#george karim x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tigerf00d · 8 months

Text

UNBEARABLE

George Karim x Fem!Reader

Tags: Smut! Aged up characters obv :), no use of y/n, all of Lockwood & Co., Brief Quill Kipps interaction.

6.7k words

a/n: I love George and just had to get in on the fun.. crossposted on ao3 as well, so if you've come from there and already read this, hi!

George Casper Karim was unbearable. There’s simply no other way to put it.

His big stupid head was always getting in your way, correcting you, and complaining when you forgot who took the biscuit last and helped yourself. You could hear him in your head, “Really, you ought to have gotten it by now!”

But oh, how you loathe to admit that you needed him, how helpful it was when he ironed your clothes before a client came round, and the comfort of coming home from a particularly draining case to warm food placed wordlessly in front of you.

And he could be sweet. He could. As uncomfortable with touch as he was, he’d brush your shoulder with his hand if he could tell you really needed it; he’d stand close on cold nights walking home, Lockwood and Lucy would too, but they readily shared their space like that, George didn’t.

It didn’t help that sometimes you’d catch yourself watching his side profile as he researched or the quiet admittance that he looked like an Angel as the sun illuminated his hair in a halo of curls as he helped you up after tripping and landing on the pavement, even though he was laughing at you.

There were just no other words. He was unbearable. You had the inability to bear him.

You wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him so hard his world spun so he could feel just a fraction of what he did to you. Shrink him down, trap him in your pocket, and feed him to his heart’s content so he is always warm, safe, and happy. Ugh, he was just the worst. Ever.

So it’s safe to say you have no idea why you agreed to this.

Rotwell’s was holding its annual celebration, and Lockwood & Co was invited. Well, most of Lockwood & Co, Skull obviously couldn’t come, no matter how annoyingly they asked. Despite the agency not being in any immediate danger, for once, Lockwood still deemed it essential to be partially undercover to try and snoop out new cases that were particularly interesting (read: dangerous, life-threatening or otherwise malignant), and for some reason that meant George and you had to be a couple for the evening.

Anthony Lockwood wouldn’t get to be a ghost. You were sure of it. He was going straight to hell. Sorry, Luce.

“I’m going to die.” The pillow muffled your voice as you lay face down in Lucy’s bed,

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not like you’ve had to pretend to date one of them, Lucy.”

“Well…”

You stared at the girl opposite you, “He’s… done this before…?”

She nodded solemnly, betrayed by her eyes sparkling with mirth. Groaning, you rolled back over.

“Did you have to be with George?”

“No, mine was with Lockwood.”

Deep down, you refused to admit that that made you pleased. If she had said otherwise, it might have stoked useless jealousy in the pit of your stomach.

After a moment, you sat up, nodding and looking at what was prepared for tonight. You thankfully had a nice dress already, a velvet cranberry coloured thing with mesh sleeves that opened at the elbow and draped elegantly. It'd been a gift as congratulations on joining the agency and moving out from your family. Lucy had painted your nails with some sheer iridescent polish, matching the shine to the silver on your accessories.

George’s outfit remained to be seen, but the way Lockwood smiled when you showed what you’d be wearing, it matched somehow.

“Uhm, Luce?”

“Yes?”

“What– what is that?”

That was the two-piece set on top of your dress, but it was clearly meant to be worn beneath.

“Oh.” She smiled awkwardly, “There was a two-for-one sale.”

“I see.” Accepting this, you picked the garments up, and she turned back to fixing her makeup. “How did you know my size?”

She froze.

“Lucy?”

“You aren’t gonna like it.”

“What did you do!”

“You aren’t the… only one that does your laundry.”

George.

You turned to face her fully, “You. You.” The words wouldn’t come out.

“It’s fine! He just checked for me quickly. He probably doesn’t even remember.”

Eyes unblinking, you stared at her. “I don’t think I can do this.” having said that, you flung yourself back onto the bed.

“You don’t even have to wear it, I just saw that the colour I picked out matched your dress, so I put it out for you. Please get up.” She pleaded. “I don’t think I told him what it was for, either,” she was speaking like she was conversing with a wild animal.

Relenting, you got back up. “These feel expensive.”

“Hence the two-for-one,”

“They won’t show under my dress?”

Lucy grinned wolfishly, “The plan is to be hidden until the last moment, so no. They’re pretty comfortable too. I’ve worn mine a few times.”

“Oh ew, Lucy.”

“All I’m saying is it’s a hit for both parties.”

You couldn’t help but make a face.

“Not that George will be seeing them, anyway… but I guess it’s good to be in the right state of mind…”

She dragged out the E in “Exactly.”

✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆

You felt pretty. The lingerie did match your dress nicely and fit perfectly, you noted with mixed emotions. And your hair, makeup and accessories all seemed to be working together and playing nicely for once.

“Don’t you two look excellent!” Lockwood said, sidling beside Lucy and giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek, “Come here; I want to look at you both properly.”

You did as he said, pretending to be doing it unwillingly but feeling very pleased inside.

“Yeah? D’you think it’ll go with George’s?”

“Oh, you haven’t seen him yet, have you?”

You shook your head no, and he turned to holler the other man’s name through the house. George, to his credit, arrived very shortly after. You half expected him to be in a too-big dress shirt and borrowed pants, but you were begrudgingly surprised.

“Oh.” You whispered.

“Oh?” George answered from the doorway.

His suit was a rich burgundy, and while you wore silver, he wore a simple gold chain. The shirt was off-white and a wispy ghost-patterned teal tie.

“You look smart.” You provided.

“I am smart.” He deadpanned.

To that, you rolled your eyes, “You know what I mean. You look good. Clean up well. Whatever,” you averted your gaze and waved your hand in an ‘and so on’ motion. You could feel your face warming, avoiding Lucy’s all-too-knowing expression.

“Ah. Thanks,” and after a moment, he quietly added, “Your dress is nice.”

“Thank you.” You looked up to see his eyes already waiting to meet yours, goosebumps dancing on your skin in reaction.

Lockwood groaned loudly.

“Shut up, Lockwood.” Lucy chided.

“Are they going to be like this all night?”

George broke his gaze first, turning his attention to the taller man. “You’re the one that wanted us to be dating.”

Temporarily throwing your nerves to the wind, you decided that maybe you could have fun with this. You walked to stand beside him, dramatically throwing an arm around him before facing Lockwood and Lucy, “Yeah, what my honey said!”

“My honey?” George questioned, a confused smile on his face.

“We need pet names. If we were really dating, I’d settle for nothing less.” You smiled resolutely, then added. “You don’t like honey? What about… snookums?” He shook his head. “Sweetie pie? Light of my life? My heart? All I hold dearest?” He shook his head no to each one, pausing at my heart, which you would definitely be filing away for later.

“Any normal one like love or babe will do fine, thanks.”

“You spoil my fun, love.”

Distantly, you could hear Anthony retch as Lucy and George sent him twin glares.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Well, you need a pet name too, don’t you?” He asked, and you realised that you hadn’t really put much thought into it. You tried to think back to things on tv or in books.

“Um, I’m not sure. What do you think?”

The pair of you continued to ponder when you stumbled on the memory of when he’d made you both laugh so hard your sides hurt.

You’d gone to Arif’s with him, eating one of the doughnuts as you walked back to 35 Portland Row when you’d unexplainably dropped it and, in your effort to catch it mid-tumble, tripped on a gap in the concrete and fell yourself.

Annoyed and hurt, you’d looked up at George to see him already offering a hand to help you up, but he was laughing. And as much as you wanted to pout, his laughter was infectious. The sun behind his head illuminating the edges of his hair and the sides of his face, which had a chocolate smear and sprinkles on either side of his mouth from his own doughnut, and you couldn’t help but laugh too. The memory made you smile even now.

“What about angel?” You said softly.

“Angel? I can do that.” He nodded, eyes narrowed in curiosity, having noted your mood shift.

With a clap, Lockwood announced, “Great, well, now that that’s settled, we better get going. The gala starts soon, and we wouldn’t want you two lovebirds to miss your first public appearance as a couple.”

You made a face alongside George.

“No… we wouldn’t want that… not at all…”

✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆

The gala was bustling. Rotwell’s was flaunting a new hall they had built recently, a temporary centrepiece to the room being a large fountain that was probably meant to be some sort of vase but ended up looking like an urn overflowing.

Standing at the entrance nervously, you felt George’s hand slip into your own, and you tilted your head in silent question, to which he’d shrugged and simply said, “Looked like you needed it.”

You smiled gratefully and began walking in, greeting a few people you only sort of knew and avoiding the ones you wanted to.

“So, what’s the plan again?”

“Lockwood wants us to schmooze, basically. Find out what the top agencies are interested in. Personally, I want to know what technology is coming out soon.”

“Course you do, babe.”

His eyes flicked to yours briefly before focusing ahead once more.

“So…” You started nervously, “Who to speak to first?”

“Rather the devil you know?” He answered, and you saw him nod his head to the left, which made you turn and see Quill Kipps walking straight for you.

You smiled at the offending man before turning to your date and whispering, “Great…” smiling wider when you realised that George held back a snort of amusement.

“Fancy seeing you two here tonight. I don’t suppose Lockwood’s here.”

“He’s around somewhere. Why d’you ask Kipps?”

“Oh, nothing.” He was pretending to be distracted. That much was obvious. “You look good, by the way.”

That was not what you were expecting. You could feel George wrap his arm around your waist, the palm of his hand warm on your hip, and you could tell that the action wasn’t unnoticed by the other man.

“I– Thank you, Quill.”

He nodded, then answered your earlier question,

“I’m surprised he’d let you off without a short leash, is all, after what happened last time.”

The last time he was referring to was you shouting rather angrily at someone holding up the line at the toilets, who happened to be an honoured guest of that event. Not your finest moment, and the reminder caused your cheeks to heat furiously.

“Well, he did, something about my George being able to keep me in line.” You smiled fondly at George as you worked your budding relationship into the conversation.

“Not that they need to be kept in line, anyway.” He added.

“Ah, well.” Kipps nodded in faux disinterest before tacking on, “Never thought someone would go for you, Karim. But I suppose desperate times call for desperate measures.”

George opened his mouth to retort, but you interrupted before he got the chance,

“Excuse you? What did you just say about my boyfriend?”

Quill seemed genuinely surprised at your aggression, floundering to come up with a witty remark as you continued.

“I’ll have you know that your failure to recognise his brilliance is going to bite you in the arse one day. He is more caring, more funny– more intelligent than you will ever be.” You turned to George, who was wearing a similarly surprised expression, “C’mon love, let’s go speak to someone who won’t behave so rudely.”

And with that, you pulled him off to somewhere secluded, shadow barely disguising the two of you as your own expression slipped, revealing your nerves. “Was that ok? I didn’t push it, did I?”

“No, no, you were great. Very believable…” He trailed off, “Did you really mean that?”

“What? Of course, I meant it. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

He nodded wordlessly, not making eye contact. “Well, it definitely started the rumour mill. At this rate, we’ll be in one of Lockwood’s gossip columns by the end of the week.” You followed his eye line to see Kipps speaking to another agent and glancing at the pair of you, and you groaned, resting your head on George’s shoulder.

“Should we put on a show for them?” There was something about the way he said it that you knew meant trouble.

“You’re starting to sound like our fearless leader.”

He huffed at that, but you could tell it wasn’t without humour.

“Just trust me, yeah?”

You moved your head and looked into his eyes.

“I already do.”

He pulled you until your back was against the wall, and his back was to the crowd. His face was so close now. Had he always had a freckle there? It was so cute… Oh please, please don’t be thinking he was cute right now. You made eye contact, and he smiled reassuringly, murmuring, “Trust me.” His expression went serious once more before leaning down and kissing just below your ear, causing you to make a small noise of pleasant surprise. You felt his lips curve into a smile when he kissed you lower against the side of your neck.

“George.” his name came out more breathily than you had hoped. Another soft kiss, barely grazing the skin this time.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think. I think you’ve made your point.”

“One more for good luck.”

Surprising you with his boldness, he kissed you again before standing up straight and reverted to his usual awkward forwardness.

“I, um, didn’t want to kiss your lips in case that wasn’t alright with you, first.”

“So you… kissed my neck?”

“It’s more intimate than kissing your cheek.” He said as a way of answer.

“True.” You conceded. “And for future reference, I’m ok with kissing as long as you are.”

He nodded but didn’t continue, turning around to the sea of people and searching for the other members of the agency.

“Should we see what the others got up to? Hopefully, they spoke to someone better than we did.”

George did a thin smile before turning back and saying, “I think I can see Lockwood and Lucy.”

“Lead the way.”

As you walked behind him, you couldn’t help but gingerly raise a hand to touch where he’d kissed you last.

“So, how lucky have you two been?” You asked the other couple, and Lucy smirked.

“Not as lucky as you. I saw that.”

“Saw what?” Lockwood asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“Those two necking it in the corner.”

“What?! And you didn’t point it out? How could you, Lucy? I thought we loved each other.”

“I’ll have you know those were tactical kisses.” George butt in.

“Yes. Kipps was rather rude, and Georgie here was displaying gratitude for me defending his honour.”

Anthony grimaced at the mention of the other agent but brightened again, “Defended his honour?”

“Apparently, I’m caring, funny, and intelligent.”

You were either on fire or just embarrassed.

“Why’d you go and tell him that? Now he’s going to get a big head.”

“Bigger than yours?” You quipped, and Lucy smiled. “And it’s true, anyway.” You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Hence us ‘necking’ in the corner,” George added. “More fuel for the gossip train.”

“Besides, it’s not like getting kissed was terrible.”

“Oh really?” Lucy raised a brow at you, and you silently tried to blow her up with your mind and then yourself for bringing it up. Out of the corner of your vision, you saw George studying your face.

“And it’s good for our cover.” You deflected, watching her eyes glint as a silent reminder that this conversation was not over.

“You didn’t happen to bring makeup with you, did you?” Lockwood asked, suddenly distracting you.

“Uh, no. Why?”

“Just that ol’ loverboy may have overdone it.”

At that, you slapped a hand over your neck, “George Casper Karim, did you give me a hickey?” You hissed. Surely you would have noticed, and Anthony was just ribbing you.

George rubbed his neck awkwardly, “I– maybe? I couldn’t tell ‘cause we were in the dark, and now you’re covering it.”

You turned to Lucy and Lockwood with pleading eyes, Lucy shaking with repressed silent laughter.

“He staked his claim.” That was all you got out of her.

Hesitantly you removed your hand and tilted your head to George in resignation.

“Oh yeah, there it is.” He brushed two fingers over the tender spot so casually, in a way that melted your insides had you not been so mortified.

“George!”

“My bad,” he added apologetically.

Lockwood smiled ruthlessly. “Well, now there’s no doubt about who’s dating who.”

“This is maybe the most embarrassed I’ve ever been.”

“I thought the kissing wasn’t so bad.” Lucy teased.

“It wasn’t, but now I’m going to have to cover it up to leave the house.”

“Or don’t.” George shrugged, and you looked at him. That, combined with the continued hold around your waist was definitely another thing to file away, even when in a fake relationship, George was a little possessive. “‘S not the worst state anyone’s ever seen us in.”

“But what if Arif asks?”

Anthony and Lucy stared at you quizzically. Silently asking, ‘That’s what you’re worried about?’

“Just tell him I gave it to you.” he paused as if remembering that the circumstances weren’t exactly common, “For a case.”

You nodded defeatedly.

“I suppose.”

“Besides.” George had that look in his eye. “You’re the one that liked it.”

Causing the others to laugh as you swatted his arm.

“And you didn’t? One more for good luck?” You reminded him. And he smiled in a way that had heat stirring in your belly.

“I think that was the good luck one,” and he touched the side of your neck again before letting the arm fall to his side. And you struggled not to react so visibly that the others would tease you for it, avoiding Lucy’s eyes specifically.

Something in the air tonight was making George cheeky and touchy, and it was turning you into a swooning damsel. To combat this, you rolled your eyes at his smile, turning to your friends and wrapping an arm around George’s as a tether at the same time.

“But really, did you find anything out?”

“Not much, no,” Lockwood answered.

“He’s lying. Someone from Fittes said that Satchell’s is going to be coming out with some kind of iron tape so that we can do perimeters easier. But that’s still in development.”

Your focus drifted in and out as she recounted what they’d learnt, Lockwood and George’s infrequent additions sometimes catching your attention as you gazed at the closest reflective surface you could, trying to catch a glimpse of the lovebite he’d given you.

“Hello? Is anybody home?” Lucy was waving a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I asked what you’d thought of going to the archives with George and me tomorrow, research some of that case I was just talking about.”

She’d been talking about a case? Oops.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I think I’m just more tired than I realised.”

She looked at you suspiciously but ultimately relented. “Ok. I’m about done for the night, too. Lockwood?”

“I’m more than happy with how tonight’s turned out. I’ll have to figure out how we can use you two to get more cases.”

You looked at George worriedly and saw him reflect your expression.

✧☽────•⋆°˖⋅✹⋅˖°⋆

The cab ride home made you realise how overwhelming the gala had been, even in the short time you’d been present. When you’d gotten home, you’d changed almost immediately. You truly were tired of being there, at the very least. And damn it. You were getting all worked up again thinking about earlier. You closed your door, too distracted to notice it didn’t click shut as usual.

Whilst you had changed out of the dress and bra, you couldn’t be bothered to change out of the underwear, vowing to properly clean yourself in the morning and into your comfiest pyjamas. The night was warm enough for cotton shorts, a loose top covering your torso.

Thus faces your new dilemma.

Trying to calm yourself and focus on something other than the sexual tension so suddenly evident between yourself and George without acknowledging tonight’s event, which is precisely how you ended up with a hand in your pyjama shorts.

Your hands moved lower, under the lingerie Lucy had so graciously gifted you— fuck, don’t think about her right now.

You bite your lip to stop a whimper, panting heavily as your fingers move against you as you try to recall the way he’d repeatedly placed an arm around you possessively tonight, the warmth of his hand against your hip still being fresh in your memory.

Vaguely, you could hear footsteps in the hallway, trying to be quieter as you continued to work yourself and resuming once you thought you heard the footsteps fade.

Your eyes squeezed shut, imagining it was George’s between your legs.

Maybe you’d be able to run your hand through his hair and see how soft it was for yourself as he went down on you.

Moaning softly as you tipped your head back onto your pillow, exposing the very neck he’d kissed earlier, and if you focused, you could feel his answering smile against the column of flesh.

“G.. ge-“

You couldn’t bring yourself to finish stuttering out the whisper of his name, trying to imagine what his touches could have been if you’d both not been fully clothed. Wishing that you hadn’t stopped him earlier to see truly how far he would have gone.

The sound of your door swinging broke through your thoughts, your hand stopping as you paused, opening one eye slowly to see George leaning smugly against the doorframe. Your legs clenched together.

“No, please, don’t stop on my account.”

You let out a long, low groan, sliding your hands out of your shorts and rolling over to hide your burning cheeks in your bed.

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

You groaned again. This was beyond embarrassing. It was humiliating. Sure, he’d been in various states of undress around you. But that was just normal stuff, coming out of his room not wearing pants, he’s done that around everyone, and he certainly hadn’t been caught pleasuring himself by the person he was jerking off thinking of.

“You. You should’ve knocked. You can’t just come in!”

George huffed a laugh, “Your door was unlocked, and you weren’t answering. I wanted to see if you needed anything washed to go to the archives tomorrow.”

He paused, apparently intent on enjoying the moment, “But it seems you need a hand with something else, don’t you, angel?”

You would have to move to another country. Wales could always use agents, right? Surely? Maybe there you could find some other hot guy to pine over and hope he gave you his affection. Because this was getting to the point of mortification.

George chuckled, and you heard the floorboards creak, then felt the bed dip down. Your eyes widened where you were hiding your face. Was he sitting on your bed?

“I take back what I said earlier, this is officially the most embarrassed I’ve ever been.”

“Look at me, please?”

Slowly, you turned your head to face him. His expression was unlike anything you’d seen from him yet, he looked like he was going to eat you alive.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed. We all do it.”

He said matter-of-factly, and despite yourself, you nodded.

“Even you?” You wrinkled your nose and made a face of mock surprise, which had him wryly looking at you.

“I’m not going to answer that.” He said, moving further up your bed, gesturing for you to sit up.

“What are you doing?” Your eyes narrowed as you watched him, face still hot despite him assuring you.

Surprisingly forward tonight, George hummed. “Well… clearly, I interrupted you while you were doing something you needed to finish.” He paused, readjusting your pillow. “And I’d really like to help you finish. If that’s alright with you.” One of his hands touched the bare skin on your thigh, watching your reaction for any hesitation.

“That’s alright with me.”

It was astounding how quickly your embarrassment had snapped back into arousal.

You shuffled closer to the centre of the bed, and he slotted himself behind you. His legs wrapped around your own as he pulled your torso so that your back was flush with his chest.

You swallowed hard.

“Are you sure, angel?”

“Yes. Please.”

His face was just beside your head, above your right shoulder. Gradually, his hand snaked underneath your shorts, a soft “Wow,” escaping his lips as his fingers grazed the dampness of the underwear covering you.

You rested your head on his shoulder, exposing your neck again, which he rewarded by peppering it with kisses and soft bites.

His other hand moved to touch the soft skin underneath your shirt, and you could feel your breathing increase rapidly. This was real.

“Were you thinking of me?” He spoke so quietly you almost missed it, and you whimpered. “Hm? Were you touching yourself while thinking of me?”

“Yes.” You responded, already feeling lightheaded under his care.

Beside your ear, he inhaled sharply. “All this just thinking of me?” He seemed in awe.

“Yeah, Georgie.” You confirmed.

He shifted his hands to pull the shorts down and kissed your neck in a way you knew it left another mark.

Briefly, he felt the material of your underwear again, running his finger along the underside of the elastic.

“These feel special.”

“They’re— Lucy got them for me.”

“You were wearing lingerie tonight?”

“You knew that she was buying lingerie?”

“Yeah? She asked me what colours you liked, and I… prodded.”

You didn’t know whether to focus on the fact that he had known what she bought you, or that he had informed what it was that was bought, or even that he knew what you liked to the point of being consulted.

“If it’s anything, thank goodness you didn’t tell me.”

“Huh?”

“We wouldn’t have made it through the gala.”

You turned to look at him and realised he was being serious. His desire to see you in them would have been made into his most recent obsession.

“M— maybe I’ll put the set on for you some other time.”

He smiled, moving your shirt collar so that he could kiss your shoulder.

“I’d really like that, sweetheart.”

His hand slipped into your underwear, mimicking your earlier motions of collecting from between your moist folds. His fingers slid back and forth a few passes until you whined impatiently.

“So wet,” he murmured. “I think I can get you wetter.” He whispered against your ear, a promise.

The pad of his middle finger drew slow circles around your clit, and the hand in your shirt moved upwards to gently knead your breast, causing your nipples to stiffen.

“Oh, George.” You sighed pleasantly, and he groaned quietly in response.

“Have to be quieter for me, love. Not that I don’t want to hear you, just that I don’t want the others to as well.” He increased the pressure, and you fought back a moan, “Think you can do that for me, angel?” and you nodded quickly, not trusting your ability to speak at the moment.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praised.

You didn’t even remember how he’d ended up on your bed, embarrassment lost under his skilful hands.

“Please.” you whimpered, hips squirming against him, his fingers moving faster against you. Simultaneously, he rolled the nipple in his hand between his fingers, causing a low whine to slip through your lips.

“Shhh, that’s it, love.” He nipped at the skin of your neck softly, soothing it soon after by placing soft kisses against it. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You turned your head, wanting to see him even if it was through half-lidded eyes.

The sight of him had you sucking in a quick breath; his eyebrows pinched together, mouth slightly ajar, and cheeks reddened. His eyes had that look in them again, which you were quickly realising was something akin to heat or desire. George looked almost blissed out as he focused on giving you pleasure.

You released a soft moan, panting as he continued, and his brow creased further. His eyes snapped shut as he listened to the broken noises you struggled to suppress, causing you to realise that he was getting off on this. He was enjoying making you fight not to make pleased little noises, the evidence of the effect of him on you. You wanted to kiss him desperately.

Your left hand moved sluggishly upwards, hesitantly cupping his cheek, and you gently traced your thumb down the cheekbone. His eyes flew open, and he turned slightly so that his gaze landed on your face. Fuck, he looked so good. He raised the same brows you had been observing earlier in silent question, and you felt yourself growing shy despite the circumstances you were currently in.

“Mm?”

You bit your lip, still gently tracing the shape of his cheek and being partially distracted by his actions. Tentatively you moved your face closer to his, lifting slightly off of his shoulder and tilting your head for a better angle. Your gaze kept flicking to his lips, then back to his eyes. He licked his lips, readjusting slightly so you could continue forward more comfortably.

“Please?” You whispered, and he nodded.

Your lips barely connected at first before moving ever closer, George finally understanding your earlier wordless begging and further uniting the two of you. Urgently you tried to convey your feelings for him in this– possibly single– kiss. The hand that was on his cheek was now against his jaw, fingers playing with the hair peeking out from behind his ear. Your other hand now came to a loose grip around the wrist that was down your shorts, taking pleasure in just feeling the rotation before falling to your side again.

You moved back to take a breath, his hand that was under your top moved around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could feel him hard against your back. Then, it moved to join his other hand under your underwear, avoiding the wonderful movements made by his fingers, rubbing along your folds, and a moment later, you felt one of his long fingers pressing into you, both testing and teasing. A pleased sigh slipping out of him as he realised how easy it was for him to move in and out of you before he added another finger, making your jaw go slack as you fought off the noises he was willing to escape.

He took that reaction as an opportunity to kiss you deeper, lips moving languidly against your own, drawing soft aborted moans from you.

You pulled back again to look down at yourself, his tan arms against your skin, shirt ridden up from his earlier touching.

Breathlessly, your gaze shifted to his face again and whimpered, “George.”

He looked into your eyes and smiled. That had your heartbeat quickening, the butterflies in your stomach causing your orgasm to approach more rapidly. His smile grew as he felt you clench down on him.

“Just for my smile?” He looked pleasantly confused. And you groaned against him.

“Y’r so pretty.” You slurred against him, lust-drunk. “‘S not my fault.”

He hummed in amusement.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hips moving against him as his fingers pumped in and out of you, his others working just as relentlessly against your clit. Shuddering as he kissed just below your ear, where it connected with your jaw. Breathy whines became quiet needy moans, and you couldn't help but tilt his head so slightly to press your own kisses to the side of his mouth and cheek.

“So good to me. Y’r so good t’ me, George.”

And you heard him groan in response. Once again, you clenched in reaction.

“Let go for me, angel.” He murmured, softly biting where he could reach. “I know you’re close. I can feel it.”

He was right, you were close. His warmth pressed against you, combined with his hands and the kisses and bites he had been determinedly leaving on your throat, had you just at your tipping point.

He increased the pressure of his fingers, angling the others just so, and you couldn’t help but moan at it as your back arched.

“Geo— Georgie.” You whispered, the pet name sounding all the more affectionate in your haze.

“Let go for me, please? I’d really like to see it, love.”

And you did.

His odd fascination with you spurring him to continue his ministrations in order to draw it out as long as he could, watching your face contort, and your chest rise and fall, not stopping until you shook in his arms.

Slowly, he removed his hands from your shorts, leaving you to recover in his embrace.

Your mind was completely devoid of comprehensible thoughts, face angled into the crook of his neck as you regained sentience after the mind-numbing orgasm he had just gifted you with. You kissed at the skin there, the pair of you sighing contentedly at the feeling.

You felt him shift behind you and started to awaken further from what felt like a very strange but very good dream, and you realised what had just happened between each of you.

He has just caught you masturbating to him, and instead of running for the hills, he�� did that. You had let him— invited him to do that. You must have stiffened against him because he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“You… caught me in a private moment and stayed, is all.”

“Mm? All of which I thought was quite nice.”

You frowned at him, but you knew he could see you didn’t mean it.

“‘S just odd. That’s all.” Then, quieter as you looked away, you added, “I didn’t know you even liked me.” And he scoffed, drawing your attention once again.

“I lay into you like a vampire in public, and you didn’t think I liked you?”

“Well, when you say it like that.”

He shifted, and you felt the bulge of his hardness against your back again. He had gotten hard just getting you off. Your eyes widened as he stuck the two fingers he’d just been fucking into you inside of his mouth. His eyes shut briefly, and you saw his cheeks hollow as he sucked your arousal off of his fingers.

“Oh, that’s trouble.”

“How do you mean?”

“You taste really good, angel.”

You inhaled sharply, a second wave of lust washing over you, and he opened his eyes to do that small, knowing smirk at you, the same one he did when he knew something you didn’t, which was often.

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest.

“I’d like a repeat of this if you don’t mind.”

You rolled your eyes fondly at him. “You just reduced me to mush, and you think I wouldn’t want that to happen again?”

He huffed a laugh, gently nudging you to get you to flip over and lay properly onto him, bringing his hardness back to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you..?”

“What? Oh, no.”

You deflated slightly.

“As lovely as that would be, angel,” he continued, “I’m knackered, and I want your energy up for tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow? Besides the archives, I mean?”

“Oh, didn’t you know? You’re feeling kind of feverish, so I have to stay home and look after you, and would you please go with her, Lockwood? The archives can be terribly boring when you’re alone.” He was smiling at you as though recounting a funny story, and he pulled blankets over the pair of you, so he was planning to stay the night, it appeared. Or at least until early in the morning when he woke.

“George, are you trying to get me alone tomorrow?”

“Yes. Wasn’t that obvious?” he deadpanned, and you couldn’t help the fond smile in response, and you hummed instead of answering.

“Besides, if not tomorrow, I’ll find some other way to hear those pretty noises you make while you’re under me.”

Your cheeks burned, and you buried your face under his jaw.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I certainly hope not, I don’t want to experiment on your ghost.”

“That was almost sweet?”

“I meant it.”

You were just dozing off when he broke the silence.

“Why angel?”

“Hm?”

“Your pet name, why an angel?”

“Oh.” You moved to get more comfortable now that you were more aware of your surroundings again. “It reminds me of you.”

He waited for you to continue, not letting you out of that so easily.

“Do you remember the time we went to Arif’s together? The grocery boy had left out some things, so we decided to pick up doughnuts on our way home.”

“Last summer?”

You nodded against his collarbone.

“And when we were walking home, and I dropped it for some reason–”

He cut you off, silently adding, “A bird flew right in front of us.”

“And I got so surprised I dropped it,” you amended, recalling the bird now, too. “But I tried to catch it and went tumbling into the pavement?”

A faint exhale of a laugh came from above you, and you knew he was laughing at you even now.

“When I looked up at you, the sun was right behind you and…” Suddenly shy, you drifted off.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“You were laughing, and I couldn’t find myself to care because the sun was behind you. It lit up the edges of your hair like a halo, that’s why. It’s… I really like that memory.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“I… may have asked Lockwood to stay home so I could take you instead. You’ve liked me since then?”

You laughed suddenly, surprising yourself. “We’re totally useless. Probably longer– I bet if I asked Lucy to take Anthony instead of us tomorrow, she would. She’s probably sick of me pining.”

“She’s got no ground to stand on. She and Lockwood were way worse.” He complained.

“Yeah?”

“And I had to deal with it alone.”

“But not anymore,” you said softly. “You have me now.” and he hugged you tighter to him. “We might have to buy me a scarf, though.”

“Oh, definitely. Don’t let them see tomorrow, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

George Casper Karim was unbearable.

His big stupid head still told you off for taking the biscuit, but now it would bend down and kiss you softly too.

And he still was so helpful, but now you could really see how he picked favourites and was secretly incredibly pleased he chose you, even if it meant investing what must count as an industrial-grade concealer so that his dutiful ironing was the only thing that made an impression on the client.

But now, he was even sweeter. His touches lingered and were more frequent. He still wouldn’t touch the others as openly, but your space and his space soon became shared. He was unbearable.

He still rolled his eyes as you tried to find a nickname of his very own, admonishing you with a heatless “Angel.” but you knew, you just knew you’d find the perfect fit one day.

He made your world spin, and you couldn’t help but always feel warm, safe and happy with him.

Which, without your knowing, was infectious. Spread to him like a leaf unfurling.

You were unbearable.

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #locklyle #george karim #smut fic #i might do another but dont get your hopes up #george karim x you #george karim x reader

299 notes · View notes

lewkwoodnco · 3 months

Text

Be More - George x Reader

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response.

a/n: am soooo salty i fell sick in the middle of my 12 days of fics '23 for xmas last year :((( so im giving myself a lil treat by doing a short series of valentine's fics! i SO don't know how souffles work if you can't tell so pls don't come for me, and a special special thanks to lisa @neewtmas for the apron idea heheh. all fluff, which is why I got all my angst fics out of the way beforehand if you'd like a lil palate cleanser :) also totally didn't make this a songfic cuz i was struggling to find a title :} btw I headcannon that george randomly zones in and out in everyday life and this has nothing to do with how much I may or may not do this myself ALSO was strongly influenced to post this earlier by the multiverse of George aka @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29@bobbys-not-that-small heh

warnings/tropes: lockwood and george bromance supremacy!!! baking, lots and lots of valentine's day fluff, awkward georgeeeee

word count: 2.8k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lucy handed George a steaming cup of tea, which he gratefully accepted. The three of them were having breakfast as usual, and with the last strains of winter fading, Portland Row's kitchen was entirely too bright. He closed his eyes, pretending he didn't see the way Lockwood's hand lingered on Lucy's when taking his mug. They were bad enough on any normal day, but even worse nowadays, with Valentine's Day drawing achingly closer. He felt himself begin to nod off again from the gentle and comforting steam.

He felt a mild rap against his cheek, which he turned to see is from a well-aimed sugar cube launched from across the table by Lucy. He looked up to see her staring hard at him and Lockwood poorly concealing a snigger with his cup of tea.

"George. Have you or have you not got any plans for Valentine's?"

He takes his time wiping his glasses on his shirt sleeve before responding. "Nothing much. Though I've promised Y/N I'd spend the day with her."

He watched Lucy's expression carefully, and she seemed to be watching his. Truth was, with Valentine's drawing closer and closer, George was going into a mild panic. He hadn't exactly arranged it intentionally. They had been having a quiet chat on a morning when George had been too tired from the previous night's case to strictly follow, and suddenly she was waving goodbye, promising to see him next on Valentine's Day.

He had no idea what kind of a Valentine's Day he had agreed to, or how much of a filter he had had, and he had been dropping Lucy desperate cries for help, with decreasing subtlety. Was it a date? Was she expecting a date? Sure, they had went to that play together after Lucy fell mysteriously ill, and maybe they met up for lunch once a week. But she never referred to

His eyes slowly drifted close as Lucy and Lockwood's conversation morphed into gentle white noise, enjoying the warmth of the little sun streaming through their kitchen window. It felt nice to have a little break from his intense week of baking -

Baking! George snapped wide awake, clumsily climbing out of his chair and feverishly counting the stacks of meticulously wrapped, frilly pastry goodie bags lining the kitchen counter. It had become an annual Valentine's Day tradition for George to construct these small goodie bags of baked goods for a sizeable chunk of his extended family. He even roped in Lucy and Lockwood, and as Valentine's Day approached they'd all gather around the kitchen table at night, even if it was after a case, packing the delicaices George had spent the day baking, until one of them started dropping off.

It was tedious work, but they enjoyed it and were well invested in it - Lockwood fiercely so. When a cousin had remarked that perhaps the tradition was becoming a little tired at a family gathering last Christmas, Lockwood had accidentally-but-not-really smacked his head. George relaxed as he neared towards the end of the pile - just one more day of baking, and he'd be ready to send them off.

Lucy and Lockwood were mostly finished with breakfast anyway, so he chased them out of the kitchen and got to work. Once George had his first batch of cookies in the oven, he started planning for the supplementary baked goods. For instance, he was going to make a chocolate souffle for the three of them to share over a midnight supper tomorrow.

So when the kitchen door swung open, letting in a blast of cold air, George spun around scathingly, ready to threaten Lockwood with deflated souffles. But the hiss at the tip of his tongue withered when he saw who it was.

"...Y/N?"

"Hello. Baking, are you?"

George suppressed the urge to shield the vast volumes of confectionary goodie bags littering the kitchen's surfaces.

"...yes." With some difficulty, he slowly resumed his movements, explaining how this was something he did every year. In a way, he was grateful to have something to do with his hands, because the last minute or so reminded him that he had no idea what he normally did with his hands while standing.

"Oh. Need any help?"

It took George another half-minute to process her question. "With what?"

"With the baking, obviously."

"Uh...s'alright, I've got it all handled."

"No, please, I'd love to help."

George paused mid-stir, looking comically perplexed with a smidge of flour on his nose. "What for?" He bit his tongue, hastily back-pedalling since his tone sounded aggressively suspicious. "What I mean is, you wouldn't want to spend your day here, sweating like a pig - not that you sweat, and definitely not like a pig, no - I'm the one sweating like a pig..."

What he wanted to say was, their oven was ancient and so made the kitchen stupid hot every time he baked, but failed miserably. He set down his mixing bowl in defeat. Almost instantly, she stifled a giggle, trying to pass it off as clearing her throat, and George followed her gaze to his apron in horror. What the mixing bowl had previously been hiding was the horrendously cheesy 'kiss the cook' graphic on his apron.

It had been a ridiculous gag gift from Lucy, one that he had never intended to use but was forced to after his last apron caught on fire from one of his experiments with the skull. Bursting into flames would have been more useful now, He stood there, eyes watering from the heat, determined in his refusal to acknowledge both the apron and the smile she was doing a poor job of suppressing.

"Fine. You can start with the cookie batter."

About a minute or two later, it occurred to George that perhaps it would have wise to ask how much experience she had with baking. Not a lot, he soon discovered, when her bowl nearly flew off as soon as she switched on the egg beater. He dropped his mixing bowl instantly, waving away her apologies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't expect it to be so powerful."

He cautiously adjusted her grip on the bowl, gently guiding her fingers to a better hold.

"No, no, it's my fault. Not much of a baker?"

"...no."

"Okay, so what you do is, use one hand to hold the - other hand - hold the bowl, and the other holds the egg beater like - no, not quite."

He took a step closer, placing his hands over hers, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her body, and the smell of her shampoo.

The last time they had been this close was on their way home from that play. With Lockwood out of town for a client meeting, and Lucy developing a mysterious case of the flu, it was only the two of them crouched under a tiny umbrella as they walked home after the play. George would have been more than happy to walk in the rain, but she was the one holding the umbrella, and was firm in her resolve to not send him back to Lucy with a head cold. With the little space between them, their cheeks brushed against each other occasionally, sending a jolt running through the side of George's face.

"Well...this is me."

George nodded dumbly, staring hard at the chips in her front door's paint, agonisingly aware of her looking at his face. He didn't dare turn to meet her gaze; they were far too close.

"I had fun today, George."

He sighed and briefly zonesout. As short as their chat was, he remembered very little, his focus only returning when she pulled her key out.

"We should do this again sometime," she was saying, as she turned the key in her lock. When he finally looked at her, there were the tinies raindrops on her eyelashes. There was something so pure and unassuming about the sight that it tugged at his heart. It made him want...more. More with her. With a brief smile, she disappeared into her home, leaving him standing alone in the rain. He stood there for a minute, prolonging the moment for some unidentifiable reason. It was a nice door. She had a nice smile.

It was as though she had read his thoughts from his eyes, for a faintly embarrassed air hung in the kitchen after that. For the next better part of an hour, they engaged in this delicate dance as they floated through the kitchen, carefully staying out of each other's way, never in the same area for long. It wasn't until she was sifting the dry ingredients that they next spoke.

"Hang on, that might be too much flou-"

As George touched her elbow, her hand jerked, sending a sizeable chunk of flour into her mixing bowl, along with a cloud of it directly in her face. He was sorry, of course, but as she spluttered and tried to blink through it, he couldn't stop the amused twist to his features. When she caught his eye, she rolled her eyes and sent a fistful of flour into his eyes. Now it was her turn to laugh as George groaned through the smarting.

"You're right, Mr. Cook, it IS hilarious!"

George scoffed, struggling to maintain his sanctimonius, above-petty-acts front as he wiped his glasses clean with as much dignity as he could muster. But on the inside, his defences were crumbling fast.

"You're acting like a child."

She looked mildly apologetic for a moment, and George felt a flash of truimph, before she raised both her flour-coated hands and resolutely streaked them across George's face.

"Egg on your face. Or should I say, flour?"

With that, all pretenses of civility were thrown out the window. The both of them swept up as many ingredients as they could and migrated to opposite ends of the kitchen table, pelting each other with everything that could be pelted. George landed a few well-aimed chocolate chips into her hair. She soaked the front of his apron with half a jug of milk, which was nearly enough to send him into hysterics. So it went on and on and on, until they ran out of supplies in their immediate reach, before resorting to shoving each other's faces into bags and tins of baking soda and powdered sugar. This, it occurred to George as he was rubbing cornstarch into her red, wheezing face, is strangely intimate.

Again, there was this tugging sensation in his chest, the kind that made him want to sit in his armchair for anywhere from half a minute to half an hour. The kind of sensation that could not be held in words. The closest he could get was the wish for a never-ending summer, or perhaps orchards full of cherry trees as sweet as the first pick. But even that fell short.

Just as she raised two fistfuls of sprinkles, the kitchen door swung open. Lockwood wandered in, looking sharp as ever in his too-small suit. The two of them smoothly parted, their faces burning under the flour, and George suddenly became very interested in the pastry dough he was kneading. He felt rather than saw Lockwood looking back and forth between the two of them, wishing that he'd just take whatever he needed from the kitchen and got out. But of course, he knew better than to engage in wishful thinking, especially with Lockwood's mildly gormless smile plain as day. "Hang on. George, you do realise that-"

Whatever it was that Lockwood was wondering if he had realised was cut off by the jam tart George shoved into his mouth, because the answer was probably yes, Lockwood, of course I realised that completely inane observation.

"Out. Out. I won't have you compromising the integrity of my kitchen." With a little difficulty, George wheeled a spluttering Lockwood littering soft pastry flakes all over his clean kitchen floor out into the hallway. He shut the door firmly and turned back apologetically, only just seeing the flour in her hair as she watched on amusedly.

"I sure hope I'm not starting up a ruckus - or was it compromising the integrity? - of your kitchen."

George felt his cheeks warming as he returned to the kitchen table. "No, of course not. You never know where Lockwood's been, is all. You're different."

Had he been standing this close to her the whole day, he wondered, close enough to see the pretty flakes in her eyes, softer than any pastry he could make? How was he supposed to look away? And how did he stand it?

"Er...I think this dough's ready to be cut into the strips."

"Yes, chef."

He coughed awkwardly, too uncomfortable to come up with any decent sort of response, embarrassedly muttering something along the lines of how there was no need for any of that. As she got absorbed into getting the strips of dough just right, George glanced at the kitchen door, to see Lockwood silently making exaggerated kissy faces at him. George picked up his rolling pin and Lockwood fled immediately, without so much as a creak from the floorboards.

Now, they finally returned to their baking with proper focus, now that they were all tired out. She seemed to have picked up some skills pretty quickly, though he still kept an eye out in case she might do something that would, say, set her hand on fire.

An hour or so later, the phone started ringing obnoxiously in the hallway. With some difficulty, George peeled off one of his disposable gloves on his way to it. When he picked up the phone, he almost wished he hadn't, because it was that same cousin from last Christmas' gathering. As his voice wore on and on, George started wishing he had let Lockwood give him another punch or two, just to set him straight.

Suddenly, he picked out a few startling words from his cousin's nasally voice, which made his heart plummet, as the calendar in the hallway came into startling focus. He wandered back to the kitchen door, numbly hearing his cousin's complaints of why no one's goodie bags had reached yet. He blankly stared at her, and she stared back confused, slowing down her cutting of the strips concernedly. After a second or two, he hung up the phone, but was in too much shock to lower it.

"Today's date," he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Today's date. It's not the 13th. I thought it was the 13th. Today is the 14th. Valentine's day was today, not tomorrow."

Even as he was saying those words, the calm look on her face told him exactly what he had feared - that she had known all along.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought this was what you wanted to do!"

"Unpaid labour."

"What?"

"You spent your Valentine's Day doing exhausting, difficult, unpaid labour." He clumsily placed the phone down on the kitchen counter, struggling to find the right words as he fought against the embarrassment. "I am so sorr- just a minute, I might have some loose change somewhere here-"

"Don't." George was spiraling with shame, kicking himself for his oversight, and she still had the gall to look that pretty and kind. "I didn't mind any of it one bit, I promise."

"I promised you something fun."

"George, this is the most fun I've ever had baking, and I've been making pineapple upside down cakes since before I could - oh."

She broke off when she finally looked up to see the growing shock on George's face. She nibbled at the inside of her cheek nervously, trying to gauge his reaction.

"So you do know how to bake."

"Only a little?"

He took in the sight of her apologetic smile, the careful dusting of flour on her face and her suspiciously clean clothes. "You could have said."

"Oh, but I was having so much fun." George rolled his eyes. "I spent the day learning how to construct the most adorable pastry goodie bags I have ever seen, and I did it all with my boyfriend. Believe me, it doesn't get more fun than this."

Not for the first time that day, George stared at her in wonder, like he couldn't quite figure out how she was real. Even now, when all she was doing was merely existing, words failed him. He had a feeling he'd spend lifetimes chasing shadows, trying to pin what was gone before it bloomed, and he still wouldn't be able to find the right words. There was no other way to put it, or colour it - he wished they were more.

He hesitantly extended his hand, brushing just a speck of the huge handprint of flour on her face with his thumb. He turned, walking out into the hallway, but then just as immediately wheeled back.

"Your WHAT?"

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#if i had a nickel for everytime i wrote a george x reader fanfic where pastries were a siginificant part i'd have 2 nickels #which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened twice LMAO #also in case its not clear i meant the your WHAT to be referring to the reader calling him her bf sdfhajfalskf #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfic #george karim x reader #george cubbins #george karim imagine #george karim x you #george x reader #george karim #valentines day #fluff #Spotify #be more #stephen sanchez

86 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

hey!! i really love your fics for george karim,, do you mind making another one when reader is lazy to get up from bed and george is trying to pull her out ending up staying beside them in bed, maybe cuddling and messy kisses?? if you reply to this, tysm!!!!! <3

“Where’s y/n?” Lucy asked one morning, staring at the vacant chair you’ve claimed at George’s side. “They’re still not up?” Lockwood was the next to ask, also looking over at your vacant chair. “Nope.” George answered, seeing as yours and his room were the closest out of all of you, making him the only person to have seen you in the morning.

“Who’s turn is it to wake them?” The question hung in the air as the trio began to look between one another, awaiting for someone to volunteer in being the sacrificial lamb but when no one does, Lockwood, Lucy and George were then forced to resort to pulling straws; And to the surprise of absolutely no one, George pulls the shortest straw.

“Fuckin- This games got to be rigged, either one of you could’ve had it rigged somehow.” George grunted as he pushed himself away from the table as Lucy and Lockwood found humour at their friends’ seemingly bad luck when it came to their little game. “You snooze you loose Georgie.” Lockwood shrugs, leaning back against his chair, “Now be doll and get up there and wake our beloved y/n will you.” George only flipped him off in response as he let the kitchen door shut behind him, muffling the sound of his friends laughter.

“God give me strength.” He muttered under his breath as he began to trek up the stairs, stopping just short of your room to take a deep breath for dramatic effect before opening the door to see that -surprise, surprise- you were still very much fast asleep within your bed. The latest case must’ve took a lot out of you or you just had a really shitty sleep schedule, George believed it was the latter from previous instances where he would find you awake in the early hours of the day.

George knew he had no room to judge considering the fact that your job primarily consists of burning the midnight oil hunting Visitors who were at their most active during the later hours of the day. So it was only natural that you wanted to find methods to rid yourself of the access energy accumulated. Yet out of the four of you, you were always the last to fall asleep and the last to wake up.

Seeing as poking and prodding wasn’t getting him anywhere, George turned to his secret technique.

“Y/n,” George said, lightly poking your cheek, “c’mon it’s time to wake up.” You only groaned, lazily swatting his hand away before moving so that your back was facing towards him as you drifted back to sleep; bringing poor George back to square one. “Y/n.” He prods his finger in the space between your shoulders, causing your back to inadvertently arch from the contact but return back to it’s relaxed state soon after as you once again showed no actual signs of waking up.

Seeing as how poking and prodding weren’t going to do the trick, George then resorted to his secrete technique. Hitting you repeatedly with a pillow was next on his itinerary but he just knew you too well to know that even that wasn’t going to doing anything advantageous for him. So George moved towards the base of the bed and ripped away the covers so that the cold morning air jolted you awake, stunning you enough so he could grab ahold of your pyjama clad legs and began to pull you off the bed.

“George, you dick!” You squealed, “had you just given me five more minutes I would’ve woken up!” George, halted all movement to give you an unimpressed stare. “Are you even hearing yourself right now? If I were to have given you five more minutes, it would be well past noon when you decided it convenient for you to wake up.” He replied to which you couldn’t lie your way out of that because it would be true.

“Fine, you got me there but I have a proposal, should my favourite researcher wish to hear it out.” You said, pulling back into your own bag of tricks this time. “I’m going to regret this but at this point, I could hardly care less so please, indulge me on this wonderful proposal of yours.” George replied sarcastically as he awaited whatever bullshit that would escape you this time.

“You become my cuddle buddy,” George began to groan until you shushed him, “and I’ll let you tell me all about that kick arse artefact from the last case,” your raised a hand for dramatic effect before continuing, “in full detail.” That last bit must’ve caught George’s attention as his grip on your legs loosened enough for you to break free, scoop up the discarded bed covers before finally delving headfirst back into the comfort of your bed.

Once he came back to reality and saw what had happened he couldn’t help but hiss out a “you minx” at you before sitting himself at the edge of your bed, defeatedly. You looked at him, slightly confused. “Georgie?”

“Aren’t you going to…cuddle me or whatever.” He said awkwardly and you couldn’t help but coo at this as you pulled back the covers of your bed, dragging the boy by his arm until he was laying flat on his back, before pulling the covers over the both of you as you then cuddled yourself into his side; head resting in the crook of his neck and all.

“Sooo you’re giving into my demands? waving your white flag of surrender? Calling a cease fire? Forming a-“ your teasing words were cut off when George, finally having enough of you rubbing your victory over him in his face, pressed a plethora of kisses across your face.

“Okay! Okay! Okay! I’ll stop the teasing, for now.” You said after surviving the barrages of his kisses, feeling a little warmth speed within your chest as you somehow snuggled yourself deeper into his hold, smiling lightly when you felt George get himself comfortable brining his arm over your waist, holding you there.

“Just shut it will ya, I’m already gonna get the piss taken out of me by Lucy and Lockwood about my ‘weak spot’ for you sooner or later.” George said softly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead before then resting his chin lightly atop of your head. “Might as well make the best of-“ he bit back a yawn, “-of this whilst we still can.” He finishes, removing his glasses and putting them on your bedside table before repositioning himself, closing his eyes as he let himself indulge in a lazy morning with you.

Lucy and Lockwood would come upstairs when George hadn’t came down with you in tow, only to shush the other when they caught sight of you and George cuddled up tightly against one another, fast asleep and looking the most content either of you had looked in a long while.

They agreed to take the piss out of the both of you later but right now, they’ll let you have this.

#lockwood and co x you #lockwood and co imagine #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co imagines #george karim x you #george karim x reader #george karim imagine #george karim imagines #lockwood imagines #lockwood imagine #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you

568 notes · View notes

neewtmas · 3 months

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙʙᴇʏ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ // ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

summary: a case that takes longer than expected, an unrequited crush, and the hardest decision you ever had to make

genre: fluff, angst, more angst later, happy ending

part I

part II

part III

part IV

part V

part VI

part VII

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #george karim x reader #george karim x you #lockwood and co x you #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co x you

86 notes · View notes

gaintsnowflake · 9 months

Text

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀

PARING - george karim x reader

ONESHOT - in which you give george a book with notes written in the margins

TRIGGERS - none

A/N - this is very fluffy! First time writing in second person, I wanted to write in third it just didn’t sound right so I decided to try something new. I apologize for grammor and spelling mistakes, I am my own editor so I am unable to get everything

WORD COUNT - 0.9k ( short but sweet )

masterlist

GEORGE UNWRAPPED the present, tilting his head as he found a book with an unfamiliar title. On top of it was a card with neat handwriting.

"What does it say, George?" Lockwood asked, curious to not only who got him the gift but what the note said.

This gift that George was holding appeared this morning outside. It came nicely wrapped, in brown paper with a rope ribbon, with the words 'for George' written in cursive. None of the four people who lived in the house knew who it came from, well that's not exactly true, but that is what George believes.

It was odd, that the stranger, knew that it was Georges's birthday, and even weirder how they knew no one was home. It was left for the group to find after they left to go take George out for birthday breakfast.

"It says something about how they hope I enjoy the reading, and to make sure to read the marginalia," George looked up from the note, a very puzzled look on his face.

"Marginalia?" Lucy asked, unsure of the words meaning.

"Notes in the margins," Lockwood clarified, reaching out to inspect the book.

George gave it to him as you looked on, attempting to look as puzzled as the others.

"Does the handwriting look familiar?" you asked, moving slightly in your seat next to George to get a glance at the all-too-familiar note.

"I don't think I have seen it before, definitely not yours, it would take you ages to write this neat," he commented showing you the note fully.

He was right, the lettering on the note was very neat and precise unlike yours which was rather sloppy and quick. But what he didn't know was how long it took you to write as neatly as shown on the note.

Before you could make a comment back, Lockwood gasped and Lucy slapped her mouth shut, drawing the attention of them, who were very much reading the notes at the very back of the book. They looked at the both of you, eyes wide.

You made sure George wasn't looking at you before giving them a threatening look.

"What? Does it say who wrote it?" George asked, making you look at him much calmer than at the two.

"No, no, just a character died," Lucy lied, well attempting, as she failed because of her terrible lying.

Lockwood shut the book quickly and started talking to George attempting to cover up the lie.

He did rather well, given George told him to shut up and took the book back without looking inside it. You felt your anxiety briefly go away since he didn't even attempt to open the book in front of the group.

"I am going to excuse myself, I have research to do and now a book to read," he commented before getting up and grabbing the note that lay on the table in front of you as he started to leave.

"What? Georgie, it's your birthday, why are you researching?" You ask, taken aback by his sudden rush.

"Because if I don't do it it's not going to get done," He comments before fully walking out of the room.

You waited until you heard his door close to question the two in front of you.

"What did you read?"

"Lockwood you owe me doughnut," Lucy said ignoring your question.

"y/n," Lockwood drew out your name, "You were supposed to wait for him to ask you out. Now I owe Lucy a doughnut."

He sighed as you gave them a questioning look, before realizing that they had been betting on you and George.

"When did you drop that off anyway? You were in front of us when we left and you were the last when we got back," Lucy asked, taking a biscuit from the table.

"You guys were betting on us?" You asked, avoiding the question.

Both Lockwood and Lucy looked at each other before standing up and spilling bullshit excuses to leave. You only smiled as you were the last left in the kitchen.

George was nearly done with the book, it was about eleven at night, just under five hours from when he started it. George attempted to get the research done, but the mystery book was busy taunting him, forcing him to read it. Now here he sat when everyone else had gone to sleep.

He found himself laughing or smiling at the comments in the margins, writing some of his own notes as a response. Now here was watching as the main character finally kissed the love interest. Only for him to see a small note written in the margins in half-familiar handwriting. The neat handwriting blended in with another, the handwriting of his best friend, or crush if you will.

"This should be us - y/n"

His breath stopped as he choose to read the rest of the notes on the page, realizing the more they went the more the handwriting blended with yours.

He kept reading the book, curious to see the rest of your notes. His breath hitched as he read the epilogue. It was a wedding scene, it took place after the war the book was based on. The soldier had finally gotten his love interest.

The words written next to it were something that startled him, as he heard your voice read in his head, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

His brain stopped as he read the words that soon followed. It was a sappy love confession, where you wrote about all of your happiest memories with George.

Without skipping a beat, George left his room, forgetting that he was in nothing but a baggy shirt, that thankfully went down to his low thigh. He dashed to your room, nearly running. He didn't even knock as he knew that you were long asleep.

He shook you awake with his one hand, calling out your name just barely above a whisper, with the other he grasped onto the book.

"What? Georgie? What's go-?"

"Yes, the answer is yes."

"What?"

He held up the book as your mouth opened in an o-shape.

"Yes."

Without waiting for another word, you took your opportunity and kissed him. Thankfully he kissed back.

"I am so glad you read the MARGINALIA."

#george karim #george cubbins #george karim x reader #george karim x you #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanfiction

219 notes · View notes

bella-rose29 · 2 months

Text

Lockwood and Co (my beloved)

a compilation of all my fics and lockwood and co related posts, all in one place for (hopefully) easy access!

All works are fem!reader unless otherwise stated, but I’m very happy to write for others! <3

Anthony Lockwood x reader

George Karim x reader

Lucy Carlyle x reader (coming soon!)

lockwood and co head cannons

episode commentaries

comparison posts

deep analysis of a song choice in episode 2 (that carries into episode 3)

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lucy carlyle x reader #george karim #george karim x reader #george karim x you

47 notes · View notes

atlabeth · 10 months

Text

here with me - george karim

request from @iloveyousomuchhhhhh

summary: ghost-hunting isn't the easiest occupation in the world. it helps when you've got someone like george in your corner.

a/n: thank you for this request, it was very cute and i loved my first delve into george, especially writing completely in his pov!

im not an expert on anxiety but i based the reader's anxiety and panic attack on my experience with them; not everyone experiences them the same way so keep that in mind. thank you again for the request and i hope you enjoy<3 shoutout to my restless reader characters you guys are struggling

wc: 3k

warning(s): reader has anxiety, reader has a small panic attack, emotional hurt/comfort, fluffy ending

You were a restless person.

It was the first thing George noticed when he guided you into the living room and watched you settle into the cushions. Your leg almost instantly started bobbing up and down, and he could feel the vibrations through the wooden floor. He gave a small nod to Lockwood before he walked off.

Restless wasn’t necessarily bad, he thought as he stood in the kitchen, watching the kettle and waiting for it to boil. Restless meant more time to be productive, more time to go over plans, more time to spend in the archives. There was always more time to be spent in the archives.

Restless also wasn’t necessarily good, he thought with another glance at Lockwood. He was already plying you with easy smiles and kind words, and George wondered how long it would be until you ran off screaming like the last few girls. Restless meant absolutely zero patience, a blatant disregard for his pleas of a little more time, a penchant for getting into trouble.

Well. It wasn’t exactly like he was a stranger to those things, working with Lockwood. George just didn’t know if he would be able to handle another one.

George walked back into the room with a tray of tea, about to announce himself, when Lockwood shot him a warning look. You were sitting there with your eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as you held Lockwood’s watch in your hands. George stood there, watching you in all your focus, when suddenly your eyes flew open and you practically threw the watch back to the table.

“I’m sorry for that,” you breathed, “but absolutely nobody should have that thing near them. It almost hurts to go further with it.”

Lockwood’s lips twitched. George chuckled.

“Tea?” George asked, and your whole body flinched as your head whipped around to him.

“Yes, please.” The words rushed out of your mouth, as if you were afraid to use up more time than needed. He handed you a cup that you accepted gratefully.

“Pitkin’s best,” he said.

Your leg had stopped bouncing up and down with such ferocity, George noticed.

He smiled.

“Well, that’s a good sign,” Lockwood continued, picking up the watch with a slight glance and an even slighter smile at George. “You see, that was my watch…”

Lockwood’s words trailed off in his ears as George continued to watch you. How you shifted every few seconds, trying to get comfortable like it was a fruitless task. How you latched onto every word Lockwood said with ferocious attentiveness, as if you were scared of what would happen if you missed a single syllable. Your eyes flicked over to George for the shortest moment, but it was enough for him to realize he’d been staring.

He cleared his throat and set the tray down on the table, settling down in his seat. He’d meant to take his armchair as usual, be judgmental as usual, say something clever to Lockwood when you turned out to not be the right fit as usual.

But instead, George stayed silent.

And he watched.

George ran into you the next morning—a slight exaggeration, calling it morning, seeing as it was four in the morning—and it was hardly planned. He’d woken up with cotton in his mouth, and on his noble voyage for a glass of water, that was when he nearly ran into you.

“Oh, god—” the words rushed out of your mouth, an already placating hand flying up as you put distance in between the two of you— “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even notice you.”

George squinted, nudging his glasses back up with the tip of his finger. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you explained with a gesture back at the table. George noticed the binder, the folder, the scattered papers. “I thought I would make sure I was ready.”

“...You’re reading through our notes,” he said slowly, “again.”

“It never hurts to be prepared,” you said.

George huffed. “I’d say we’re quite prepared. This is one of the rare times I’ve been able to get Lockwood to slow down.” He shrugged. “I suppose I have you to thank for that, since you’re quite new. He doesn’t want to lose an agent he just got.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “I don’t plan on being lost.”

He made an off-handed gesture. “Don’t take anything I say too seriously. I’m still waking up.”

“Ah.” You stared at him for a moment before you seemed to snap out of it, and you cleared your throat. “I was just going up to get my coat. It’s a bit drafty in here.”

“I’d recommend you go to sleep instead,” George said. “You’re bright, and I’d like you to stay that way for the job tomorrow.” He frowned. “Today, rather.”

“I just like going over everything until I know I can’t forget it,” you said. “It eases my mind.”

“I’m pretty sure you know it by now.”

“I am as well,” you agreed, “but you never really know what you know until you’re staring a ghost down point blank, do you?”

The smallest of smiles formed against his will. “You aren’t helping your case.”

You tilted your head to the side. “Really?”

“Really,” he agreed. “We don’t need the entire agency sleep-deprived tomorrow.”

“The entire agency?”

“Lockwood does not sleep,” George said. “I think he came out of the womb with dark circles.”

You chuckled, and you nodded after a moment. “Alright. I’ll turn in just for you.”

“It’s an honor,” he said.

He meant to be facetious, but he found he meant it more than he realized. George watched you go, up the stairs and into the attic, and it took the sound of the door closing for him to snap out of it.

He blinked, shaking his head as he went back to his own room. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat to an audience of no one but himself that he realized he never even got that glass of water.

“Does Lockwood spend much time in the archives?” you asked.

You were trying to make pleasant enough small talk to fill in the silence on your walk over—George appreciated the concept, but not so much the reality.

“He’s not one for details,” George said. “He can’t charm his way through articles.”

You chuckled, and George smiled. He felt a strange swell of pride every time he managed to make you laugh, or really just happy in any kind of way.

“It’s the reason he got me from Fittes,” he continued. “Lockwood can fence his way out of a box, but sometimes it’s like he’d rather die than wait a few more days so I can make sure we’ve got enough information.”

“Well, you’ve got another member on your team,” you said with a slight smile of your own. “I’m not very good with talking to people. He can stick to that—I’d much rather be in the archives with you.”

George felt his cheeks heat the slightest bit. He looked over at you, once again finding himself studying your features, and his eyes darted away the second you looked back at him.

“Welcome to the team,” he finally settled on. George found he meant it wholly.

George Karim prides himself on noticing things.

He is, after all, a researcher above all else. He’s able to find breaks in cases Lockwood could never dream of. He was able to get one up on Fittes kids all the time without even trying. He was, henceforth, very easily able to notice when his higher-ups were getting annoyed with his questions and poking around, and happily allowed himself to be ‘stolen’ from the company by Anthony Lockwood.

And George Karim, as someone who prided himself on noticing things, noticed you an awful lot.

He noticed that, whenever they got Arif’s, you waited until he and Lockwood had gotten their first pick before you took your own.

He noticed that your favorite kind of gum to chew on jobs was the strongest spearmint available, and though you hated cinnamon mints, you pretended to love them just to put Lockwood up in arms.

He noticed that you preferred to lace up your left boot before your right, no matter what. George was sure you all could have been on the run from a dozen Type Twos and you would still take the time for the specifics.

He noticed that you doubted every single thing you did, questioned yourself whenever possible, and always let George take the lead whenever the two of you ended up researching together.

There was one time in the archives, on the most frustrating case he’d had in a while when George felt like he could have pulled all his hair out in pure annoyance. You then offered up what turned out to be a crucial bit of information, something that led them down the path to solving it—you’d found it an hour earlier, but you were so unsure about actually being right that you held it back until you had triple checked it.

George made sure that from then on, whenever you two were researching together, you would share whatever you found immediately.

(“You’re valuable,” he’d scoffed, “almost as much a genius in here as I am. So don’t hold anything back.

He wouldn’t forget the smile you graced him with for a long time.)

George noticed more and more about you the more the three of you worked together, even more so when you went to the archives together while Lockwood worked the field, or went off with each other to pick up groceries while Lockwood met with clients, or any time when it was just the two of you.

Lockwood enjoyed leaving George with you, for some strange reason. Maybe he thought you would drive him crazy, with your almost neurotic double and triple-checking of everything and excessive need for cleanliness. The joke was on Lockwood, though—George rather enjoyed your company.

You were pleasant, quiet, intelligent, and you were willing to work with him. George actually quite liked you. What more could he need in a colleague?

So when George heard quite a large crash coming from the attic, he took it upon himself to investigate. He figured he at least owed it to you, what with how much you’d been helping him lately in the archives. Your small marks on the Thinking Cloth in defense of him in the midst of his and Lockwood’s scribbled squabble were another point in your favor, as well as the fact that whenever things went wrong in your vicinity, you were prone to stubborn insistence that you figure it out on your own without any help.

He thought it was ridiculous—even more so that both you and Lockwood shared that trait. What was the damn point of working in an agency if you weren’t going to accept help from your colleagues?

So when he got to the top of the stairs, he knocked on the door to the attic and called out your name. “Is everything alright?”

There was no response. George pressed his ear against the door, and he could hear heavy breathing. He didn’t consider himself much of an expert on breathing, but it was obviously yours—you sounded as if you’d just run a marathon.

He frowned as he knocked again and said your name again. When there was yet again no response, he sighed.

“I hope you’re decent,” he said, “because I’m coming in.”

There was no immediate protest, so George cracked open the door and peered in. You were in fact decent, much to his relief, but that was about the only good thing.

You were sitting against your dresser, back pressed flat against the wood. It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected to find—you, hyperventilating, eyes rimmed red with visible tear tracks down your cheeks, and a few fallen books on the floor across from you.

But George didn’t panic, only stared at you for a moment before he moved into action. He was no stranger to all of this.

He knelt down across from you and looked you right in the eye, saying your name. “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded shakily, and he mirrored the action. “Can you speak?”

“A— a bit,” you managed through heaved breaths.

He nodded again. “Breathe with me. Can you do that?”

You nodded again. You seemed to be calming down just the slightest amount, if only because someone else was with you. He would take whatever he could get.

George slowly let out all the air in his lungs, keeping eye contact with you the entire time as you followed along with him. Then he breathed in, counting the four seconds on his fingers for you, and held it for eight and let it out for seven doing the same.

“That’s it,” he said. “You’re doing great.”

You screwed your eyes shut, a hand reaching out blindly, and without fully thinking, George took it. His breath caught for a split second as your fingers tightened around his, then he just swallowed as he squeezed back.

“It’s alright,” George murmured. “I’m here with you. I’ve got you.”

You continued to breathe the way he showed you, holding onto George’s hand while he murmured reassurances to get you through it. Eventually, the haggard breathing ceased, your vice-like grip on his hand loosened, and the storm had been weathered.

“Are you alright?” George asked quietly. “Well— better than before?”

You nodded yet again, and you used your free hand to wipe away drying tear tracks on your cheeks. “Yeah. I— I’m better.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasped.

He frowned. “For what?”

“For this,” you mumbled, and you pulled your hand away. “I know you didn’t sign up to deal with this—”

George reached for your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and you stopped as your gaze met his.

“No need to apologize,” he said. “You’re part of the team, remember? I’ve got your back.”

You nodded a few times, that smile he’d come to appreciate slowly coming back. “Right. Thank you, George.”

“Of course,” he said. “We deal with ghosts every day. I’m… no stranger to panic attacks.”

Something in your eyes changed, and your throat bobbed. “It… it was because of the ghost. From today.”

“I figured,” he murmured.

“It hit a bit too close to home,” you said wryly, “the way they died and all. And it didn’t help that you nearly got ghost-touched.”

That gave him pause. “It was because of me?”

You shrugged, glancing away again. “It would honestly be better if I hated you all. I wouldn’t get so scared every time something went wrong. Which—” you huffed a laugh— “with us, is practically every case.”

George still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. Apparently, his silence was a sign, because you sighed.

“I keep seeing it, George,” you said, voice slightly strained. “I keep seeing you and that damned ghost, except when I try to sleep, Lockwood isn’t there with his rapier to save you.”

He couldn’t help but look into your eyes then, really see you. How could he not, when you said things like that?

“I’m here,” he said softly, holding up your intertwined hands. “Flesh and bone.” He moved your hands to his heart. “Still beating.”

“Still beating,” you repeated in a whisper.

And the two of you remained like that for a touch longer than would be considered normal, but George didn’t want to let go. There was something about you, there had always been something about you, that made him not want to let go.

“Do you want to come to my room?” he asked, and it took a beat for him to realize how sudden it was. “Not— not like that, I swear. I just—” George laughed nervously as he let your hands fall back down— “I figure you don’t really want to be alone right now.”

“You figured right.” You glanced around your room and shivered. “The buzz of the ghost lamps really starts to get to you after a while.”

George chuckled, and he helped you up. Your hands remained intertwined as you went out the room, down the stairs, and into his own. He felt a bit ashamed at the clutter, but you didn’t seem bothered.

“My bed’s quite comfy,” he said, shifting a bit as he stared at it. “It should be good for the both of us.” The burst of confidence that guided him from your room to his seemed to have faded, leaving him holding hands with a girl and not much idea of where to go from there.

And again, you didn’t seem to care. “Thank you for doing this,” you said. “I— I appreciate it more than you know. I don’t think I could have gotten through the night alone.” You paused. “I don’t think I could have gotten through that alone.”

“I told you,” George said, “you’re part of the team. We’ll always be here for you.”

You smiled, and George understood why poetry was written.

“I’ll always be here for you,” he added.

“And I’ll always be here for you,” you said. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Barring our deaths, I think we’ll have you around for a while,” George said. He cleared his throat. “Apologies. That’s not very funny after this afternoon.”

You laughed, and you tugged George towards the bed. You pulled your knee up to your chest when you sat down. “You can joke about it all you want as long as it stays a joke.”

George smiled. “Got it.”

The two of you settled into his bed, backs facing each other and him staring at the wall. George had never paid so much attention to his breathing, but he found that when he was around you lately, he’d been paying attention to everything.

(George should have known the moment he considered asking Lockwood for advice that he was too far gone.)

“George,” you said, breaking the silence. He’d never thought his name could sound so pleasant. “Thank you again. For all of this.”

“Any time,” he said. He meant it with all his heart.

And with your body warmth so close to him, the extra weight on the mattress, your soft breathing in even intervals, George fell asleep faster than ever.

#me when im george and im oblivious “lockwood left us alone bc he thinks she'll annoy me lol jokes on him bc i like her” idiot #matchmaker lockwood is special to me #george karim x reader #george karim x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood and co x reader #george karim #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

229 notes · View notes

sandy-the-glader · 10 months

Note

maybe a george x grumpy! reader who never really smiles or shows emotion and George kinds makes it his secret mission to do that

Come on I see that smile!

Character: George Karim x Fem!Reader

Type: fluff

Length: 1.7K Words

Summary: Ever since you got to Portland row all it has been is neutral faces, anger and frowns. But George seems to be curious about what your smile looks like… for research purposes of course!

Trope: Grumpy x Sunshine (sorta)

A/n: Sorry if this is bad I've been trying to get back into writing btw maybe a tad bit of ooc George? Anyways this is a mix of second and first-person. Lmao lastly the format and like the 4 and 1 idea came from this fic so go check it out!

4 tries and 1 unintentional victory

Baked goods

Large raindrops pattered against the kitchen window of 35 Portland Row, creating a relaxing rhythm. I sprawled out articles and other various newspapers across the table. There wasn't much information on this house, no visitors had been reported before this caller. No murder cases from that house or interesting behaviors. I jotted down as many notes as I could on a surprisingly clean part of the thinking cloth.

A loud knock echoed through the house. I was too sucked into finding information and suspicious parts about this house to answer the door. Thankfully, I heard someone (most likely George) quickly dash to the door and handled with whatever it was. I assumed it was Arif since it was a quick interaction and the scent was so strong I could already smell it. Damn it smelled good.

George's quick footsteps dashed down to the kitchen, quickly landing the box on an available part of the table. I quickly drew my eyes back to the pages scanning for something remotely helpful. The worst case was going in cold.

"How's the case going?" George came to look at the papers and my progress. His fingers traced my handwriting.

"Not good. There is not a single thing tied to this house. And she said I have to be there in a week." I said with a dry expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George rock back and forth on his heels before he spoke again.

"Well um, I got you extra of your favorite this week." I looked up at him. "If you need to take a break they are there." He offered.

"Thank you I appreciate that." George looked somewhat upset with my reaction. Why? I'm not exactly sure

"Yeah.." He grabbed a chocolate donut from the box and sighed on the way out of the room. I hope he’s okay.

Did I do something wrong?

"Is that a donut??" I heard Lucy call out from the stairs. "I didn't even know we had those!" maybe a break wouldn’t hurt…

2. Stress Cleaning

Sure this was more for George than it was for you but he hoped to kill 2 birds with one stone. He had spent the whole evening cleaning the house. Kitchen, library you name it. He left the bedrooms for last.

He knocked softly on your door and waited for a reply before going up the stairs. There wasn't much to clean in your's and Lucy's shared area besides maybe the windows and a few pieces of clothing needed to be picked up off the ground.

You were reading a book on your bed instead of trying to find more information on that house. You needed a break and your mind was just tired from searching article upon article. You had 3 more days and thought to hell with it I'll just do my best.

"What's up, George?" You peered over your book and at the boy. "Oh." From seeing his apron and blue gloves you already knew he meant cleaning. "You know you don't always have to clean up after us." He shook his head.

"You know cleaning is one of my favorite things right?" He cleaned every single day. Not even kidding. You can't remember the last time you've seen the house jaw-droppingly dirty. Because it never has been. For the many months you’ve been here George has done a fantastic job with keeping the house organized.

"That is true. I do feel bad sometimes." You hummed. "Well thank you." George quirked a small smile but you just nodded in acknowledgment.

Well, it was worth a try. He sighed quietly.

3. Favorite food

He knew as soon as you stepped through the door and slammed it shut, he had made a good decision. Another thing on George's list of "Y/n's smiles" was dinner. Sure food didn't work as well last time this was different.

He heard you curse at something and then throw your rapier into its spot by the door. You took in a deep breath through your nose trying to contain your anger from the trip and not make a lot of noise considering the time but you smelt something. Something so heavenly that's all you needed right now. Food.

You quickly went down the stairs and saw George in his apron Moving around the kitchen.

"Smells great Georgie. It's 3 am you didn't have to." She frowned feeling a bit bad for keeping him up.

"It's really no problem at all." He loved cooking so really it was just fun. "Looks like you had a fun night." She rolled her eyes and groaned. He leaned against a cabinet and glanced at you up and down. Your hair was very messy, traces of ectoplasm was all over your shoes and the bottom of your pants, and you were just really wanting food and a shower.

"Sarcasm. Not now I beg of you. But really the food smells fantastic." A sneaky smile formed on George's lips, not yours though you were far too tired to even think about it.

"Alright. Food's ready anyway." He brought two servings of the food over to the table placing one in front of you and the other across from you. "Do you want to talk about it?" He offered sitting down in front of his food.

"It was awful! The source was in a completely different part of the house than she thought and it was just disastrous!" You complained. He sat there and listened to your troubles like you always did with him.

You finally had a bite of the food and you felt at ease.

“George Casper Karim why can you cook so well?” He smiled downward. You didn’t smile you just had this tired yet calm look on your face.

“I have more talent than just touch.” He joked. She was right though the food did taste amazing.

“Yes you do.” George wasn’t entirely mad at the fact you didn’t smile but he did enjoy the compliment.

4. A New Sweater

George scanned the shelves of your favorite store looking for something you would like. There were plenty of things your style but what caught his eye was a sweater.

Your closet was full of them. Lucy too and so a sweater could be another candidate for his "Y/n's smiles" list.

It wasn’t too thick nor too light because he knew you were sorta picky when it comes to sweaters. And a bonus was it was one of your favorite colours.

He held it in his hands but, he double and even triple-checked the store for something you might like better. But he did not and he went and brought it up to the counter to pay.

The cashier was nice but she had mistaken George as your boyfriend which made him blush furiously and confirm the two of you were just close friends. The cashier didn’t buy it. She gave him a small disbelieving look and he tried to ignore it.

He was impressed by how well she wrapped up the sweater and put it in a really nice bag.

When he came back the house was insanely quiet, mainly because Lockwood was out of the house and Lucy was training in the basement. You had decided to have a lazy day you were mainly just in your bed or in front of your desk.

But he noticed you were making tea in the kitchen so he quietly ran upstairs to put your gift on your bed. And then he snuck back down to his room to wait for your return.

You held a cup in your hand and carefully walked upstairs. You were confused when finding a gift on your bed mainly because no one really gave you gifts out of the blue. A small gasp escaped your lips when you reached into the bag and pulled out a sweater. You held the sweater close. It was the right size it was quite a shocker

You didn't think Lucy even knew your size.

"Surprise." George came back up the stairs. You went and hugged him. He was slightly taken aback by the gesture. He wasn't exactly a hugger but he wrapped his arm around you and squeezed gently.

"Thank you, George. You do so much for me." Again he wasn't exactly angry that it had failed because he's never had a hug that felt this relaxing. He was feeling loved. "Anything." He said simply. You pulled back and ruffled his hair.

"You're too good for me."

George returned to his room and took a pen and struck off another idea on a sticky note above his desk. But he did put a small heart next to it.

5. Quality Time.

"Wanna go the archives with me? Lucy and Lockwood already said no but they were caught up in their own thing." George huffed. You sat up immediately and shoved a bookmark into your book. You cracked a half smile.

"I would love to." You sprung up and grabbed your bag and shoes. "They never want to go with me either." Still, a small smile plastered on your face.

George was shocked in the 3 months he knew you that's all it took? Just going to the archives? He would have groaned if he wasn't so happy for finally making you smile. The look was so unfamiliar on you but he definitely knew he wanted to see it more.

"I don't know why I never asked you." You chuckled softly. That was a complete lie. You didn't want to admit it or make it obvious that you have a raging crush on the other boy while being alone and so very close to him doing what you loved most.

George didn't even think about your comment. A chuckle? George's expectations were exceeded. He thought you would shrug it off and either go and keep to yourself or kindly decline.

"Come on Georgie!" You practically skipped out of the room, brushing past his shoulder and sending a jolt through his body. His heart swelled and he was honestly quite boastful at the moment. If he could shout it at the world he would. He felt like he deserved something for making Y/n L/n smile. But seeing your smile was an award in itself.

George followed her out of the house and down to explore the archives.

#george karim #george cubbins #george karim x reader #lockwood and co #save lockwood & co #george karim x you

163 notes · View notes

bloodymiso · 9 days

Text

★ pancake sunday

george karim x gn!reader

reader was pretty much a “normal” person, having quit the academy. ever since then, life turned..boring in a way. that was until they moved into 34 portland row.

note: i had baking thoughts. tw like two swear words and uh..pancakes ig idk if pancakephobia exists(let the pancakes get married ugh

fun, something which ever since you quit the academy, became an unexplored region, a mysterious place you have yet to venture—or well, a mysterious place that..life had stopped you from exploring.

that was until you moved in next to lockwood and co. well—you were right beside it. your kitchens were connected, and eventually you found yourself knocking on their door for stupid stuff you forgot to buy. flour, sugar, milk, all that jazz.

george, ugh that stupid george—you hated it but he caught your eye. his sassy antics intrigued you, urged you to knock on their door despite not needing anything. soon your “quick glances” at him turned into quick stares. you loved the way his ears perked up whenever he got excited, the way he was always so stupidly blunt.

you and lockwood, your self-proclaimed “good ‘ol mate” from the group were up surprisingly early. today was pancake sunday, he chatted about the latest “news” from his gossip magazines, which you found hilarious.

“wait—whos this gina person again?” you asked, your right elbow rested on the table as you took a sip of your coffee.

“i already told you who gina was! do you not listen to my wisdom?” lockwood gasped dramatically, a hand to his heart as he looked away, betrayal written on his face.

you sighed, your lips curling into a smile “i still don’t get how you weren’t a theatre kid and instead, a child prodigy in fencing..” you chuckled.

“hes jus’ unique like that.” george suddenly popped into the conversation, rubbing his eyes as he walked into the kitchen.

“hey george, look mx.sunshine here made pancakes.” lockwood pointed to the stack of pancakes on the table. “they ate the bur—ow!” you hit him in the shoulder before he could finish his sentence. george stared at the stack, looking at the pancakes then at you, then at the pancakes, then at you—okay, ill stop. “you made pancakes?”

“uh yeah.” you smiled cheekily, placing down your mug of scrumptious(yum yum) coffee before rubbing the back of your neck. “lockwood told me that you were up all night working on a case so..”

george’s lips couldnt help but curve up at your statement, you made the pancakes instead of him because you knew he was tired? thats crazy man!! no “thanks” left his mouth but that simply gesture was enough. you smiled at your mug, lockwood sending you a smirk.

eventually lucy came down and you had your average pancake sunday, your smile slightly wider due to the smile george had sent you, almost as if his energy had passed on. you hoped maybe, in the future, those smiles would be more frequent.

now, you and george found yourselves in a similar situation. you had been up all night, helping george clean up a small...problem he had with an “experiment” of his with the skulls. you woke up early, despite having like, 4 hours of sleep to make pancakes— but apparently, george had done the same.

“can you pass me the eggs?” you asked, mixing up the wet ingredients as george mixed the dry. “oh? yeah, sure.” he nodded, passing you 3 eggs.

“oh shit its supposed to be 3?” you deadpanned, and he deadpanned back. “fuck, i put 2 last time. no wonder they were so..dry.” you sighed as george chuckled, a small smile on his lips. george would usually respond with a “thats stupid” or an “okay”, it was..rare to get a reaction like that out of him.

you couldnt help but let your lips curl up, your smile much wider than his. you cracked the eggs into the bowl, giving them a quick whisk before turning your eyes to george. “you ready?” he nodded, sliding his bowl closer to yours as your poured in the egg mixture. slowly, he folded it in, his eyes glued to the batter, as if he was scared he would get lost in yours. you blinked, your eyes threatening to close as you yawned, placing down the bowl in your hand as you stretched.

“sleepy?” george cracked another small smile, flicking you on the forehead(tiptoeing, if he has to)

“ow!” you laughed, flicking him back. “come on, back to work.” you said, the smile still clear on your face as you grabbed a pan from the cupboard, placing it on the stove and turning it on. you had this habit of putting a bit of water on the pan and waiting for it to evaporate before putting anything else. george, aware of this waited, sliding the butter over to you once the water dissipated. you cut a small slice, placing it on the pan as george poured a cup of batter in.

you started taking shifts, one flipping the pancakes, the other pouring in the batter. it was the last batch, and you found yourself “resting” your eyes every few seconds. george took a quick glance at you before returning to the very precious pancakes. “you good?” he asked, flipping one of the pancakes. “just sleepy.” you said with a small but reassuring smile, rubbing your eyes.

it took a few moments of silence before you spoke up. “can i rest my head on your shoulder?” you asked, as plainly and casually as possible. eventually, a cheeky smile found its way to your lips. “mmh, sure.” he shrugged, his attention still on the pancakes, but his minds raced with thoughts. george was good at keeping his cool, but his body wasnt, his cheeks flushed a soft red as you rested your head on his shoulder(or head if youre taller:3) , stomach fluttering at the touch. you closed your eyes, enjoying the soft silence. the only sound throughout the room being your heartbeat, george’s heartbeat, synchronized in—oh yeah and the poppity pop pop of the butter yum.

just like the last pancake sunday, you had another thing to hope for. that one day, all mornings could be like this. you and george—your close friends, just enjoying some good ol’ pancakes.

hopefully, everyday could be a nice pancake sunday.

extra:

“lucy, pass me the salt.” you say, pointing to the salt grinder at the edge of the table. “luv, i cant throw george across the table.” she says with a smirk(though she tried to hide it.), knowing damn well what she just did. “ohh i gotta add that to the thinking cloth.” lockwood snickered, grabbing a pen from his pocket.

(><) wanna support? reblog w tags pookies<3

#( ˘▽˘)っaki writes #george karim #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood & co x reader #george x reader #george karim x reader #george karim x gn!reader #george karim x gn reader #george karim x you #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood & co netflix

33 notes · View notes

writtenontheport · 9 months

Text

Walk Me Home?

Part 1: Today (pt. 2) (pt. 3) (pt. 4)

George Karim x (gn) Reader

Warnings/Tags: Meet cute (sorta), Sorta Stalker situation (George is not the stalker I FORGOT TO ADD THAT), Reader is also a nerd, no angst, off-screen mentioned mild violence (someone throws a shoe), Happy ending

Notes: I love George, but I sincerely struggled on figuring out how to write him. He’s just so everythingcore like… How would I even manage to express that???

Summary: You and George meet while you’re avoiding someone, and in a moment of pure recklessness he dare never tell Lockwood or Lucy, he plays along when you ask him to pretend to know you.

Word count: Uhhhhh… Around 1k probably (I am too lazy to check) 👍

On a good day, George might visit the library to fetch himself more research material. On a good day, all goes well and George gets back home just in time to put on the kettle and fetch himself a cuppa before he dives into an afternoon of old books and sloppily written notes. Lockwood would scold him for not taking care of himself, George would call him a hypocrite, and then Lucy would come in and make fun of their bickering. On a good day, George makes dinner for everyone, cleans, then heads off to bed with a brain buzzing with theories.

When he sees you skipping over to him in his peripheral, he thinks nothing of it. The other tables are full, so he expected that someone would ask for a seat soon. He shuffles his books out of the way to make room for you, eyeing the strain of your smile as you sit just across him with a few books of your own. He’s never one to pry, but the look on your face is worrying him enough to ask you simply, “Is someone after you?”

You look behind yourself discreetly and George feels like he’s about to get himself involved in something unpleasant. The second floor has a sparse population of active readers about, even less browsing the shelves. This late in the day, people are running off to head home before curfew hits. When you turn back, you level him with a serious stare.

“Can you please pretend to know me if someone comes over and asks?” You whisper quickly, giving him your name in a stammered breath.

George feels his eyes widen, but schools his expression when you mouth ‘please?’. He pushes his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and thinks this day might not be so good after all.

“Why? Are you being followed? I wouldn’t appreciate getting dragged into something illegal, thank you.” He ducks his head down to his book as he says so, but he looks up through his lashes and you freeze. Something about you is intriguing enough for a second look, and he can’t reason out what.

“I— um, well,” You cough, settling yourself into your seat, “I was on my way home when I noticed some guy following me. It’s this guy who’s been bugging me for a while; won’t stop hitting on me. I came running back here and I’ve been trying to lose him since.”

Someone calls your name and you hiss a curse under your breath, ducking into your book. George pulls his shoulders back to sit up square, and glances back down at you. Your lips are pulled up into a sheepish grin, and he can’t help but soften a little at the way you mouth ‘please’ with those pleading eyes of yours.

There’s a moment where George has the choice to either play along or just keep himself out of trouble; where he spots the bellend quickly stomping to you from over your shoulder, and wonders if it’s worth the risk.

‘Lockwood you dick,’ George thinks to himself as he forces a smile on his face, ‘look at how reckless you’ve made me.’

The relief pulling your shoulders back has him feeling warm, and the gratefulness in your grin glues him to the spot. Many people have smiled at him before, but never so genuinely and never so wholeheartedly. It’s captivating the way the light dances in your eyes. He doesn’t think much on it before he actually has to talk to the prick.

“I think I’ve seen you before, at the library,” George says, after you’ve found yourselves away from the library and the creep. He’s insisted on walking you home to keep you from trouble, or so he says. You tease him all the while that maybe he just feels bad for taking your shoe and lobbing it at the bastard’s head. The thick-headed brute managed to damage it with his head, but you told him you didn’t much mind. Doesn’t change the fact that he feels a little bad about it, though.

“Maybe we’ve bumped into each other once?” You ask, and George shrugs.

“I think so, haven’t a clue where exactly.” George follows you as you turn around the corner, eyes flitting about. He checks over his shoulder quickly, and the wind blasts in his face like a rogue leaf blower set on low. His nose scrunches at the chill, and catches you staring at him when he turns back.

“Something on my face or am I just pretty?” He asks, the snark.

“Maybe you’re just pretty,” You hum.

He stumbles a little at that, but catches the teasing grin you shoot at him with ease. He settles back in step with you as you take the lead again. The wind’s blowing a bit harsher now, sliding through his hair like the bitter breath of winter. His face rests itself in the cold, eyes darting to and fro to watch for any other creeps lurking about.

“I go to the library in the morning,” You say suddenly, and he focuses his attention on you as you smile back at him, “Sometimes I catch you sitting by yourself up on the second floor as I’m about to leave. Sometimes you look up.”

He hums, considering the thought. Usually he only looks up if something’s concerned him enough or, well— catches his eye. Ah, right then. Now he remembers.

“You’re usually taking out books on the history if the Fittes’ agency, yeah?” He asks, and you duck your head in a nod.

You turn back to him, “You’re usually reading up on The Problem.”

It’s not a question, he notices. George wonders then how many times he’d seen you pass him by or, hell, even stop at his table before. He wonders if he’s caught your eye before too.

You fall into a silence the rest of the way, marching through the cobble and asphalt of the gloomy London streets; buildings towering over you like mountains. Somewhere in between all the walking you make it back home to a small building tucked between ones thicker and thinner, just as tall. You take a moment to hug George gratefully, and struggle for words when you pull back.

“I know I’m being a bit impudent, asking this of you, but could I find you again tomorrow?” You ask him.

George teeters on the balls of his feet. “I usually wake up pretty late in the morning, is that alright?”

“Absolutely. I’ll see you tomorrow….?” You trail, forgetting that you never quite asked for his name.

“George. George Karim.” He holds out a hand for you to shake, and you do it with a smile that makes him warm even in the bitter cold.

“See you tomorrow, George,” you whisper gratefully, climbing up the steps and closing the door with a wave back to him.

He feels winded by the time he gets him and his books back to Portland Row. The front door bolt clicks in with ease, and he shakes off the dampness of his coat before he hangs it up on the rack. Somehow the day has gone awry and yet he doesn’t find himself too displeased with it.

“George? Is that you?” Lucy pops her head down from the staircase, and looks quizzically at him. “You’re not usually home this early, did something happen?”

He pauses, feeling light and a bit fuzzy as he rests his back on the wood of the door.

“I think… I owe someone new shoes,” he says, but finds a small smile growing on his face.

A/N: I’m not too proud of this one, because I absolutely love George and don’t think I can ever accurately capture all his loveliness proper, but I decided to post it anyways because someone else might like it more than me LOL.

#george karim x reader #george karim x you #lockwood and co x reader #Portie writes fanfic

115 notes · View notes

v1olentdelights · 5 months

Text

Timeless

Peter Pevensie x reader, George Karim x reader, Peter Parker x reader, allusion to Remus Lupin x reader Summary: There is a type of love that exists in all universes, and maybe, just maybe, you have that love... Trigger Warning: mentions of crying I think and being disgustingly in love, there is a mention of a tough mission - marvel, in the 3rd italicized part if you need to skip that also, the main plot/timeline doesn't have an actual character that is specified, so insert whoever. a/n: I spent an unbelievable amount of time on this, and literally all my self-esteem is resting on this rn, slay, please let me know if you like it!! -- each piece is inspired by a taylor swift song, and it is all based on her song Timeless, also pleeease understand who the old lady is! Otherwise I've failed at writing!

It had been about 2 years together now, 3 as friends, and you were madly in love. It felt as if you had known each other far longer, you couldn’t exactly place it, but it felt as if you knew each other in another lifetime. You had been out looking for an anniversary gift, nothing too eccentric, but perfect. The downtown area was small enough and the weather was the perfect type of gloomy for you to walk around. You had been going in and out of shops you knew, but when you stumbled across a unique looking door with vines climbing up the side of the building something drew you in.

Stepping in you were immediately engulfed in the smell of flowers, old books, and something sweet that you couldn’t quite place. The store was a beautiful mix of old and new, and the lady at the counter seemed to know exactly how you were feeling. You smiled at one another before you walked over to where the books were laid out. Most of them seemed like books you may take a glimpse at before moving on, but something caught your eye. The title seemed to be handwritten, picking it up you began to flip through it immediately being sucked in.

—

The couple raced through the field, many years earlier they would have been worried that the trampled flowers would not recover. However, that was not the Narnian way, the flowers seemed to almost instantly spring back to life. Things seemed to thrive here, and even when things had passed, it was never sad, more of a celebration.

Peter, the High King had been forcibly dragged out of his study by his wife, though there were grumbles about papers and deals that needed to be taken care of, they were soon hushed. You were dancing and running in the field. The shrill of laughter could be heard for miles as Peter picked you up by your waist from behind. You could feel his lips on your neck and shoulders, pressing loving kisses to your warm skin.

“You, my love, are wonderful!” Pressing another kiss to your shoulder he then began to tickle your sides. Your body thrashed as you laughed, a sound he wished he could play over and over again. After escaping you fell softly to the ground, Peter beside you. Turning to look at his face, you let yourself remember the many years you had spent together growing and loving one another.

“And you, darling, are just as delightful.” Stretching a bit, you pressed a kiss to his jaw to reaffirm your statement. You both sighed quietly while taking in the moment, the sun was shining not too bright, the flowers created a beautiful aroma, and your lover was laying by your side.

“Do you remember what you said to me the night you proposed?” You smile at the memory, Peter had spent weeks courting you, and even longer trying to win your father over.

“Of course I do.” He scoffs as if he is hurt that you’d ever think he’d forget. “And I think it has to be one of the most romantic things ever.” You hit his chest, both of you chuckling.

“‘I love you, and that’s all I really know?’ That is the most romantic thing ever said?” Again he feigned hurt by slapping a hand over his chest.

“How dare you? I do believe you are the one who said yes, and then proceeded to stay with me all these years.” You roll your eyes, perhaps you had decided to stay with him, he was so wonderful after all. “Of course I did, because I love you Peter.”

“And I love you, my heart.” You roll over to lay half way on his chest before pressing your lips to his, and you smile knowing that you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

—

You decided the book might be one of the most enthralling and beautiful stories you’ve ever read. The story wildly resembled the love you shared with your boyfriend, so of course you had to purchase it. Though you still continued to peruse the shop. There were little trinkets here and there, a few older looking hair brushes accompanied by hand held mirrors; there were some old children's toys easily making you smile at the thought of two young friends playing. Then you saw the most beautiful set of tea cups sitting next to each other. Again, a smile found its way to your face, you could only think about an old couple sitting together, perhaps the friends that played with the toys, enjoying a nice cup of tea while watching the sun set.

—

With The Problem, your options in life had been very limited, one of those options being friends. So you were stuck with your next door neighbor, George Karim. If there was one word to describe him, it was weird, and he knew it too. But that was what made you even closer. It was hard when he moved away, you were still somewhat young but the bond you formed was something that seemed much older. Yet you were left all alone again.

“George Karim, you better not forget about me! I’ll find you in the future.” your little voice sounded so broken, and his was as well.

“I can’t forget about my best friend.” He said as if it was a fact, a promise even. So you sealed it with a pinky promise and then tugged one another into a hug.

Spending years in a regular school because you didn’t have a talent was boring. Everyone seemed to almost ignore The Problem, when all you wanted to do was talk about it. There was one boy who tried to pursue you, he faked interest in the problem to get a chance with you in bed. Of course you did nothing less than physically kicking him out of the house, but since then things seemed to be dull, black and white almost. So you decided to do something more with your life.

Having seen an ad in the paper for a researcher you promptly took action. Knocking on the door of 35 Portland Row was nothing but horrific. What if you had managed to get the address wrong, or what if it was a group of older much scarier men? Your mind wouldn’t stop spinning, that was until the lock could be heard turning and the door swung open. The boy hadn’t even looked up at you before speaking.

“If you’re here about the position, you have about 5 minutes because it is almost te-”

“Tea time. 3 o'clock tea time.” Your voice held hope, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Exactly.” He sounded almost agitated, but then he looked up at you, and all the disdain washed from his face. You smiled slightly, but were caught off guard as he almost tackled you in a hug.

“It’s you!” pulling back, though he still held onto your shoulders. “You found me.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“A pinky promise is not to be broken, right?” Your smile was so bright he was sure you could turn the gloomy day bright, technically you already had. He quickly ushered you inside, passing what you assumed was the makeshift interview room, George told the other boy that you needed a bit of tea prior to your interview.

As you got situated at the dining table you watch him move about the kitchen, quickly heating up the water while pulling out different types of tea. He was humming an old song, one your mother used to play while you and he would play in the living room.

“My favorite!” a bit surprised but grateful, he turned to face you.

“I know,” he smiled sweetly, and oh how you missed that smile. “I can’t seem to forget it.”

You spent more time than necessary letting the tea get to a reasonable drinking temperature and even more time getting caught up with one another. All the while you couldn’t help but think that it was much more than just change that brought you back together; and that you were excited for these sweet nothings to continue.

—

By the time you had come out of your little daydream, you had realized it had begun to rain. And though you loved the rain, you weren’t in the proper attire for it.

“Why don’t you stay a bit longer dear, I can sort you out some tea and we can talk to pass the time.” The old lady at the counter, who you almost forgot about, said.

“Oh, thank you but that’s too kind I wouldn’t-”

“Don’t be silly, it is rare that I get company.” She politely interrupted, now you didn’t have the heart to tell her no. As she trailed off into the back room you let yourself peruse the tables a bit long, but a sharp yelp of laughter caught your attention, you looked outside to see a young couple jumping in the newly formed puddles. The boy looked at the girl as if she had hung the moon.

—

It had been one of the toughest missions you had ever been on. After receiving an anonymous tip about a bombing about to happen, you and Natasha had been partnered together to evacuate the building as quickly as possible. Thankfully, with great struggle, you had managed to save everyone. But the possibility of failure still weighed heavily on your chest. So when you got home you packed a plate full of food, grabbed some water, and went up to your room to change and lay on your bed.

You had been alone for all of 30 minutes, enough time to finish your food and enough to be on the cusp of falling asleep. But that quickly ended when there was a quiet knocking on the door. The grumble you let out should be enough for the other person to understand that you wanted to be left alone, but it wasn’t. The door creaked open, and you could tell it was him before he even set foot into your room.

“I heard it was a tough one.” Thankfully his voice was quiet and calm, otherwise you might have chucked a pillow at him. “I thought maybe you could use some company.” With a nod of acceptance, he made his way to lay down next to you. Reaching a hand out, he took it pulling you closer until you were laying on his chest.

“I love you.” he then pressed a kiss to your head, and all felt right.

After some time there was a light patter of rain on your window and suddenly you had some energy rushing through your body.

“Peter, come on!” You exclaimed quietly. He opened his eyes groggily, though you knew he wasn’t actually sleeping. You grabbed his hand again just like you had about an hour ago, though this time you were dragging him up and out of bed. “Put your shoes on!” This time you were louder as you hopped about on one foot as you attempted to put on your sneakers.

You had him following you out, but the second he felt the water droplets hitting his body he squished his face all up. But you had missed it, you were too busy jumping in puddles, the ends of your pants were now soaked, and your socks were far beyond dry, but you could care less. And Peter could care less about the rain dripping down his face, all he cared about was your laugh and how every time you looked as though you couldn’t get happier, you did.

“Pete, come one, don’t make me jump around all by myself!” And who was he to deny you. Soon your found yourselves soaked to the bone,

“You are the only person I’d dance with in a storm in my best pair of sweatpants.” He chuckled as you purposefully splashed him.

“I know, and I love it!”

—

“Dear, the tea is ready!” the lady called out from upstairs, ” You tore your gaze away from the couple finding yourself more intrigued the further up you went into the store. It gradually got lighter, the walls were soon covered in a yellow daisy pattern wallpaper. And soon you were welcomed by walls full of pictures, there were stacks of books all around the living room, and a few candles that looked as though they were on their last legs.

You found the woman in the kitchen standing on her tippy toes to reach for the sugar. Swiftly taking action you reached up from behind her and pulled the sugar down for her.

“My husband used to always get that for me.” She lets out a chuckle, but it doesn’t hold any tone of sadness. “Now please, have a seat!” She pointed towards the small sunroom you hadn’t noticed.

“This is beautiful, I didn’t know apartments could have sunrooms anymore.” You gently grazed a few of the trailing plants, out of your eye you could have sworn you saw one move.

“I know, they usually don’t. But when I begged my husband, he couldn’t help but give in!” You met her on the couch, observing the house. It was quiet for a bit, but it wasn’t uncomfortable which was rather unexpected seeing as you were sitting with a stranger.

“What was your husband like?” You broke the silence. She smiled at you as if she was waiting for you to ask that. Standing up she mumbled something about staying put while she rummaged through her living room before finding what she was looking for.

As she made her way back to you and you found your heart filling, in her hands she held 4 picture books. She plopped them down on the table before pulling the top one off. The outside was covered in stickers, and on the front was ‘1974’, she traced it with her finger before flipping it open. The inside was just as decorated, there were drawings and captions around a whole bunch of photos.

“This was the year I met my husband, Remus. He’s the tall one right there.” She said fondly while pointing to the boy with a healing cut across his cheek. Next to him were 3 other boys and a girl with red hair, each wearing matching ties, school issued you assumed.

“And who are the others?” She was quick to begin her explanation of how they all met. Apparently the four boys had known one another since their first year, but then the red head, Lily, and herself had slowly integrated into the group with some of their other friends.

“We were such a rambunctious group, that one,” she pointed to a black haired boy, “was always causing the most chaos. But he had a troubled home life, so we were more gracious with him. And later his younger brother came along and joined our group.” She was flipping through the pages, you saw photos of the group out by a lake, some of parties, at least 2 of a buck in the room, though you chose not to comment on that. Then she reached for the next book, titled 1975-1977.

The pictures progressed into pictures of younger her and her husband, a few of them standing near one another on snowy paths, others where they are fully dressed in red and gold, again assuming it was a part of a school event. Though you were entranced by the photos, all you could do was admire the woman’s devotion and absolute adoration that she seemed to hold for her late husband. It seemed as though she had loved him longer than he had even known.

“My was he handsome, always was.” she continued to stare at one particular picture.

You assumed it was the day they had gotten engaged by the size of her smile, and the ring on her finger that hadn’t been there before. She stood next to Remus, who was staring down at her with a fond smile.

“He was handsome. What was he like?” You were unsure if that was the right question to ask by the saddened look she held, but it was soon erased as she looked up at you. She let out a laugh as tears spilt over.

“Remus was a quiet one, shy but also very cocky. He was a genius, in fact he had his own little study group, he helped tutor some of the younger grades. But my oh my was he mischievous, he was the brains behind all the wild schemes he and his friends put up.” Then she turned her attention to the flat. “He adored books, as you can see. I loved them too, but I think to him, they were an escape. He used to read them to me as well.” She trailed off quietly for a moment. The more she talked about him, the more you felt as if you recognized him, recognized their relationship. But you chose not to say anything about it.

“But enough of that sad nonsense! I’m sure you have far better things to attend to, I sense there is something special happening tonight?” you shook your head before finishing the rest of your tea.

“I appreciate this, truly!” Offering her a kind smile, you pulled out your wallet in preparation for paying, but she put her hand over yours.

“No, don’t worry about it dear, I believe these items chose you. I would feel better if you had them as if they were already yours.” As you were about to protest, she began pushing you back towards the door and out into the street. “Have fun this evening, dear.” She smiled before shutting the door in your face.

—

“Darling, I am home!” You said with a raised voice. Today had been something else entirely and you were excited to tell him all about it. The smell of food wafted through the hallway pulling you towards the kitchen. But you weren’t met with your lover, you were met with your friend instead.

“Analise? What are you doing here?” There is no point in denying that you were a bit disappointed that she was here, today was your special day with your boyfriend.

“What are you talking about? I’m not here.” Now you were truly perplexed, the smirk that she wore didn’t help at all.

“I-” she simply grabbed your elbow and walked you outside to your small backyard. Then you understood why she was there. There was a small table set out in the yard near your flower garden, with two chairs and some lights hanging around the yard. And there stood your lover, smiling brightly. Tears grew in your eyes, how special this was.

“Hello, my love.” He stepped forward to press a kiss to your lips.

“What is all this?” your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked around.

“For you. I wanted to do something special for our anniversary.” Now he led you over to sit down across from him.

The evening held some light conversation, by the end your stomach was happy and your heart felt light.

“I hope you saved room for dessert.”

“I always have room for dessert, silly!” Your laugh was as beautiful as a sunset, at least that’s what he thought. You turned to face the house, Analise was bringing out a small tray of cupcakes, and while your back was turned, and your mouth was drooling, you missed the sound of your love moving. As Analise set the tray down you turned to ask your love which you should eat first, you noticed he was gone. Spinning in your chair to face the opposite direction you saw your love down on one knee.

“Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?” he says with a slight smile. “Honestly, honey, I have no idea, but I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want ‘em all. I’m gonna love you when our hair is turning gray. And I will spend every day for the rest of my life showing how much I love you.”

Vigorously shaking your head yes, you launched yourself at him holding on tight around his neck, hoping to never let him go.

“Yes, a thousand times yes!” Your voice was somewhat quiet, making the moment more intimate. “We’re gonna be timeless.”

79 notes · View notes

lewkwoodnco · 3 months

Note

Ok would you consider writing more for George?? (shamelessly on an Ali kick atm if you couldn’t tell, this is @bobbys-not-that-small). If I was in the LnCo universe I think I’d be a librarian with little or no talent because I’m too jumpy and scared to be an agent. I’d wanna be a librarian who sometimes bends the rules for the agents who stay really late researching by bringing them a cup of tea or a snack 😊

After Hours - George Karim x Reader

"Did-did you just...spritz me? Like a cat?"

"Yes. Now shoo."

He stared at the colourful mosaic of water droplets coating his lenses stubbornly. She wasn't about to get rid of him that easily.

"Actually, I quite liked that."

a/n: asjfhfjlfh thank youuu to @bobbys-not-that-small for helping me get out of my writing slump!! this palate cleanser was exactly what I needed <3 decided to try smth new with the presentation of my fics wooooo but am having issues with the keep reading divider so this might be a little inconvenient to scroll past :( alsoooo may have gotten a little carried away here hehehe woops

warnings/tropes: snippy George (is there rlly any other kind tho) needs his biscuits, mild angst, happy ending, slight enemies to almost-lovers, fluff!

word count: 2.7k

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

Lockwood was standing over the kettle in the kitchen, half-asleep. Lockwood & Co.’s latest case was a bit more complex than they were used to, which meant that George needed a few extra days to properly research it. That meant that his and Lucy’s sleep schedule had started to settle down into one that was more typical - one where Lockwood was struggling to stifle his yawns in the middle of the night.

He hears some sounds coming from the hallway, and registers them half a second later. He picks up the nearest weapon he can find, a whisk, and tries to call out to the intruder, but his throat is so dry it’s more of a wheeze. The kitchen door inches open, and Lockwood poises to attack, before he pauses and squints at the figure in the doorway.

“George?”

George walks in, putting down his bag and jacket on one of the dining table chairs. “Thought you’d be asleep, Locky.”

“What’s this, a midnight stroll?”

“Sure.”

Lockwood blinked at the kitchen clock blearily. “It’s a hour to dawn.” As George shuffles about the kitchen, fixing his own cup of tea, a thought flits through his sleep-addled brain. “Hang on.” He opens his eyes even further, taking in how fully dressed George is, and starts putting two and two together. “Don’t tell me you’ve only just returned from the Archives.”

“Your hand’s in the milk jug. Again.”

Lockwood glances down and swears. George slips out of the kitchen with Lockwood's tea and biscuit, and he's just awake enough to notice.

“Hey, hey, it’s not your turn on the biscuit roster!”

But George was too content to care much about that. He had finally gotten a satisfactory day's worth of research which quelled the buzzing in his brain, if only for a couple of hours. As he settled into bed, his thoughts wandered to the librarian from earlier.

He had been so engrossed in his reading that he didn't notice anyone was standing over him until the sharp tap on his shoulder. When he did look up, he flinched terribly from the shock. In all fairness, she had been extremely apologetic.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know that we're closing soon."

George slowly scanned the library, only just realising that the Archives had completely emptied. It was just the two of them and their voices echoing up to the high ceilings of the room. He half-formulated a response for a moment, but then realised this was his ideal situation, and turned back to his book.

There was another insistent tap on his shoulder and he glanced up to see a firmer set to the librarian's features.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough just now. We're closed."

"Okay," he murmured, still half-absorbed in his book. She sighed exasperatedly.

"Look, Mr. ..." she trailed off, and George stared back at her unhelpfully. She spied his name scrawled at the top of his notes, which he was too slow to shift out of sight. "...Karim."

"You're good at reading upside down."

"Thank you, it's one of my many talents. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I still have to ask you to leave."

"What if I said you were really good at reading upside down?"

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Mr. Karim."

"Please, you don't need to address me by my surname." If the reddening of her face was any indication, he was right in guessing that he hadn't been able to snag his first name from the sheet.

"...I'm good, but not that good. My point, Mr. Karim, is that you have to leave."

He hummed noncommitally. She frowned. “Now you’re just being mean.”

George fought the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

“What can I say? You make it so easy.”

"I'll let you borrow an extra book."

"Hmm."

"Two extra books."

After that, they went around in circles for a while, before she stormed of. As the sun continued to set, she started switching off the lights. Even in the dark, he could feel her eyes burning into the back of his skull. He pulled out a few candles and lit them, just in time to illuminate her scowl as she irritatedly walked past him. She returned from her desk a moment later, her face stony.

"I'll ban you from the library if you don't leave right now."

"By all means." Her mouth shrivelled like she had just tasted something bitter, and he knew he had called her on her bluff.

"I'll revoke your borrowing privileges."

"Yes, because not letting me take books home is exactly how you'd get me to leave the library."

"I'll...I'll set the fantasy section visitor on you."

He didn't even look up from his book. "Give him my regards."

He paid dearly for his tongue-in-cheek a few minutes later, when he was smacked by a puff of icy mist, sudden enough to make him splutter with shock.

"Did-did you just...spritz me? Like a cat?"

"Yes. Now shoo."

He stared at the colourful mosaic of water droplets coating his lenses stubbornly. She wasn't about to get rid of him that easily.

"Actually, I quite liked that."

"You...liked that." She echoed him tonelessly.

He tried to muster up as much dignity as he could while feeling like his face was about to freeze off. "Mhm. Refreshing. Might go as far as to invite you to do it again."

She scoffed, slamming the spray bottle down in surrender.

"Fine. You win. But if you set anything on fire, so help me I will- hang on, I've got a lantern in here somewhere." With that, George watched her drift away distractedly, still mildly damp. He wondered how long he had to wait before asking for something to dry his glasses with.

For the next week, the librarian tolerated his odd hours, and George liked to think that she was coming around. She found out his first name from his library pass the next day, he found out how far he could push it with the late hours. Really, they were almost friends. He liked to think that especially after the night where he got hit in the face by something in a brown paper bag.

"Accidental pastry delivery," the librarian was saying, over the crinkle of the paper bag. "They wouldn't take it back and I've already stuffed myself the best I could."

George peered into the bag to see a deliciously flaky tart and a soft, powdered doughnut. He looked up to see her walking away, and was momentarily distracted by her odd shuffle. It took him a moment to realise she had a slight limp, as if she was carrying some dead weight. But when she returned, holding a tea tray and a viciously folded notebook, all thoughts about her limp flew out of his head. He wouldn't have thought to find such charmingly delicate fine china in a library, of all places.

"How much sugar do you take in your tea?" George blinked, still processing the pastries. She set a cup of tea in front of him, and he decided that it had just the right amount of sugar. She sat down opposite him and poured her own cup of tea, before scratching away at what he could now see was a crossword puzzle.

"Crosswords?"

She arched an eyebrow. "There's only so many books you can read in a day."

"Yes, but...crosswords?"

"You wouldn't believe how fun they are. For instance, right now I'm looking at a six-lettered word for 'nuisance.'"

That shut him up rather quickly. But over the next couple of nights, accident or otherwise, she always joined him for a cup of tea and a little treat once everyone else had cleared out.

And so a rhythm was established. On most nights, their limited conversation rarely strayed away from the tired topics that were which pastry he wanted, how late it was getting, and if he knew a five-letter word of only consonants for 'the immature form of an insect.' But he always wondered about her on the walk home, though he could never quite figure out how to ask. It was on a particularly uninteresting night that he got the answers to these half-formed questions.

He was doing his research, as usual, and she was sitting opposite him, pouring over a crossword puzzle, as usual, when he realised he needed a different volume. She barely stirred as he left the table, silently scratching away at the rough paper. Her stock still image lingered in his mind’s eye. There was something off about her today. She was a little more distracted than normal, and the abnormality unpleasantly reminded George of how little he knew about her. She was always just...there, hovering about, no matter how late it was. Didn't she have a family waiting up for her?

He returned to find her eyes fixed on his scribbled half-thoughts, as if intently deciphering his upside-down scrawls. She jerked back as he set the book down, eyes flitting nervously, almost guiltily.

"You took your time. Thought you got lost back there."

He opened his book with a deliberate slowness, as she fiddled with her pen. When he didn't respond, the forced cheeriness in her voice faded, as her eyes drifted back to his papers.

"Terribly exciting, isn't it? Being an agent."

"S'pose."

"I wanted to be one, when I was younger. Much younger."

The edge to her voice was subtle but unmistakable. He didn't like the way it grated unpleasantly against his ears.

"So how'd you end up here?"

"My talent never really blossomed. Good thing, too; I'd be all thumbs with a rapier anyway."

He frowned. "Hang on. How much can you see, exactly?"

"It's like...like a mist? Sometimes I miss them entirely."

"But you stay out so late past curfew."

"I know. I just try to walk home quickly enough. It's worked out so far."

George glanced at the flaky tart and the repulsively sugary, deep red jam glistening up at him, almost quivering in the flickering candlelight. His appetite was suddenly feeling a little funny.

"Nymph."

"Hm?"

"Five letters, no vowels. Nymph."

She glanced at her crossword, giving a small hum of approval. "So it is."

"But you already knew that."

"Did I?"

Her voice took on a mildly dispirited tone, but it was enough to signal her fading interest in the conversation. His prodding felt frustratingly futile - even now, there was so much of her shrouded in the shadows, shrouded in mystery. He didn't know what to do, or what to say, and he didn't like it. Suddenly, he wasn't sure how much he believed her, something she seemed to pick up on.

"Look, I'm too much of a live wire to be an agent. Can't we just leave it at that?"

"It’s getting late,” he said softly, and the words felt foreign on his tongue, for someone who never cared about the time. His voice sounded distant even to his own ears. But she had already returned to her crossword.

Days passed, and the awkward night was forgotten. They continued growing closer and getting more familiar with each other, if at a snail's pace. One night, she had used up the last teabag for George's tea and waved off his insisting that she have the tea, instead opting for a drink that looked suspiciously alcoholic.

As George expected, she was a little past tipsy by the time they were done, and he lingered behind worriedly as she fumbled to lock up. He walked with her a little further than he normally did, occasionally tipping her upright when she got too giggly.

"Where did you say you lived, again?" George tried to keep his tone nonchalant, hoping she wouldn't realise she never said it a first time. She vaguely pointed ahead, speaking thickly, but he couldn't quite decipher her slurred words. Rolling her eyes exasperatedly, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed her face flush against his as she repeated herself, gesturing wildly with her other arm.

"Two blocks down, then a left, walk another block, then a right, and it's the third door on your right. 51 South Street. There's honeysuckle all over the door, you can't miss it."

She tilted her head sideways, lips brushing his cheekbone. He didn't dare to breathe.

"I can take it from here. Don't think I'll be forgetting this in the morning."

She let go of him as smoothly as she hap clasped herself to him, walking ahead briskly with only minimal stumbling.

"Night, Georgie!" Yes, she must be quite well past tipsy. He watched her till she turned the corner, and almost reluctantly turned to walk home himself.

"Where's Y/N?"

George didn't mean to be impolite, but when there was a different librarian handing him his day pass the following week, he didn’t know how else to respond.

“Miss L/N’s called in sick this morning. But I’d be happy to help you with any of your Archives needs.”

The Archives felt frustratingly foreign that day. He hadn’t realised how comforting her lingering had been, to feel rather than see her wandering through the aisles just feet from him. The Archives’ closing was enough to chase him out a few hours later.

He started on the beaten path back to 35 Portland Row, before pausing. He turned, looking at the roads behind him, softly lit up by the fading rays of the setting sun. She couldn’t live that far. Just a block, or maybe two, then…was it a right?

Haltingly, he walked forward, looking this way and that amongst the tall houses which were all beginning to look worryingly identical. But she was right. 51 South Street did stick out with the heavily perfumed buttercup-yellow honeysuckle framing the door. That, and the girl smoking on the front steps of the house.

She glanced up from the gravel she was staring at as he drew closer, staring at him with cloudy eyes until she finally seemed to register him.

“…George! You’re - what? Did something happen?”

“You tell me.”

She fiddled with the ends of her hair with her free hand distractedly. “Oh. I’m alright. My leg was feeling a little bad in the morning, so I called in sick.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Didn’t take you for a smoker.”

“I’m not. It just helps with the pain.”

“For now. For an hour. You know it’s only making it worse in the long run.”

She either coughed or laughed, he couldn’t tell. He watched her breath smoke like sighs, in silence.

"I used to be an agent. And I wasn’t half bad at it, either. But I tripped up, once…lost half the nerves in my left leg. After the ghost touch, my Sight-” she pressed a hand to her eyelids, trembling for something grieved. “My Sight…it was never the same again. I tried to stay on for a while, but it was so difficult, and so painful for everyone…so I left. I couldn’t do anything with my hip connected to this…dead weight.” She tapped her cigarette experimentally, ash snowing over her shoe. “I’m dead weight, Karim.”

He wanted to comfort her, but he was never the comforting type.

“You miss it.”

“I do. I love the Archives, but…I feel like I’m part of everyone’s life, except for my own. I don’t feel like my own person. I felt so…alive as an agent. Like I’d burst into flames at any minute, as if I had that much more life which the visitors didn’t have.”

George knew the type. He lived with the type.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad you didn’t. Burst into flames, I mean.”

She half smiled into the palm she was resting her chin on. “Aww, Georgie.”

George coughed awkwardly, starting to drift away now that she was clearly feeling better. He recognised that teasing look on her face a little too well. “Okay, you’re alright now.”

“Did you oh so miss me today?”

“That’s enough out of you.”

“Not getting fond of me, are you Georgie?”

The back of his neck flamed red. She was definitely alright now.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #fanfiction #george karim x reader #george x reader #george cubbins #george karim imagine #george karim x you #george karim

89 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

Could I request a George karim x reader with the prompt “i couldn’t find you and i just thought something happened, alright...” or “i wasn’t that worried, i was just wondering where you were..” I feel like George suits the reluctant friend to lovers kinda vibes

I just had to write this as soon as I could before the idea left my head for good.

Where the hell were you?

Did you normally take this damn long getting back home or was your perception of time that out of wack?

You said you’d be back before noon but noon was quick to arrive and you were still yet to even walk through that door.

George thought to himself as he remained sat on the staircase, eyeing the front door like a guard dog awaiting potential intruders; which he desperately hopes wouldn’t be the case and instead you returning from wherever it was that you went.

George knew how he sounded but he assured himself that he wasn’t some concerning, overprotective boyfriend, after all you were just a friend he came to fret over albeit a little too much in terms of you two being just friends. It wasn’t his fault that you had a track record of inconsistencies when it came to coming back at the time you set yourself.

It happens all too often for his liking that he was already tempting the idea hunting for you across London before dragging you back home by the hood of your coat. Today wasn’t any different as once again you promised to be back by a certain time and once again you failed in doing so by a fifteen minute gap.

George began to feel that all too familiar anxious feeling within the pit of his stomach that he noted only seemed to happen whenever you -and only you- were late returning home from your ventures.

“Next time this happens, I’m putting a damn tracker on them or follow them from a distance so it doesn’t look like I’m stalki-“

Before George could finish his sentence, the front door opened and you stepped into the hallway with a smile before ridding yourself of your coat and hanging it on the nearest coat hanger. “Heya Georgie, how long have you been there?” You causally asked as though you weren’t the soul reason George believed he was going to gain grey hairs from the stress you’ve been giving him these past few days.

The audacity you had never failed to draw an indignant scoff from his lips as he pushed himself off of the staircase he was gradually becoming numb from sitting too long. “Long enough, where the hell have you been? Have you any idea how-“ “George,” you stopped him, a smile growing across your face as the pieces began to click in your head, “it sounds to me like you were worried about little ol’ me.”

Your lighthearted accusation had George on the ropes and if there was one thing you knew about George Karim and that was he was too stubborn to go down without having the last say in any conversation. “I wasn’t that worried, I was just…wondering you were that’s all.” He defended himself, feeling a tad flustered when a laugh escaped your lips as you neared him; resting your hands on his shoulders, causing them to tense briefly, as you leaned in close to press an innocent kiss to his cheek before pulling away.

You laughed lightly once you saw his scrunched up face. “How sweet of you, my knight in oversized nightshirts.” You teased as you side stepped him in order to get up the stairs, but were stopped when George reached a hand to grasp onto your hand which caused you to look at him quickly, “Just,” he began, “just tell me when your going to be late next time alright, instead of leaving me to worry my arse off.”

You smiled at him softly, “I’ll try.”

“You promise?” George asks.

“I promise.” You echoed, leaning in close to him again to press a feather light kiss to his nose before disappearing up the stairs and out of sight; which George was grateful for since it meant you wouldn’t tease him for the dopey smile across his face.

#lockwood imagines #lockwood imagine #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co imagine #lockwood and co x you #lockwood and co imagines #george karim imagines #george karim x reader #george karim imagine #george karim x you

379 notes · View notes

neewtmas · 4 months

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙʙᴇʏ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ // ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 2.7k

summary: a case that takes longer than expected, an unrequited crush, and the hardest decision you ever had to make

masterlist part I part II

taglist: @maraschinomerry @sstrawberriel @poisonquinzell @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @the-high-lady-of-3am-crackposts @shampoocovers99 (if you wanna be added or removed, just tell me) also @oblivious-idiot

You had barely turned the corner onto Portland Row when you already started searching your pockets for the house key. When you found it, you gripped the metal tightly, glad to have something to hold onto. Though slightly out of breath now, you were still keeping up a pace that had you a few steps in front of George at all times. No words had been exchanged throughout the walk, and you were equal parts sad and glad that he hadn't even attempted a conversation. The gate creaked horribly as you pushed it open, and you wouldn't have even noticed how much force you applied if it hadn't been for George right behind you. You spun around at his surprised gasp just in time to see the gate that had swung back hit him. He grimaced. "That was unnecessary."

Your face flushed in embarrassment. "It wasn't on purpose", you mumbled and abruptly turned around to open the front door, desperate to escape the situation. Stepping into the hallway, you noticed the key had left little red indents in the palm of your hands. Looking at it, a clear visualisation of your incapability to control your feelings, you felt pathetic.

There wasn't much time to think about it though, because George pushed closely past you, pizza cartons held up high to not hit your head. Your heartbeat quickened at his sudden closeness. He yelled out for Lockwood and Lucy as he stomped into the kitchen, still in boots and his jacket. You knelt to untie your shoes, taking the few moments it took as a last opportunity to pull yourself together enough to survive the dinner without giving a hint about your emotional state.

"Well George, enlighten us. What did you guys find out?" Lockwood opened up the conversation after the four of you had demolished about half of every pizza within mere minutes. George put down the piece of pizza he was currently munching on, and cleared his throat. "Abbey House is the main residence of the Blackwood family. It's similar to Combe Carey Hall insofar as it's a manor outside of London, but up until now, there have never been any disturbances. The history of the house is fascinatingly non-violent, actually."

"Really? No death? No murder? Not even a little bit?" Lockwood seemed almost disappointed by George's revelations. "Oh, there has been death. Plenty of it, if that makes you happy. But none of it is connected to the house itself." George fished a pencil out of his pocket that was so small already that it looked almost impossible to write with. He pushed one of the pizza cartons aside and quickly sketched the outline of a family tree.

Lucy, who sat next to you at the long side of the table, leaned over to get a closer look, forcing you to move closer to George as well. Your legs were touching now under the table. He looked at you and gave you the quickest of smiles before he turned back to the thinking cloth. "We've got Lord Blackwood at the top." He drew a somewhat funky-looking stick figure. "He's the current head of the family, and he owns Abbey House." He drew another stick figure next to the one already on the cloth and added something that, with a little fantasy, resembled a dress. He connected them with two intertwined rings. "His wife died a few years ago. Natural causes, no comeback as a ghost." He drew a big x over the stick figure. "They have two kids-" Another two stick figures. "The daughter is quite a few years older than her brother. She resides at Abbey House, and her brother is off to some fancy private school. Lastly, Lord Blackwood also has an older sister. Couldn't find too much about her."

Lockwood inspected the sketch with great interest. "Anything about staff? Any accidents, or something of the sort?" George leaned back, crossing his arms. He did not move his leg away from yours. "Nothing out of the ordinary. We spent the entire day combing through dusty family tree records and old newspaper clippings. His wife seemed to have lived quite a scandalous life before she got married to him. His daughter is famously picky with the men she surrounds herself with, which of course requires a regular article about how there is 'no heir in sight!' in just about every gossip magazine. Lord Blackwood has another sister, but she broke it off with her family and moved up to Scotland with her five kids. Lots of information, almost all of it irrelevant."

Lockwood took another piece of pizza and looked at it contemplatively. "On the phone, it sounded like a proper nightmare. There is a ghost there, and it's very angry."

"Don't know if I like the fact that there seems to be nothing that points towards a ghost", Lucy said.

"That's not that uncommon. And if I'm honest, now I'm even more intrigued." Lockwood had finished his piece of pizza in record time. "Of course you are", Lucy mumbled under her breath.

Lockwood ignored her. "We'll take the train tomorrow, early afternoon. I had our rapiers checked yesterday, so that's all in the clear. (name), Lucy, you go and lay out all of the equipment, and see if we need to fill up on something. We should be fully stocked, but you never know."

Lockwood seemed to brim with excited energy as he got up from the table. That's what the prospect of a challenging case tended to do to him. "I'll be in the library." He snatched the last piece of pizza from one of the cartons. "Doing some research of my own."

"Reading gossip magazines you mean?" George called after him, but Lockwood was already out of the room. George chuckled, looking at you. "Maybe I should have taken Lockwood with me today", he joked, and you gave your best to force a natural-looking smile. "Yeah, maybe", you quietly said and got up. "Lucy, let's get this over with." You didn't wait for her as you made your way down the staircase into the basement. You missed the way George turned and looked after you, with confusion and hurt at the way you were acting towards him.

In the basement, you started with pulling chains off the rack, simply dropping them in the middle of the room, the clatter of the metal against the concrete reverberating through the air. You couldn't wait to be done and get back to the solace of your room. By the time Lucy entered the room, you had moved on to sorting through the salt bombs. She joined you, and you worked in silence. There was no need to talk, it was a methodical procedure you both had gone through time and time again.

When you were done, you did a quick check of everything to make sure you didn't miss anything. Lucy stood leaning against the doorframe, watching you with her arms crossed over her chest. "I think we're good to go", you finally said and she smiled at you. You waited for her to turn around and lead the way back upstairs, but she didn't.

"Did something happen between you?"

You swallowed thickly. "No. Why?"

She shrugged. "You seem on edge. And he seems hurt."

You almost laughed. "Hurt?"

"You should have seen the way he looked after you after dinner."

You shook your head. "Lucy, you don't need to invent imaginary scenarios to make me feel better. I appreciate the sentiment, but it's really not helping."

She raised her eyebrows. "Tell me what happened then."

You huffed. "Nothing. Except me asking him to get dinner with me, and him turning it into getting pizza for everyone. Can't make it much clearer than that, now can you?"

Lucy just looked at you and the pity in her eyes made you want to rip your hair out. You flexed your hand, where the marks of the key were long gone, but you still felt pathetic.

"I don't think that was his intention", she finally said softly and turned around. You didn't move even after you heard her footsteps on the stairs and finally the door closing behind her. The room was now only dimly lit from the last bit of daylight that made its way through the narrow windows. Your eyes wandered over the four piles of equipment you had made on the floor, one for each member of the agency. From there, over to the shelves in which many folders filled to the brim with old bills, case records and miscellaneous papers piled up with no discernable system. Lastly, to the desks that stood in the corner, George's desk specifically. It was overflowing with books, notes, pictures, diagrams, loose paper, and pens, chaos only he could find any system in. On top of a stack of books stood a mug, looking lonely and out of place.

Without thinking about it, you slowly walked over and picked it up. It was your favourite mug, gifted to you by Lockwood after your first successful case with the agency as a sign that you were now a proper member. You softly brushed over the small spot on the handle that was chipped from the one time Lucy had tried to carry more than her hands could handle. You thought about how you had brought this cup down here a few days ago to give it to George who had been sitting over his notes for hours that evening. He had smiled at you, full of surprise and gratitude and fondness, before he had pulled over a chair for you to explain excitedly what he had been working on.

You blinked away the tears that had formed in your eyes. You weren't sure if you could go through with this. Leaving Lockwood & Co. would be like leaving family. But on the other hand, how long could you endure keeping things like they were? You had no idea how long you stood in the dark basement, staring at the mug that somehow had become the embodiment of the connections you had formed in this house - connections of varying kinds, but all connections of love. Connections that felt almost impossible to leave behind.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

This night's sleep had been horrible. You stumbled through the preparations that filled the entire first half of the day and looked forward to the train ride out into the country that would give you a chance to catch up on some of the sleep that you missed last night through all the tossing and turning.

The station was bustling with people, each one seemingly knowing exactly where to go and what to do. The four of you moved slowly through it all, your bags bulky and awkward to walk with, the rapiers dangling from your sides earning you a few glances from the people that passed you. Luckily, the train was already waiting at the platform. Your shoulder was aching from the unrelenting pressure of the bag's strap. After you ascended the three steps up into the train, you let it slip off your shoulder with a sigh, glad to be able to set it down for a second. The train was almost empty, it seemed like Stoneford - the village closest to Abbey House - wasn't a very popular destination. Your three colleagues had already started moving forward through the narrow hallway slowly, disregarding the empty seats they passed. Lockwood had booked you a private compartment, to allow you to discuss further details regarding the case if it was necessary, without anyone listening in on your conversation.

You looked down at the bag lying by your feet with dread. This was one of the many downsides of taking on cases with minimal information - the need to bring an extensive selection of gear to be equipped for everything that might come your way. You let out a long drawn-out sigh before bending down and snatching the straps that were on the floor. You started to make your way through the hallway, kicking and dragging the bag more than carrying it. You didn't come very far before the bag came to an abrupt halt, causing you to stumble forward and almost trip over your own feet. You cursed under your breath, which earned you a disapproving look from an older lady reading a newspaper two seats down from where you stood. You ignored her as you tried to get the strap out that had wedged itself in between the seat and the armrest.

You could feel your frustration building when you suddenly felt a hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You turned around to find George standing behind you. "Let me handle that", he said, and gently pushed you towards where Lucy and Lockwood had already disappeared into the compartment. You hesitated for a second, and looked back and forth between him and the bag, acutely aware of the placement of his hand. He raised his eyebrows, a silent prompt to follow what he had said.

"Thank you", you quietly said and left him to take care of it. The compartment door slid to the side easily, and you found Lucy and Lockwood on one of the benches, Lucy on her back with her head on Lockwood's lap. They had piled the luggage on the other bench, leaving barely enough room for two people to sit.

"Do you have to lie down, Lucy?", you asked. "Maybe we could put one of the bags on your bench." Lucy raised her head so that she could look at you over the edge of the table where Lockwood was looking through some papers, ignoring your conversation. "I'm really tired, unfortunately", she said. "I'm sure you understand." You rolled your eyes at her attempt to fake a convincing yawn. It was crystal clear to you what she was trying to do.

There was no time to argue with her because just then George appeared in the door frame. He wrestled the bag into the space under Lucy's and Lockwood's bench so that you could still move around in the compartment. When he was done, he turned to you. "Do you wanna sit by the window?" He was a little out of breath, a stray curl falling into his forehead. You shrugged. "I don't have a preference." He smiled at you. "Me neither. Then you get the window seat."

You squeezed yourself past the bags and sat down as close to the wall as possible, silently praying that the space was bigger than it looked. George placed his jacket on top of the bags before he too squeezed past the bags and plopped down next to you. He stretched out his legs with a sigh and took off his glasses to polish them on his shirt. He seemed entirely unfazed by the fact that your entire side was pressed up against him, all while it made your heartbeat stumble. You clasped your hands together in your lap to make yourself as small as possible.

"Lucy?" George asked. You bit your lip as you looked out of the window. Surely he was about to ask her to switch places so that he wouldn't have to be so close to you for the next several hours - you knew how he felt about excessive physical contact.

"Would you mind giving me the folder with the yellow marker?"

You looked over to Lucy, who pulled the folder out of the backpack you brought. George took it from her and opened it, immediately immersing himself in whatever he had in there.

In the meantime, the train had left the station. You hadn't moved at all, too afraid to accidentally alert George to the fact that you were almost sitting on top of him. Instead, you stared out of the window at the houses that flew by, slowly but surely getting replaced by trees and other greenery. There was a comfortable silence in the compartment, and that coupled with the rhythmic sound of the train had your eyes droop quickly. You rested your head against the wall and allowed them to close, quickly drifting off into sleep.

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated :)

part IV

#george karim x reader #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #george karim x you

69 notes · View notes