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maraschinomerry · 1 year

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Hey! Can you write a george karim x reader fic with the “learning how to kiss” prompt?

Important Research

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader, mentions of Locklyle

Summary: You've fallen for your fellow researcher but are scared to act on it in case your lack of experience is off-putting. Little do you know, he feels the same and has decided to do what he does best to resolve it...

Content: kissing, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending

A/N: thank you so much for requesting! This is my first ever reader fic and it kind of got away from me, ngl, but I really hope you like it and constructive feedback is appreciated! Especially on the fact I used (name) to be where you'd insert your name, I found I like it that way when reading but do people prefer that, y/n or something else?

Word count: 2.7k

"Morning Georgie!" you chirped as you entered the kitchen of 35 Portland Row, smiling at the dishevelled figure at the dining table. It was clear he'd been up most of the night trying to research for your next case - dark circles barely offset by the glint from his crooked glasses, curly hair sticking out more than usual (you knew it only ever did this when he'd just woken up, which didn't appear as likely, or when he'd been running his hands through it in frustration), empty mug by the elbow he was using to prop himself up. The poor boy was running on caffeine. "Coffee?" you offered as you clicked the kettle on.

"Mmh," he mumbled, before realising he was in an actual conversation and not just talking to himself. "Thanks." You leant over to take his cup, fingers brushing the bare skin of his forearm, and you felt him unexpectedly twitch. The dark brown rings in the bottom of the mug had set firmly, he must have zoned out hours ago, so you fetched two clean ones and a couple of plates. If he hadn't made more coffee, he definitely hadn't eaten. Toast would do.

George was staring at the Thinking Cloth, willing his eyes to focus. He was vaguely aware of the sounds of you bustling about the kitchen, quietly humming to yourself, but beyond that his senses seemed to have abandoned him. Wait, perhaps not quite all. Suddenly, he registered the scent of coffee and something citrus. He forced himself to tune back in just as you pulled away, leaving behind a steaming cup and a plate of marmalade toast, sliced on the diagonal just how he liked it. You took a seat opposite him with a matching breakfast and a matching smile.

"Thanks, (name)."

"No problem. How's the research coming along?"

He sighed. "Not great. I need to cross-reference these sightings with that date we found at the Archives yesterday, but since they wouldn't let us take a copy of the file I've forgotten what it was so I'll have to go back again and check." You pushed back your chair and stood up with a bounce. He knew how much you shared his passion for research and loved the way you'd always listen to his ideas and share yours in return, but he didn't want you abandoning your plans for the day to fix his mistake. "It's fine, I'll go as soon as I've-" Hold on. You hadn't gone to the door. You'd come round to his side of the table.

"I wrote it down for you!" You were unable to contain your excitement. Leaning over his shoulder, you pushed his mug to the side to reveal a patch of your handwriting amongst the mess of his: "8th February 1986". He turned to you in awe and his breath caught in his throat.

Your face was so incredibly close to his, jawline curving gently past the tip of his nose as you beamed down at your handiwork. The fibres of your jumper tickled his cheek where it almost met your chest, and marmalade and coffee was replaced by the familiar scent of lavender and mint that he knew was uniquely you. When you turned to gauge his reaction at this new development, you narrowly missed bumping your noses together. You didn't pull away.

"You're incredible," he murmured. Oh god. "I mean… you're an incredible researcher… saved me a trip… thank you." Seeing him fumble his words, a band of pink spreading from his cheeks all the way up to the tips of his ears, was adorable. Finally you stepped back, and he was both relieved and disappointed until you gently booped the end of his nose and his brain short-circuited too much to decide how he felt.

—

Lockwood sauntered into the library. It had been a couple of days since you'd all wrapped up the last case, but he'd been so busy with paperwork and restocking that now he was ready to use this rare afternoon off to catch up on the news from around town with a magazine, alone in his favourite armchair. Instead he was met by you, curled up in the other chair. Your knees were tucked up to the bottom of the cushion you had clutched to your chest, and your chin was buried in the top of it. In all your time with the agency, even after the worst cases, he'd never seen you like this.

"Everything okay?" The question was soft, tender, but it still startled you. You began to hastily unfurl until you realised who it was, at which point you folded back in on yourself. Lockwood took that as a no. He made his way over to the armchair, knowing that if you wanted to talk about whatever was bothering you, you would in your own time. The silence was tense but not uncomfortable. Eventually, you spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"I think George hates me."

Lockwood faltered.

What?

George?

The George who turned almost crimson every time you smiled at him? The George who claimed to hate physical contact, but linked arms with you whenever you went to the Archives together? The George who practically threw himself at a Wraith last week to protect you? The George who Lockwood had once caught face down on the Thinking Cloth after a particularly hard night, talking about you in his sleep? That George? He caught himself just before scoffing and saying you were being ridiculous. That wouldn't help matters.

"What makes you say that?" He prompted. Perhaps if he got to the root of your doubts he could help resolve them.

"I don't know, I just…" You huffed out a breath, already embarrassed by what you were about to let out. "Things were going so well and I really thought we were starting to get close. Like close close. So I tried leaning into it a little more but I can't follow through." The words were rushing out of you now, far too quickly for you to claw them back in before you said too much. "I really want to kiss him but I've never done that before so I don't want to scare him off, but I think I already have because I pushed things too far and now he keeps avoiding me. Like last night at dinner he could barely look at me and this morning he said he had to go and find some books but he wouldn't let me go with him and why would he do that unless I made him uncomfortable and now he doesn't want to be around me?"

Lockwood, who was being hit with a strong wave of déjà vu, had a good idea why George would do that.

"How did you know how to kiss Lucy the right way?"

The night before, the two boys had been in the basement, checking over their supplies, when George asked the question out of nowhere.

Lockwood chuckled, taken aback. "I don't think there really is a right way, mate."

"But you have to have done it properly, Lucy said it was like fireworks!" His words were complimentary (Lockwood almost preened as he'd never heard Lucy's side of their first kiss) but his tone was exasperated, almost bitter.

"Is this about (name)?" George opened his mouth and closed it again, his cheeks burning. That answered that. "You're not exactly subtle, George, and neither are they. I'm pretty sure they like you, and you know each other well enough that if you do decide to go for it, you'll be able to pick up on the cues they give off to tell you whether you're doing what's right for them. Hell, you do it when we're on cases, don't you?"

George pondered this for a moment. Lockwood had a point. When you were out, you often didn't even have to say a single word to know what the other was thinking, moving as one in moves that would have seemed choreographed to anyone who watched. But figuring all that out had been nearly a year in the making, and he didn't want to wait another year to make sure he got this right. He needed a head start.

"I'll be leaving early tomorrow morning. Beat the rush at the Archives. You won't… you won't tell them about this, will you?"

Lockwood swore he wouldn't.

True to his word, Lockwood divulged none of the previous night's events, as much as it would have put your mind at ease.

"I promise, he doesn't hate you. Maybe you should go and talk to him, prove it to yourself. I think he's in his room."

—

A delicate knock sounded on George's door.

"Come in," he called on instinct, head still buried in his book.

You tentatively opened the door, noticing the familiar smell of coffee and ginger biscuits before your eyes were drawn to the bed. George was laid on his stomach, one book in his hand and a couple of others scattered by his side. He smiled softly up at you as you lingered in the doorway.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" you asked.

"No, not at all, I'm just doing… some research. Nothing important." He'd paused in the middle of the sentence, quickly glancing from you to the book he was holding. His eyes widened a little and he hurriedly shoved them off the edge of the bed and kicked them under. With a deep breath to steady himself, he patted the space next to him. You made your way over, eyes trained on the floor.

He was so close you could have reached out and got this all over with in seconds. But you couldn't. Although your talk with Lockwood had been encouraging, you still weren't sure how far you were from the brink of pushing George away forever, a prospect you couldn't fathom. So you sat, fidgeting with your hands in your lap, trying to focus in spite of the dark eyes piercing into your very soul just inches away. Silence filled the close confines of the room.

"So…" George began hesitantly. "Did you want to talk to me about something?"

You bit your lip. "Yes. Um." You'd never been good at this bit. "Are we okay? I feel like you've been distant recently, and I- I miss you, Georgie. I thought maybe it was because I'd started getting more flirty and touchy with you and I know that isn't really your thing so if I've done something to make you uncomfortable-"

"Oh," George said simply. You balked. This was a mistake. Even if he ever wanted to speak to you again you'd be too embarrassed to do so. Tears began to prick at the corner of your eyes. You desperately hoped that George wouldn't notice. He did.

Seeing you on the verge of tears made something clench in George's chest. He'd seen you cry before, but had never been the cause and he hated knowing that this time he was.

"Wait no, please, I'm sorry," he fumbled. He had no idea how he was going to say what he needed to, but he couldn't stand another second of you being so upset. Cautiously, he reached his hand out towards yours, leaving it open to allow you to come to him. In case you were still unsure. In case he'd misread things. His heart leapt when he felt your fingers entwine with his. Allowing it to spur him on, he grounded himself by stroking his thumb across yours.

"I never wanted to push you away." Although he was assured of what he was saying, you couldn't help but miss the snarky confidence which usually laced his speech. "In fact I wanted you even closer." You both blushed. "But I was so worried that I was misreading things, and I don't know if you've realised but I have no idea what I'm doing and I didn't want to make things weird."

You giggled, a slight sniffle escaping as you wiped away the remnants of your tears. For such talented, intelligent researchers, you two really were idiots. "I was thinking the same thing! I don't have a clue about the right way to do all…" you nodded to your interlinked hands, "...this."

"Oh, Lockwood said there isn't really a right way."

You rolled your eyes. Trust Lockwood to have sent you up here for answers without so much as a hint that he'd already discussed it with George. Then again, here you were. You rescinded your eye roll and gave him a silent thanks.

"It's all well and good him saying that, look at how well it's going with Lucy!" You both laughed, the sound dissipating the last of the tension in the room. Testing the waters a little more, you leaned closer into George's side, breath hitching as he unlinked his hand from yours, taking it back with his other and wrapping his arm around your waist.

"That's why I thought it was worth doing a little extra research," he smirked. You gave him a puzzled look, and he toed out one of the books he'd kicked under the bed. It was a guide to body language. Below it, the corner of another book showed the word 'romance'. So that was why he went looking for books without you. The thought of him doing all this for you was so overwhelming, you nearly kissed him right there, but surely in one of those books it would have said something about a little build-up, right?

"Well you know," you raised your gaze from the books to his, allowing it to slide down to his lips and revelling in the fact that his did the same, "as important as research is, true science is incomplete without experimentation." By now your noses were touching, his breath fanning across your face. Your thoughts flickered briefly to George, in his apron and gloves, testing out the skull at different temperatures in the oven. It was one of the first moments that had endeared him to you. You smiled against his lips.

"I do love experimentation," he grinned, closing the gap between you.

His lips were a little chapped, but the kiss was soft and gentle as though he were still afraid you'd run away. The whole time, he hadn't let go of your hand, his other still around your waist, and you brought your free hand up to press against the nape of his neck, one finger brushing into his curls. His kisses were brief, uncertain, trying to pick up on all the cues you might be giving off while thoroughly distracted by the long-awaited sensation of your lips on his, but as you applied a little more pressure behind his head he immediately knew to tighten his grip on your waist and deepen the kiss. You gasped a little against him, and he began to pull back to make sure you were okay until your lips followed his. As you leaned closer, you teetered on the edge of the bed and frantically unclasped your hands to steady yourself. With a chuckle, George shifted himself back until he was resting against the headboard and took your hand once again to lead you into his lap. You met him eagerly. Both his hands now wrapped around your waist, thumbs rubbing rhythmically across your sides. Emboldened, you twisted your grip further into his hair and were pleasantly surprised when he moaned against your lips, a motion which gave you the faintest taste of those ginger biscuits.

Eventually, you pulled apart for breath, hands never leaving each other and foreheads pressed together. His rich brown eyes were darker than ever, sparkling up at you through his eyelashes.

"And that," you stopped to inhale a lungful of air, "is the dedication to research that makes us such a successful agency." You tried so hard to feign professionalism, but were undermined by rosy cheeks and a playful smile.

George leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. "Absolutely, I take my job incredibly seriously." Another kiss. "But in this case, I think I have to admit that Lockwood was right." You clasped a hand to your chest in pretend shock. George laughed and pulled you into a hug. "Don't tell him I said that."

#lockwood & co #george karim x reader #gn!reader #locklyle #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co fanfic #this took me so many attempts to get how I wanted it but I had a lot of fun #and also ended up deleting a scene that I think would be great as a separate fic

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mishapen-dear · 4 months

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a gift for @t4tfitpac for the @mcytblrholidayexchange! a little bit of fitpac for ya. I hope you enjoy!

(ao3)

The trees are taller than they should be.

That plays over in Fit’s mind as he gasps out another breath, air rasping painfully out of his lungs. He leaps over a fallen log, almost stumbling as the sand slips beneath him. The trees loom overhead, tilting forwards and around him. The ocean spans to his right, an everlasting expanse, but somehow it just feels like more trees- like another fence to the shepherd’s corral, caging him in at either side, urging him forwards on a single path.

There is silence behind him, which isn’t right- that isn’t how it happened- or, it isn’t how this happened, but it screams danger either way. Laughing, yelling, (apologizing)- distraction. A level of focus that isn’t pointed at the hunt, at Fit. Silence betrays not only intent, but logic, care for the artistry of violence, causing his ears to prick and his heart to race as he sprints along the beach.

But, despite the silence, he feels calm. Focused. He is FitMC of 2b2t, and this isn’t home.

And any fear there is, beyond the focus, doesn’t feel- real? It’s strange. There’s a level of fuzzy-headed clarity that makes it almost feel like he’s underwater. The trees loom, his pursuers are silent, and he is running.

Something niggles at the edge of his understanding, struggling at the bubble that clouds his thoughts. Almost curiously, he turns his attention towards it. There’s a shepherd’s corral, intense silence, and only one way to run.

Uh oh.

A trap?

Where is he running?

Where is he-

His thoughts are cut off by the sharp sound of an arrow whistling past his ear. It lodges firmly in the sand to his left, followed quickly by two other projectiles that spear into the ground next to him. He keeps running, but this doesn’t make any damn sense.

Who’s chasing him? Where is he running?

The trees are too tall. The forest is to his left. The ocean to his right.

He’s thinking about ice. Why is he thinking about ice?

Snow storm. Green base. He’s leading them home.

He feels another wave of strange calm settle over him as another arrow whizzes past his ear. That’s it, isn’t it? There isn’t just one path, but there is just one decision.

He reaches for his sword with one hand, and grabs for a tree with the other. If he turns and sprints back towards his attackers, he has a chance. If he’s fast enough, he can surprise them, and if he can’t overpower them on this first rush then- well, then he’ll just have to do his best.

But his hand doesn’t find his sword, and his foot doesn’t hit the ground.

He falls into darkness.

And then, all at once, the ground hits him. He catches his weight on his hands and knees, a sharp jolt climbing through his prosthetic and into his shoulder. Every breath rattles out of him all over again. Everything is still dark- of course it is, it’s night time, just like it was night time then, which almost manages to make any sense.

In front of him, there’s silence. It looms. He grits his teeth. There’s nothing for him to do but get it over with; Fit looks up.

He sees Pac.

The moon hangs stark behind him, haloing the dark silhouette of Pac with his windswept hair and bare, bare arms. His hoodie is tied around his waist, the soft blue just barely discernible through the darkness. He’s staring straight at Fit, eyes downright gleaming, and Fit feels breathless.

Pac is also holding a sword.

He is holding Fit’s sword.

Fit’s sword is covered in blood.

Fit looks down. There is no pain, but he is also covered in blood. He has a tear in his shirt and a wound in his chest, just above his heart,. He looks up again to see Pac, suddenly much closer than he was before. It’s still dark, but they’re close enough now that Fit can see the rest of Pac’s face. He’s smiling, eyes creased as he looks at Fit with an expression so fond that it makes something deep in Fit’s chest start to hurt. “Oi, Fit,” Pac whispers, breath warm against Fit’s face. He leans in, and…

Fit wakes up.

Fit’s already upright before he knows what’s happening, heart pounding, ears ringing. His hand is pressed hard over his heart, as though he could keep it from beating out of his chest with force.

There’s a lot of thoughts to be had about that nightmare. The- dream? Whatever it was. Whatever it was.

His face is starting to burn.

Fit says, sternly, “That’s not how it happened,” His voice is hoarse, but he ignores that in favour of laying back down. He has the time to sleep, and the safety for it, too, but his heart is still pounding and the warmth in his face is- it’s just a little distracting, okay? That’s it, that’s the only thing. He’s not thinking about anything else. Just a weirdly warm face and a heart that won’t calm down.

It’s fine, and he’s fine, and Pac is-

well. Pac is pretty fine, too.

Fit squeezes his eyes shut and doesn’t get any more sleep that night.

–

“Oi, Fit! You wanted to see me?”

Pac sounds nervous. Fit doesn’t know how to calm him. He’s been filled with a restless energy of his own all day- he hardly even remembers how to think. “Yeah,” he says. And then, “Yeah, I did. Come on in, Pac! Come on in, make yourself at home.“

Pac comes in to Fit’s house. He stops at the sight of the chests. “Uh. Fit…”

Fit doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He leans against one of the chest stacks, all casual-like. “Yeah?”

Pac looks at him, then looks around to the room. It’s not a proper stash- there’s only about four proper chest stacks, and the rest are just double chests set out on the floor next to each other. Any more would be overkill. Because he hasn’t hit overkill already- no, sir, not him. “Are you moving? You didn’t tell me- do you need help? You’re really strong, Fit, so I know you can do it on your own! But if you’d like some help I can help- unless you’re moving to somewhere super secret and safe, then I understand. Um.”

Fit didn’t even realize he’d started smiling until he opens his mouth to speak. “I’m not moving, Pac.”

“Oh,” Pac says. They sit in silence for a moment before Fit remembers that he has to explain at least a little bit.

Hm. Maybe this was a mistake. “It’s not- for me,” Fit starts, stilted. “It’s for you.”

“For me?”

Fit chews on his cheek. Pac waits patiently, not pressuring him at all- just waiting, letting him take his time. He keeps letting Fit take his time. Baby steps, always baby steps, but Pac keeps walking with him. Fit’s heart seizes in his chest and something almost like a survival instinct lashes out in panic. “No- this is- this is stupid. I’m sorry, Pac, I shouldn’t have called you out here at this hour.”

“Oh,” Pac says again, and Fit could kick himself. He sounds so disappointed. “Oh! Well, that’s okay, Fit. But we can still- we can go do something else, if you want? Or if you don’t want, that’s totally okay too! I can just go walk around on my own- maybe find a field of flowers and just watch the sky for a little while, it’s okay!.”

“No, no- you don’t have to- I want you here with me, Pac, really,” Fit promises quickly. And that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? Because Fit wants Pac here, with him. But instead Pac is leaving again, off to Purgatory 2. Fit could go with him but, to put it plainly, he doesn’t want to. Purgatory wasn’t 2b2t- the rules, the relatively small playing area, the expected teamwork… and it was pretty nice company, there at the end. It was Hell, but one of the upper layers. The loungeroom before the actual doors. Something still almost lighthearted, when compared to the desolate wastes of Fit’s homeland.

But he doesn’t want to do it again. And it isn’t fair to ask Pac to stay, either.

“I guess I just… I know you won’t be able to take anything with you, probably,” Fit admits. Pac’s lips part a little, but he stays quiet, watching Fit. Still giving him room. Somehow drawing more explanation out of him. “But I thought it might be nice to do some resource gathering anyway. These are all empty,” he adds, further embarrassed. “And we don’t have to fill them all! But I thought-”

He hadn’t been thinking a lot, actually. Or maybe too much? Hidden stashes and piled chests- the need to be doing something other than sitting and waiting. Fit was used to the nomadic life, but there was no enderchest of shulker boxes here- nothing to fall back on, nothing to give. Nothing needed to give, wanting to give anyway.

Pac could take care of himself. Fuck, could he ever.

But-

Beautiful things never last, and Pac is one of the most beautiful things Fit has ever had the pleasure of knowing. So sue him if he wants to spend a little more time with the man before he goes back to hell! Can’t a roommate spend some quality time with another roommate without it being weird?

Pac softens. “You want to grind with me?”

Fit feels a grin crack across his face even as his cheeks start to burn. The tension isn’t broken so much as it’s shattered- Pac is already realizing what he said, ducking his head down and retreating back into his shirt like an adorable tortoise. “Yeah, Pac,” Fit says. He’s reminded of his dream, of how that wasn’t how it went- but maybe a little of that will be how it goes for other people, when Pac is unleashed back onto that battlefield again. Something possessive in his chest makes him feel bold. His voice deepens as he teases, “I’d love to grind with you.”

Pac practically squeaks. Fit giggles. Then they’re both laughing, red-faced, grabbing on to the empty chests to keep themselves upright. It’s not even that funny, but there’s something relieving about the moment. Pac is leaving. Fit is staying. Pac can kill as many people as he wants- he can apologize to them, even, or refuse to kill them. That’s alright.

Beautiful things can’t last forever, but-.

They don’t go grinding, or resource gathering, or hunting. They end up on the roof somehow, looking up at the sky. Soon, for Pac, all those stars are going to be replaced with the red haze of Hell. But the rose bushes are red, too, and so is the flower that Fit -very normally, and very calmly- tucks behind Pac’s ear.

He won’t be able to take the flower with him. It’ll wilt before he gets back, dead and dry and crumbling between Fit’s fingers. But there will be more flowers. More quiet evenings with his roommate at his side.

Sometimes the end of one good thing is just the pause before the beginning of another. For now, Fit enjoys a beautiful night.

#qsmp #fitpac #qsmp shipping #mishapen words #qsmp fic #sorry this took so long to get to you!!! i was having some struggles #i attempted to write many firsts and that stopped me up more than i was expecting it to o7 #anyway ive been putting on fit in the morning to try to Absorb his voice and #yeah. yeah. i see why people are like that about fitpac i see why its consumed so many

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