Fandom : Lockwood and Co.
Pairing : Female Reader x George Karim
Request : @cielooci
"reader's best friends w george since fittes days and develops a crush on him BUT it's unrequited. cause like he's super invested in his work and fails to notice the reader's advances— only at the end does he realise, when they've gave up and start to slip away."
Warnings : Angst my beloved. ALTERNATE ENDINGS, blue = sad ending, pink = happy ending.
You curse yourself silently, each word a bitter echo in the recesses of your mind, a relentless mantra of self-blame. Why did you let yourself fall for him? Why did you allow your heart to weave its intricate threads into this tangled mess? You should have known better. You should have kept your feelings buried deep, locked away in the depths where they couldn’t inflict such devastating harm.
Sitting across from George in the dimly lit room, his presence a haunting reminder of all you're desperately trying to forget, you feel a sharp pang of regret twist in your chest. Regret for not staying at Fittes, for not ignoring the flutter in your chest whenever he smiled, for not staunchly pushing your feelings aside as you know you should have.
Back at Fittes, there was a different air, a different energy. You and George were an unstoppable team, bound together in your quest for truth and justice. Countless hours were spent side by side, delving into the forbidden corners of the library to unearth ancient secrets, honing your skills with the rapier in the courtyard until the setting sun painted the sky in hues of gold and pink.
But now, everything has shifted. George is consumed by his work, his mind perpetually elsewhere, always fixated on the next case, the next breakthrough. And you? You're left behind, a mere shadow of your former self, ensnared in the suffocating grip of unrequited love.
His voice interrupts your thoughts, dragging you back to the present. He speaks of the latest case, his words a distant murmur as you struggle to maintain your composure. You try to focus, to pay attention, but your mind is a tempest, swirling with emotions too turbulent to contain.
"...so I’ll have to go to the Archives this afternoon," George finishes, his tone matter-of-fact.
You blink, trying to process his words. "But... but you told me we’d go grocery shopping today," you object, your voice wavering. He did it, again.
George shrugs, an action so casual it stings. "Work takes precedence," he states simply, his gaze already drifting back to the scattered papers before him.
Frustration surges within you, threatening to spill over like a torrential downpour. "More important than us? Than spending time together?" you didn’t know if your voice told him if it was a challenge or genuine hurt, the bitterness lacing your words like poison mixed with disappointment.
George meets your gaze, his expression inscrutable. "It’s not like that, you know that," he murmurs softly, but his words offer little solace.
You want to scream, to shake him until he sees the agony he’s causing you. But instead, you swallow your anger, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. Because this is what you’ve always done, isn’t it? Pretended like everything is fine, even as it shatters you from within.
You curse yourself once more, for your weakness, for allowing him to burrow under your skin so deeply. But deep down, you understand that no amount of self-recrimination will alter the painful truth. You're ensnared in this cycle of heartache, with no apparent escape in sight.
Each passing moment feels like an eternity, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. Lucy and Lockwood notice the subtle changes in your demeanour—the wistful glances you steal at George, the gentle touches that go unnoticed by him. They urge you to be brave, to lay your heart bare before him, but their encouragements fall on deaf ears as George remains oblivious to your silent suffering.
You attempt to heed their advice, to summon the courage to reveal your feelings, but something always intervenes. His work, his distractions, his indifference—it's a barrier that looms between you, impeding any chance of genuine connection. And with each missed opportunity, the weight on your soul grows heavier, dragging you further into the abyss of despair.
You begin to feel invisible, a ghost haunting the corridors of Lockwood & Co., present but unseen. Does George even notice you anymore? Does he comprehend the depth of your emotions? It’s as though your cries for acknowledgment vanish into the void, unheard and unheeded.
Days blur into nights, nights into days, and the pain of unrequited love becomes an ever-present companion, an ache that refuses to abate. You find solace in solitude, retreating to the sanctuary of the attic, where the agony of your unspoken affections cannot reach you. But even in the quiet confines of your solitude, the ache persists, a constant reminder of the love that remains unreturned.
One evening, as you lie in the darkness with Lucy by your side, the weight of your unspoken feelings pressing down on you like a leaden weight, you finally shatter. Tears spill forth, hot and bitter, as you surrender to the overwhelming anguish, your body convulsing with sobs.
Lucy envelops you in her embrace, offering what scant comfort she can. You cling to her desperately, the barriers around your heart crumbling in the face of overwhelming grief.
"Does he know?" you gasp between sobs, your voice raw with pain.
Lucy’s response is a tender squeeze of your hand, a silent acknowledgment of your suffering. And then, in a voice heavy with sorrow, she murmurs, "I’m so sorry."
Her words pierce through you like a blade, the final confirmation of your worst fears. Your feelings are unreciprocated, and there's no escaping the crushing weight of that realisation. You bury your face in Lucy’s shoulder, clinging to her as though she were your only lifeline, as though her presence could somehow staunch the bleeding of your broken heart.
The tension in the air crackles with an almost tangible intensity as Lockwood & Co. prepares for what promises to be one of their most perilous endeavours yet. The stakes loom high, and the weight of responsibility presses heavily upon your shoulders like a burden too great to bear. Yet amidst the chaos and uncertainty, one thing remains constant—the gnawing ache in your heart, the incessant reminder of the unrequited love that festers like an open wound.
As you pile into the cab alongside George and the rest of the team, your mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the adrenaline of the impending mission courses through your veins, the thrill of the hunt igniting a fire within. But on the other hand, there's a bitter resentment that simmers just beneath the surface, a resentment born from the realisation that no matter how valiantly you fight, George will never regard you with the same fervour you hold for him.
The mission unfolds in a blur of danger and excitement, each moment fraught with peril as you navigate the treacherous terrain of the haunted city. You fight side by side with George, your heart pounding in your chest as you battle against malevolent spirits that threaten to rend you asunder. And then, in an instant, everything changes.
You glimpse it first—the shadowy spectre lurking in the darkness, its eyes ablaze with an otherworldly light as it lunges for George with a swiftness that sends a shiver down your spine.
Instinct takes hold, and without a second thought, you hurl yourself in front of him, your body a shield against the oncoming threat.
Time seems to slow to a crawl as you brace for impact, fear and adrenaline coursing through your veins like wildfire. And then, just as the ghost is about to strike, you lunge forward, your hand outstretched as you snatch George out of harm's way, the spectral entity passing through you like a wisp of smoke.
For a fleeting moment, there's silence—a deafening silence that echoes in the depths of your soul as you stand there, panting and trembling, your heart hammering in your chest like a drumbeat. And then, as quickly as it began, the moment is shattered by George's voice, his tone casual and indifferent as he holds up the ghost source in his hand.
"That would be perfect for one of my experiments," he remarks, his words piercing through the veil of your sacrifice.
Something inside you snaps—a raw, primal fury that surges forth from the depths of your being. You turn away from him, your jaw clenched so tightly it aches.
(TWO DIFFERENT ENDINGS. FOLLOWING ONE = SAD ENDING, SCROLL TO THE PINK TEXT FOR THE HAPPY ONE)
In the quiet aftermath of the case, you sat in the back of the cab, staring out the window, your heart still pounding from the close call. George had been in danger, and without a second thought, you had risked your own safety to protect him. But when you reached him, all he could say was, “That would be great for one of my experiments.” The words echoed in your mind, cold and detached, like a knife twisting in your heart.
You ignored him the entire way back, a wall of silence between you that only grew thicker and more impenetrable as you got home. Even when he tried to talk to you, to draw you back into his world of research and discoveries, you shut him out, closing the door to your room in his face.
But George wasn’t one to give up easily. A few minutes later, he was pounding on your door, his voice rising in frustration. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Why are you being so dramatic?”
"Why are you so blind?" you demand, your voice trembling with the weight of your anguish.
George's expression shifts, a flicker of confusion and guilt flashing across his features. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
You scoff bitterly, incredulous at his obliviousness. "You think I don't feel anything?" you retort, your words dripping with scorn. "You think I'm just some insignificant afterthought? Well, you're wrong, George. I'm tired of pretending everything's fine. I'm tired of pretending you don't matter to me. Because you do. You matter more than anything, and it kills me to know you'll never feel the same."
There's a stunned silence as your words hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down upon you like a suffocating blanket. And then, without another word, you turn on your heel and slam the door shut in his face, leaving him standing there in the darkness as you retreat to your room, your heart still pounding in your chest.
As you collapse onto your bed, tears of frustration and sorrow stream down your cheeks, your body wracked with sobs. You bury your face in your pillow, your heart heavy with the weight of your unspoken confession, the ache of unrequited love burning like a brand upon your soul.
In that moment, as you lie there, broken and defeated, you can't help but wonder if it would have been better to keep your feelings buried deep, locked away where they couldn't cause any harm. But deep down, you know that's a lie. Because despite the pain, despite the heartache, you wouldn't change a thing. It was perhaps all worth it.
The next day, you made your decision. The tension in the house was palpable as you descended the stairs, the weight of the previous night's confrontation heavy on your shoulders. George had left the kitchen, and you found Lucy and Lockwood there, their faces reflecting the unease in the air. You took a deep breath and spoke, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.
“I’ve decided to leave,” you said, watching their eyes widen in shock.
“What? You can’t be serious,” Lockwood said, his brow furrowing in concern. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s for the best,” you replied, forcing a smile. “We’ll stay best friends, just not coworkers or living together anymore.”
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to grasp your hand. “Please, don’t go. We need you here.” Her voice was unstable.
But your mind was made up. “I need time and space to heal, Lucy. I can’t stay here, not like this.”
Before they could say more, George appeared in the doorway, having overheard your words. His face was a mask of confusion and regret. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You looked at him, your heart aching with unspoken words. “Because I can’t keep pretending everything is okay when it’s not,” you said softly. “I need to move on, George.”
An hour later, you left the only home you had and never looked back.
Four years had passed since you left Lockwood & Co., since you walked away from George and the life you had once known. In those four long years, George had been haunted by your absence, by the hollow ache that lingered in the depths of his soul—a constant reminder of what he had lost.
As he stood outside the reception hall, a knot of dread twisting in his stomach, George couldn't help but reflect on the path that had led him here—alone, with nothing but regrets to keep him company. Clutching the token you had given him all those years ago, your badge from Fittes when you both said that it was just a stupid agency, he felt a surge of emotion wash over him, a torrent of longing and regret that threatened to overwhelm him.
He understood now, understood the depth of your feelings, the pain he had caused you with his obliviousness and neglect. But understanding came too late, too late to mend the shattered pieces of your broken heart, too late to undo the damage he had wrought.
As he watched you from afar, playing with your wedding band, a radiant smile lighting up your face, George felt a pang of longing and regret that cut deeper than any blade. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you how sorry he was for everything he had put you through, but he knew that words were meaningless now, that the damage had already been done.
So he stood there, a silent witness to your happiness, his heart heavy with the weight of what could have been. And as you looked his way, your gaze meeting his for the briefest of moments, George felt nothing but the stinging scar of your absence, a scar that would never fully heal. In his mind, a book was burning, their words disappearing like they were nothing. His fault. It was his fault.
With a heavy heart and a soul weighed down by regret, George turned away, leaving behind the life he had once known and the woman he had loved more than life itself. And as he walked away, a poignant sense of loss and unfulfilled potential hung in the air like a lingering ghost, a ghost that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
In the quiet aftermath of the case, you sat in the back of the cab, staring out the window, your heart still pounding from the close call. George had been in danger, and without a second thought, you had risked your own safety to protect him. But when you reached him, all he could say was, “That would be great for one of my experiments.” The words echoed in your mind, cold and detached, like a knife twisting in your heart.
You ignored him the entire way back, a wall of silence between you that only grew thicker and more impenetrable as you got home. Even when he tried to talk to you, to draw you back into his world of research and discoveries, you shut him out, closing the door to your room in his face.
But George wasn’t one to give up easily. A few minutes later, he was pounding on your door, his voice rising in frustration. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Why are you being so dramatic?”
Something inside you snapped. You flung the door open, your anger and hurt spilling out in a torrent of words. “Dramatic? You think I’m being dramatic?” you shouted, your voice shaking with emotion. “I nearly got myself killed to save you, and all you can think about is your damned experiments!”
George’s face twisted in confusion and anger. “You didn’t have to do that! I never asked you to risk your life for me!”
“You’re right, you didn’t,” you shot back. “I did it because I care about you, George. Because I like you. But you’re either too blind to see it or too much of an awful twat to acknowledge it!”
For a moment, George stood there, stunned into silence by your words. Then, he started yelling back, his own frustrations boiling over. “I’m good at my work, okay? That’s the only thing I know how to do. Feelings, relationships, all of that—it’s a mess I don’t know how to handle!”
“How can you know if you never even try?” you yelled, your voice breaking. “You hide behind your books and your research because it’s safe, because it’s easier than dealing with real emotions. But people aren’t experiments, George. I’m not an experiment!”
The silence that followed was heavy and painful, each of you standing there, breathing hard, staring at each other across the chasm that had opened between you. Finally, you turned away, the weight of your confession hanging in the air. “I’m done,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I can’t keep doing this.”
Without another word, you walked into your bedroom, closing the door behind you. The finality of it settled over you like a shroud, the realization that things would never be the same sinking in. George stood outside your door for a long time, his mind racing, your words echoing in his head. But he couldn’t bring himself to knock again, to breach the barrier you had put up. So he turned and walked away, retreating to the solitude of his own room, where he could drown himself in work and try to forget the pain in your eyes.
The next day, you made your decision. The tension in the house was palpable as you descended the stairs, the weight of the previous night's confrontation heavy on your shoulders. George had left the kitchen, and you found Lucy and Lockwood there, their faces reflecting the unease in the air. You took a deep breath and spoke, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.
“I’ve decided to leave,” you said, watching their eyes widen in shock.
“What? You can’t be serious,” Lockwood said, his brow furrowing in concern. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s for the best,” you replied, forcing a smile. “We’ll stay best friends, just not coworkers or living together anymore.”
Lucy’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to grasp your hand. “Please, don’t go. We need you here.” Her voice was unstable.
But your mind was made up. “I need time and space to heal, Lucy. I can’t stay here, not like this.”
Before they could say more, George appeared in the doorway, having overheard your words. His face was a mask of confusion and regret. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You looked at him, your heart aching with unspoken words. “Because I can’t keep pretending everything is okay when it’s not,” you said softly. “I need to move on, George.”
A few hours later, you found yourself standing outside George's door again, the book clutched tightly in your hands. This book, a treasured part of your shared history, was filled with annotations from both of you—notes on cases, personal thoughts, and even doodles drawn during late nights of research. It had been your plan to leave this as a parting gift, a piece of the bond you’d shared. You thought about leaving him without any more words, but what he told you made you heart warm up. A bit. He was scared. He deserved a proper goodbye.
Feeling a pang of disappointment, you turned and headed downstairs, where you found George in the kitchen. He was meticulously preparing Ghorabieh, the sweet aroma filling the room. You hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to say.
“George?” you finally called out, your voice tentative.
He looked up from his task, his expression unreadable. “Wait at the table,” he said quietly, not meeting your eyes. You did as he asked, sitting down and wrapping your hands around a steaming cup of tea he had set out for you. The warmth seeped into your fingers, but it did little to ease the chill of uncertainty in your heart.
George continued his work in silence, carefully placing the tray of golden Ghorabieh on the counter to cool. When he finally sat across from you, he cleared his throat nervously. “These biscuits,” he began, his voice soft, “my dad used to make them for my mom whenever they argued. It became a family tradition. We had them at every event, but these ones, the ones I made for you, were special. They were a symbol of making amends.”
You watched him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. He looked down at his hands before continuing. “I’m good at my research because it’s something I know how to do perfectly. It’s predictable, unlike feelings and relationships. But last night, I realized something. Without trying, I’ll never know. I’m willing to try if you’ll let me. Trials and errors, I guess…”
George looked up, his vulnerability laid bare. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I can try, for us.”
The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You took a deep breath, the smell of Ghorabieh overwhelming your senses. You had to think about it. It hurt, so much and for so long. But you had to take your own advice, that without trying, tou'll never know. You both knew you needed time after everything, but you wanted it, which is why you answered :
“I’d like that,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.
George’s shoulders sagged in relief, a tentative smile curving his lips. He reached out and handed you one of the biscuits, his hand shaking slightly. You took it, tasting the blend of almond and rosewater, the sweetness a stark contrast to the bitterness of the past few days.
As you sat there, the silence between you was no longer heavy with unspoken pain but filled with the promise of something new. It was a beginning tentative and fragile, but a beginning nonetheless. And oh, how you didn’t regret it.
Three years later, the atmosphere was filled with the joyful clinking of glasses and the warm hum of conversations. George stood near the edge of the reception hall, watching you from a distance. You were chatting animatedly with Lucy and Lockwood, your smile radiant as you absently played with your wedding band.
George couldn’t help but smile, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. He tugged at his tie, which suddenly felt too tight around his neck. Making his way over to you, he couldn’t shake the memory of how different things might have been. They actually succeeded, they did it.
“Hey,” he called softly as he approached. “Can you help me with this? It’s strangling me.”
You turned, your eyes lighting up as you saw him. “Of course,” you said, reaching up to loosen his tie with practiced ease. As you adjusted it, your fingers brushed against his collar, and he felt the warmth of your touch seep through the fabric. He rolled his eyes playfully, but the gesture was affectionate, his fingers instinctively playing with his own wedding ring.
Oddly enough, as you worked on his tie, a fleeting thought passed through both your minds, like a whisper of a ghost from another time. It was as if you could both hear the echo of what might have happened if, three years ago, you hadn’t given each other a chance. The thought lingered for just a moment, a wistful reminder of the pain and missed opportunities that could have been.
But it quickly vanished, disappearing like a wisp of smoke. You finished with his tie and stepped back, your eyes meeting his with a look of understanding.
Lockwood, standing nearby, couldn’t resist making a face. “Oh, come on, you two. Get a room,” he teased, fake gagging.
You and George both laughed, the sound blending seamlessly into the joy around you. “Shut it, Lockwood,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.
“Yeah, mind your own business,” George added, grinning.
For a moment, you and George shared a look, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between you. Maybe in another life, you wouldn’t have been so lucky. Maybe you would have let each other slip away, lost in the chaos of unspoken feelings and missed chances. But in this life, you had found each other. You had taken the risk, bridged the gap, and come out the other side stronger and more connected than ever.
If it was worth it, you both were sure of it.
IT WAS HARD OKAY. i might have messed up somewhere, if that's the case please tell me! writing alternate endings is great but good luck trying to not fuck up
ANYWAYS i hope you liked it! reader has... way more than a small little crush, but listen, conan gray taught me to be overdramatic. there you go.
rereading : IT WAS VERY DRAMATIC LMAOOOO, okay not a small crush but they're head over heels wtf
if you don't want to be tagged/want to be just tell me!
