershocks]

Not sure if you're still taking prompts but if you are may I politely request what lars would do for your anniversary in the ghost boy series 👀 (your writing is so good btw 💕)

Such a polite request gets a polite bit of writing. (I don't think it's that polite but I think it's fun).

“What’s this?”

A box was sitting on your desk, a red rose laying across the white surface. It had appeared in the short time it had taken for you to go get another cup of coffee, caffeine necessary to get through the rest of your work. Lars was sitting in your chair, looking a touch smug at your surprise.

“Something I hope you’re going to wear tonight,” he replied.

“Is this lingerie, ghost boy?” you asked, stepping between his parted legs, “are you hoping to get lucky tonight?”

You loved flustering him. He did not disappoint. Twinkling eyes above pink cheeks, lips pulling up in a self conscious smile, he was a picture you could stare at forever.

“It’s a dress,” he replied, “a nice one.”

One of your hands gently curled around the nape of his neck, enjoying the way his chin had to tip up to look at you. Playing with his hair, a rumble went through his chest, almost like a pur. One thing you’d learnt about Lars Pinfield in the last year was that he loved having his hair played with. His hand landed on your waist, thumb running in a comforting circle.

“Are we going out tonight?” you asked.

“I’m not ruining the surprise,” he said, blinking his eyes open.

His face was so soft, expression full of love. It was a new one, one you were still growing used to. He usually kept it behind a mask, not wanting to let the others see it. It was a privilege to see him so open, so vulnerable.

“Alright, I’ll wear your dress, ghost boy,” you said, leaning down to give him a chaste kiss, “keep your secrets. Mystery is sexy.”

“You already find me sexy,” he said.

“I dunno.” You squinted down at him, “you’re kind of a nerd.”

He pinched your hip and you laughed, leaning down to kiss him again.

“Alright, I think you’re the sexiest man alive,” you said, “even more than George Clooney.”

“I knew it.”

The flush of pride on his cheeks had you pressing a kiss to his cheek. There was something about him that brought out a soft side to you, playful and joyful and all you wanted was to drown in him.

“I’ll meet you at home,” he said, rising from your chair.

The brush of lips against your temple was his parting goodbye and you glowed as you sat at your desk. Raising the rose to your nose, you inhaled the sweet scent. At times, Lars could surprise you with how romantic he could be.

Watching the clock tick down, it didn’t matter how much caffeine you consumed, there was no getting through all your work. Stupid nerd with his ability to distract you with his mystery. You were spending too much time thinking about him, wondering what he had planned.

The moment the clock ticked over to five you were out of your chair, collecting your stuff and making your way out of the lab. You didn’t see Lars at his usual station, only making the gnawing need to know growing larger.

He wasn’t in the apartment when you got there. You checked every room to make sure. There was no hint of what was to come or what he had planned. There was nothing to point you in the right direction. All you could do was slip into the dress he’d bought you.

Red silk brushed your skin, clinging to your curves in a way that made you feel breathless. Turning in the mirror, looking at the way your body looked, it made you smile wide. You loved it. You felt beautiful.

Sitting in front of the mirror, you did your best to do makeup that matched, a cat eye and a red lip. It had been a while since you’d had reason to wear such a look. You had to hope it was appropriate for whatever he had planned. If only he’d told you.

You pulled out the door, expecting to wait for him to return him. You weren’t expecting for your tiny living room to be strung in fairy lights, a small table covered in a white tablecloth in the centre of the room drawing your attention. Your breath caught, heart fluttering.

“Wait, no, hang on.”

Lars slid into view, raising a hand to cover your eyes before you could look at him properly. You laughed, letting him blind you to whatever he was doing. He let out a huff and you were sure he was looking perfectly annoyed at you.

“You weren’t meant to be ready yet,” he said.

“Sorry,” you laughed, “I didn’t even know you were home.”

“Good. It was meant to be a surprise,” he said.

“Can I look yet, ghost boy?” you asked, raising one hand to curl your fingers around his wrist.

“No,” he snapped, “back in the bedroom until I call for you.”

“So demanding,” you sighed but you smiled up at where you knew his face was to ease the sting.

“I just need another twenty minutes,” he said.

His lips pressed to yours, fleeting, there and then gone again before you were pushed back a step into the bedroom again. The door slammed closed, leaving you alone once again, staring at a closed door.

With a roll of your eyes you took a seat on the side of the bed. Straining your ears, you couldn’t hear him, not even a small sound. You eased your heels off, an idea coming to you. On tiptoes, you crept towards the door, pressing your ear to it, trying to hear him. You gave it a few minutes before you eased the door open, just a crack, peeking out.

The lights were twinkling and something smelled delicious. Pushing the door open more, you stepped out again, keeping as quiet as possible. Lars was in the kitchen, his back to you, not even humming under his breath like he usually would. He was in what looked like a suit, an apron over the top protecting him from whatever her was making. You crept towards him on silent feet.

Slipping your arms around his waist you felt him stiffen. You pressed your face between his shoulder blades, tightening your arms.

“You’re meant to be in the bedroom,” he said.

“While I do enjoy being in there, I prefer when you’re in there with me, ghost boy,” you replied, trying to diffuse any anger before it could build.

“I’m trying to surprise you,” he grumbled, sounding frustrated.

“I appreciate the attempt but you saw me looking all sexy in this dress you bought me and didn’t even seem to notice,” you said, chiding him.

He gently pried your arms from around him, turning to look at you. His gaze swept over your body, lingering in an appreciative way.

“You’re beautiful, darling,” he said, “you’re so beautiful.”

“There ya go,” you said, pushing up onto your toes to kiss him.

His arm curled around your waist, holding you against him and you were sure he was done being annoyed by you. At least for the night. You drew back, lowering back to your feet, his arm still around you.

“You’re looking pretty handsome yourself there, ghost boy,” you said.

You loved the way his cheeks always seemed to flush when you openly admired him.

“I’m trying to cook you dinner,” he said, head dipping towards you.

“I’m not stopping you.” You stepped back from him, “I’ll just be over here watching you.”

“You’ll… why?” he asked.

“You’re pretty sexy when you cook,” you replied, pushing yourself up onto the counter.

He paused for a moment before a smug look settled on his face. He turned back to the stove and you let yourself admire him. Some days you were shocked you’d gotten so lucky to get someone like him in your life. Even if the beginning was a bit rocky.

He looked over your shoulder, catching you watching him. You smiled, realising you could see your lipstick smudged over his lips. You crooked a finger at him, tempting him closer. He stepped towards you, eyes sweeping over you again and you could feel yourself heat under his gaze.

“Such a mess,” you said, thumb swiping over his bottom lip.

He caught it between his teeth, pressing down for just a moment.

“Careful,” you warned, “you keep on like that and we’ll never make it to dinner.”

“But I have such a nice evening planned for you,” he said.

“Then stop being so irresistible.”

He chuckled, drawing back from you to finish up his work. You grinned to yourself, watching him with an appreciative eye. Sometimes you felt like a teenager, not able to get enough of him. He caught your eye when he glanced back.

“Stop it,” he said.

“Stop what?” you asked.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

“Can’t I admire my handsome boyfriend?” you asked.

“Not if you want to eat tonight,” he replied.

“Maybe I want dessert before dinner,” you said, shooting him a wink.

“Stop it,” he said again.

You laughed, and he softened, turning back to the stove. You slipped from the counter, coming to stand beside him, not able to stop yourself from being close to him. You constantly fell into his gravity, like magnets you were drawn to him.

“I thought I gave you instructions,” he said.

“When have I ever done what you tell me, ghost boy?” you replied.

“You seem to enjoy following my instructions when I’m making you orgasm over and over again,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Well, that’s different,” you said, “I get something out of that.”

“You’ll get something out of this if you’ll just give me a minute,” he grumbled.

You caught his chin, pulling him down until you could press a kiss to his cheek. With your thumb you wiped away the smudged red lipstick you’d left behind. His smile was beleaguered, like he was putting up with your antics but you could see the naughty twinkle in his eye.

You slipped away from him again, giving him the space he needed to finish up with dinner. It only took him another minutes before he was plating up. You watched him walk past with both plates, your favourite meal floating past. You followed, not even thinking about it, mouth watering.

He held your chair out for you, ever the gentleman, before he poured you both a glass of wine. Taking his own seat across from you, he hit a button on a remote, soft classical music playing through the tiny apartment. He raised his glass to you and you followed suit.

“What are we toasting to?” you asked.

“To the best year of my life, and to the love of my life,” he said.

You weren’t used to him being so sincere.

“Are you getting all sentimental on me, ghost boy?” you asked.

“Yes,” he replied, “I believe I am.”

“I love you.”

It was clear he would never grow tired of you saying it. The smile on his face was bright and you could feel yourself falling for him even more. Your foot brushed his leg under the table and you felt him lean into the touch.

“To us,” you said.

“To us,” he repeated, clinking his glass against yours.

You took a sip, gazing at him, feeling sentimental yourself. You still couldn’t get over how lucky you were that he chose you and continued to choose you every single day.

“Go on, dig in,” he said, nodding towards the food.

Your first bite brought a moan to your lips. Lars had obviously kept just how good of a cook he was from you. There was a brightness in his eyes, one that promised you that wouldn’t be the only time you moaned that night.

“Sweetheart, this is amazing,” you said.

“Thank you,” he said.

He always reacted in the sweetest way when you complimented him. You made a mental note to give him more. The way he reacted made you want to do nothing but shower him in them. Perhaps he hadn’t heard enough of them in the past.

“Maybe you should do more of the cooking from now on,” you teased.

“I don’t know about that,” he said but he softened before your very eyes, “I still think you’re better in the kitchen than I am.”

“We could do it together,” you suggested, brushing your foot against his leg again.

“I’d like that,” he said, voice soft, smile softer.

You settled into silence for a while, enjoying the meal. He was watching you, a candle lit on the table between the two of you, another single rose in a glass vase in the middle of the table. You reached over, taking his hand, pulling it up to kiss his fingertips. You could watch the way he melted from your actions. He might not say it, but he absolutely responded so positively to physical affection, even if he wasn’t always the best at initiating it.

“You slipped out of work before I left today,” you said, “usually I have to drag you out of there.”

“I had some things to buy,” he said.

“You didn’t want to go out?” You were curious about it, why he’d opted for a home cooked meal over taking you somewhere.

“I wanted you all to myself,” he replied, “did I choose wrong?”

The way his eyebrows drew together made your heart fill with fondness, the worry so apparent. You pressed another kiss to him hand.

“This is perfect,” you said.

“Really?” He really wanted to know.

“I don’t have to beat the other women away from you if I have you locked up in my tower,” you said, offering him a half smile.

He ducked his head. He still didn’t seem to quite understand the effect he had on the internet, the clamouring from people to see him on the socials. You’d tried to explain that he was the handsome face the women wanted to see and he always brushed it off that it was about the science. You kind of loved that he was so oblivious to his own deliciousness. He was all yours, and while sometimes you had to deal with other women wanting him, you’d never noticed his eye straying for even a moment.

“Besides, if we’re here we can do this,” he said, recovering himself.

He stood, offering you one hand. You took it, letting him pull you to his feet. He placed your hand on his shoulder, taking the other in a gentle hold. His arm curled around your waist and he slowly swayed to the music playing. You felt yourself melting. He’d never been this romantic with you. Your hand slid along his shoulder to curl around the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I really do love you, darling,” he said.

“I know you do, ghost boy,” you said, “and I love you too.”

“Thank god for that,” he sighed.

You laughed, pressing your face to his shoulder. He held you closer, still swaying, lips brushing against your temple. He hummed along, the vibrations in his chest buzzing against you. Listening to him, you realised you’d never been so comfortable with another person. You could have stayed there forever and been happy.

“You’ve done amazingly tonight,” you said, muffled against his suit jacket.

“I was worried you wouldn’t like it,” he said.

“You could have planned a night at the most boring lecture on microbes and I would have enjoyed it if you were there,” you said, “but this is definitely better. Don’t take me to a boring lecture on microbes.”

“Not even if they’re ghost microbes?” he asked.

“Oh god, you want to take me to a boring lecture on ghost microbes,” you groaned, burying your face against his chest.

“I suppose I could see if Phoebe wanted to go,” he mused.

“You’re awful,” you laughed, hitting his chest, “take Phoebe. Then come home and tell me all about it. I’d much rather listen to you than some stuffy old professor.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” he said, lips pressing to your temple again.

“Now, do you want your present?” you asked.

“You got me something?” He brightened again.

“Kind of. You’ll reap the benefits of it,” you said.

His eyes dragged down your body, obvious intrigue in his eyes. You grinned, pushing up onto your toes to kiss him again. You weren’t sure you’d ever stop kissing him if you had your way.

“I have one last surprise for you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Lars,” you sighed, but a happy sigh, “you’re spoiling me.”

“I am,” he confirmed, rummaging for something hidden amongst the couch cushions.

“I don’t deserve this,” you said.

“You don’t even know what it is,” he replied.

“I meant all of it.”

He turned, holding out a box to you. You reached for it, unsure what was hidden inside, but like a kid one Christmas, anticipation was building. Opening it, you felt your breath catch. A diamond stared up at you, encased in a small circle of rose gold, hanging from a chain. It was like a star, caught in the palm of your hand.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“You remember that meteorite that we followed a few months ago?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said, “I got some pretty cool content from it. People loved seeing you in the field, ghost boy.” “Hush.” He lent down, kissing you to shut you up. It was successful.

After you’d forgotten what you’d been saying he drew back, smirking down at you as if he knew exactly how much you wanted him. He definitely did. You didn’t keep it a secret how hot you found him.

“After we brought that meteorite back to the lab to analyse, I found this diamond embedded in it. It’s from space and and I thought it was perfect for you because you are the guiding star of my life, and shine so bright,” he said, gently taking the necklace from the box in your hand.

His fingers brushed the skin of your throat, securing the diamond around your neck. You touched it, featherlight, finding it nestled between your collarbones. He traced the chain and you shivered, looking up into his eyes, head bowed towards you.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” you asked, feeling breathless.

“Probably were a saint in another life,” he replied, “or maybe you saw how brilliant I was and told the entire world until I stopped being an idiot and saw I wasn’t the only brilliant one in the lab.” “Probably that second one,” you said, wrinkling your nose at him.

“I’m just trying to show you how special you are,” he said, going back to being serious, “do you know how special you are?”

“I’m beginning to realise it,” you replied.

“Happy anniversary, darling,” he whispered.

“Happy anniversary, ghost boy,” you replied.

You sealed the moment with a kiss.

[foxaftershocks]

this was made for us