writing sideblog

where i post my works

[ukulelevillainwrites]

Hello 🩵

Welcome to this sideblog where i post my writing 🪻

Orientation:

My main blog: @smol-being-of-light ✨

My fandom sideblog: @uku-lelevillain 🐦‍⬛

My AO3: same username ukulelevillainwrites

You can find here my masterlist

For now I only write for Lockwood&Co, I'm not sure if I'll write for other fandoms yet! 🖤🧡💙

[ukulelevillainwrites]

Doomed

series in 5 parts (prologue, pt1, pt2, pt3, epilogue/sequel)

pairing: quill kipps x reader

word count: 5.1k

summary: A string of attacks has been troubling the Fittes agency. Agents get assaulted, relics go missing and the attacker remains at large. Quill Kipps is nominated to take down whoever is behind this. Only this job isn't like anything else he's done before, and it leads him down a path of strange alliances and confusing feelings.

comment: here's something more substantial to get into the plot 👀 i hope you enjoy!

taglist: @avdiobliss ; @maraschinomerry ; @neewtmas ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @demigoddess-of-cheese

Part 1 - A game of cat and mouse

--- Kipps ---

Quill Kipps had always been an exemplary agent. He had learned how to hold a rapier at age six, he had memorized the Fittes manual of psychical interventions from cover to cover by age ten and he kept up with the recent progress in technological discoveries against visitors. He had been both a team member and a team leader, he dedicated his free time to work on extra projects with DEPRAC and he often referred to Inspector Barnes as his mentor. However, in this exact moment, he had no idea what he was doing.

This new mission was probably the biggest opportunity he had been offered so far. It said long about his achievements, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to worry about the future as much as he did now. That was if he didn’t mess it up. He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t. Too many people relied on him already. He had been offered this job specifically because he was qualified. He had made himself a reputation and he was going to uphold it. He had to keep going, it was too late to turn back, and now was not the time to doubt his abilities. Heaven knew uncertainty had a bad habit of creeping up on him in the worst moments lately.

He sat at his usual table in the Archives, newspapers in hand, and silenced the unwanted voice in his head as best he could. This part should be the easy one, he had practically taught Bobby everything he knew about research. The first step was observing. He needed to get familiar with this attacker’s preys of choice. If he could even start to draw a motive, it would be even better.

The attacks weren’t on the front page, or anywhere to be found in the first five pages. The department of internal affairs might be discreet but it seemed they knew how to pull some strings. It looked like they didn’t want to tarnish the agency’s reputation or give ideas to the wrong people. The details of the different cases were not mentioned. The articles mostly boiled down to a straightforward description of the assault and the state of the affair, whether it was ongoing or if DEPRAC had already caught the assailant. They hadn’t of course, otherwise he wouldn’t be there. He didn’t mind the gaps in the stories, the Fittes database would fill them quickly enough. What worried him was the apparent randomness in the assailant’s choices. He had been at Fittes long enough to recognize some of the names cited in the articles. The victims didn’t seem to have much in common. Some were team leaders, some usually stuck to research, some had always been with Fittes and some transferred from Rotwell a few months back. It started to feel like the assailant had a personal vendetta against Fittes, and the reason why remained unclear.

He got up to make his way back to the headquarters, determined to clear up the motive by looking into the details of the cases. Unfortunately, one more obstacle showed up in his path. At the other end of the corridor stood Lockwood, looking as annoying as ever. The boy rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s called research Tony. I wouldn’t expect you to know what that is.”

The boy sighed again and turned around.

“No George or Lucy to keep you in check today?”

“They’re meeting Barnes for a case actually. You know, the one you turned down? It’s probably for the best though, less casualties.” He retorted with that annoying grin of his.

“I’m”-

I’m working on a much bigger case, he wanted to say. A case that would save lives. A case that will, once solved, protect countless agents against dangerous threats. The whole point of said case however was to remain secret for the time being.

Lockwood looked back at him with an arrogant frown.

“You’re what?” he asked, “a terrible team leader? I think we both know that.”

He turned around before he could respond.

Kipps thought about calling after him, but his dignity would take a critical hit. That irrelevant prick wasn’t worth it.

            --- Reader ---

The coffee shop was buzzing with activity. The chattering of agents and the noise of the coffee maker were hammering in her head, using up the energy she had tried to save all afternoon for what she hoped to be a successful evening. The customers kept coming in, all looking annoyingly fresh and energetic. Their day was just starting after all. She served them one after the other, methodically avoiding the nauseating wannabes hoping to get a free drink. She had a few leads for the night; she figured she’d pick the one she wanted on the moment, listening to her instinct.

A few customers away, she noticed a familiar face. The respected and celebrated Quill Kipps was chatting with a colleague. She had seen him several times in the paper, often with a proud, military-like picture next to an impacting quote about Fittes and its latest prowess. He didn’t look like his picture. At least not at the moment. He looked uncomfortable, avoidant, dismissing his colleague’s questions with worry. When his turn came to order he latched onto her with round eyes, turning his whole attention to his order, leaving none for the girl accompanying him.

“What’s going on with you?” the girl asked.

He quickly turned his head back to her. “I’ll tell you more when I can. I promise.”

He winked and focused back on y/n, ordering right away to keep his friend from responding. What was he hiding? She tried to keep herself from staring. She didn’t want to seem too intrigued by his behavior. She poured his order and sealed the cup, trying to ignore his stare she could still feel on her. When she handed him his coffee, her eyes lingered despite her best efforts, but so did his. They stared at each other for a second too long. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the other customers waiting, including a familiar annoying face, and turned back to her job with a strange feeling in her stomach.

The next customer happened to be an old friend of hers; and by friend she meant victim. Well, was he really a victim when he had held the entire line, refusing to move, until she caved and wrote a fake number on his cup? Thankfully that time he kept a low profile and didn’t try to push her again. He mumbled his order and didn’t look her in the eye, probably in an attempt to hide the bruise she had left on his jaw. She was ready to forget about him when she heard Kipps ask the guy if he had a minute. She stepped behind the coffee maker, pretending to meticulously clean its every nook and cranny while casually leaning in.

“It all happened so fast, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you out…”

“Do you remember anything at all?”

“Well, his face was covered so I couldn’t identify him but he was strong. He did this.”

She assumed he was showing the team leader his bruised skin. She kept her eyes glued to the machine when the voices got further. She turned back to see the both of them standing close to the counter. She ducked, pretending to look between the cartons of milk.

“A friend of mine has a case near the place where I was attacked. You should check it out, it’s on Bastwick Street. You can probably catch him if you leave now.”

The idea was tempting. It was also risky to say the least. She had done no recon, no preparation of any kind, but Quill Kipps was looking into cases that she was involved in. She had to know more, even if it was dangerous.

As it turned out, following Kipps on a whim hadn’t allowed y/n to learn more about what he knew. It did however earn her another income. When she was standing in the dark narrow street near the house where the agents were working their magic, she realized that she hadn’t thought her plan through. She didn’t even have a plan. She had followed him from a safe distance as if she didn’t already know that he would supervise a case and see if a relic man showed up. She thought about leaving. It would have been the smart thing to do. Don’t draw attention to yourself, keep a low profile. She hadn’t listened to the voice in her head. Instead, she recognized his silhouette when he exited the house, silver net in hand, and she did what she did best. She threw him against the wall, not anticipating the strong resistance in his shoulders. She had thought it was simply his uniform that made him look like a square. She pushed him again, this time with her foot, the strength of her leg throwing him against the wall. His left arm took the hit first, knocking the source out of his hands. She grabbed it before it could hit the ground and dodged Kipps’s attempt at grabbing her mask. She ran to the opposite wall and scaled it like she did every time. She didn’t look back until she was several blocks away. Her heart was racing in the best way, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and a smile was plastered on her face.

            --- Kipps ---

Staring at his empty coffee cup, Kipps couldn’t focus long enough to read the article in front of him. He hadn’t slept a wink after the case he supervised the previous night. He was supposed to get a lead; all he got was a sprained shoulder. He sat up straight and the movement triggered the pain again. He clenched his fist out of frustration, unsuccessfully trying to shut off the memory. Whoever was behind this would pay. He’d make sure of it.

A loud burst of laughter erupted in the foyer, chasing away his thoughts.

“They assigned me the Hanbury case! Can you believe it?”

The obnoxious agent bragged about how “easy” and “career boosting” that case would be. The Fittes committee had already discussed it thoroughly in assembly, using said case as an opportunity to train dozens of agents on research methods and source identification training. Solving it wouldn’t boost his career, especially not if he kept shouting confidential information like this.

“And it’s just two blocks away! We’re gonna be done so quick, they even want to keep the source for a while so we don’t have to go to the furnaces!”

Kipps crossed the space separating him from the group in two strides.

“Keep your voice down!”

He looked around him, noticing the DEPRAC agents, the line of applicants, the two janitors exiting in the left corner, the coffee shop a few feet away. So many potential suspects standing within hearing distance of this moron. He started to get an idea of how his suspect could have gotten information on where to get sources.

“Why do you think it’s okay for you to discuss your cases loudly in a public place like this?”

“Chill out man, we’re inside Fittes! Besides, who do you think you are to talk to me like that?”

“I’m your supervisor for the night now, idiot. You better check your tone while we’re on the case.”

“Whatever, mate.” The prick retorted.

He walked away before he let his anger inevitably boil over. What kind of HR mistake had allowed this guy to work here? He hadn’t slept enough to handle this. Now he had another case to prepare on top of the dozens of cases already on his plate for this mission. Just when he thought of giving up to go home, a familiar face approached.

“Hello, Mr. Kipps!”

An idea popped in his head.

“Bobby! Just the person I wanted to see!”

The boy’s face lit up. Kipps explained that he needed detailed files on a list of cases. The names of the agents, the address, the source identified, and any comments he judged relevant to mention.

“Do you think you could deliver those by tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll do my best! What is it for?”

“You’re the best Bobby!”

He left before he could ask any more questions. He hated how he avoided his team lately. First Kat, now Bobby… Asking for his help without explaining why felt wrong. He had always valued honesty among his team. It was a valuable part of bonding with his peers to always be their best on the job. Trust was fundamental for him. All this secrecy was weighing on his integrity. Truly, the reason why he dismissed them was because they would see right through him.

After looking up the details of the case of the idiot he would be supervising, he headed home to get some sleep before heading there. His shoulder was already a disadvantage, he didn’t need to head into a fight with slow reflexes. He assumed the next case would be the same, but his luck could run out. It was fortunate that the first lead he followed ended up being the choice of the assailant too. However, his gut was telling him that his colleague of the night hadn’t bragged about his case just in the foyer.

The rest he got and the two cups of coffee he drank before heading back out did the trick. With renewed confidence, he headed to the Hanbury case, devising his strategy for the night. He thought back on what he did wrong the last time he got ambushed. He needed to watch out for nearby cul-de-sacs and always keep his hands free. The attacker wouldn’t have a chance if he managed to get his rapier out in time. He would be on full alert as soon as he stepped out of the house.

However angry he had been earlier, he was now grateful to have such a conceited colleague. When the familiar shadow emerged from the alleyway, he already had the source tucked safely in the jacket of his uniform, coupled with a secure tie to his belt. His free hands reached for his rapier faster than the night before, and he threw his opponent against the wall before he could get too close. The assailant cried out and Kipps lost his composure for a split second. The cry had sounded feminine. It completely changed the idea he had built in his head of who his adversary could be. He had been a fool from the start, and he realized he hadn’t been paying attention to the right people, losing precious time. It was such an easily avoidable mistake. The masked woman pushed back, bringing him back to what mattered most at the moment. He pressed his blade tighter against her throat, regaining the upper hand.

“Careful, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want my blade to slip.”

He held his head high and she looked back at him with fury. Her eyes lit up, like she wanted to retort something clever. She refrained, probably scared of what would happen if she opened her mouth. First smart thing she did that night. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, her struggle useless against his grip. She stopped resisting when she realized that pushing back pressed on her lungs. Despite his hold, she wasn’t panicked. She deliberately held his gaze in a cold, calculating manner. He couldn’t look away. There was something hypnotic about the deepness of her eyes, even in the barely lit corner where they were standing.

“You had to know it wouldn’t last forever, right?” he asked in a low voice. “Hunting Fittes agents could only end badly for you. We’re the best after all.”

He smiled, but it was bittersweet. Something was creeping up his neck, like his hair was standing up. Cold sweat. Shivers. Fear. A visitor was nearby. His eyes darted to the entrance of the alley, where a ghost lamp shone dimly. That was all he could see. He looked back at his adversary who was looking in the same direction. Did she have talent? He frowned, but before he could think, her heel collided with his foot. He lowered his rapier, the bolt of pain throwing him off. She threw a well-placed punch that triggered the injury in his shoulder before he could stand straight again. He toppled over, the air knocked out of his lungs. He fell to the floor, holding onto his hurting arm. When he looked over, she was already gone.

            --- Kipps ---

Even though he had brought back the source safely and handled the case without too much trouble, Kipps’s night had been short. First because his opponent was strong. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew she could throw a punch. His night was also cut short by his alarm set as early as possible, to make sure he would be at the headquarters first thing in the morning. Even though he didn’t have a name yet, he had made significant progress regarding the identity of the assailant and most importantly how the agents were getting targeted. The department of internal affairs would certainly instate new discretion policies and the sooner the better. They didn’t need any more attacks targeting their agents.

Before heading to the fifth floor, he grabbed a much-needed cup of coffee. It was early and the place was deserted at this hour. Aside from the two supervisors seating by the window, the only other face was a familiar one. The barista who had served him the other day was standing behind the counter, a tired look on her face.

“Good morning,” he started with a thin smile.

“Double espresso?”

Despite the crowd when he was there last, she had somehow remembered his order. That or he looked more tired than he thought. She handed him the cup and, just like he did last time, he felt a bolt of electricity run through him at the brief contact of their fingers. He looked up at her and stared into her eyes, captivated. This felt familiar, and not just because he had been there less than twenty-four hours ago. There was something about the way she looked at him. A brick fell on his head as the realization sunk in. All sleep vanished from his eyes. He tried his best to remain casual. A polite smile. A nod. He then ran for the door. He had done it. Three days to solve a high responsibility mission. He could practically feel his future career securing as he climbed the steps two at a time. He didn’t even need the coffee in his hand anymore, he’d never been more energized.

He walked up to the door and knocked loud enough for the whole floor to hear. Mr. Richardson opened immediately, like he had been waiting for him, and pulled him in before hurriedly closing the door behind him.

“There’s been another attack,” the man said.

Kipps couldn’t help the smug smile tugging at his lips.

“I think you mean attempted attack.”

The man didn’t seem to hear, the worried look not leaving his features.

“An agent died. Another one is in the hospital,” he said in a grave tone.

Kipps dropped into his seat. How was this possible?

“How did… Where did…”

He couldn’t think straight.

He knew it was her. He had seen it with his own eyes. He had stopped her, he knew who she was. It was over. Did she somehow flee to another case and kill an agent after failing to steal a source from him? Questions flooded his mind.

“The case handled by Miss Grunewald and her team on James’s Street went awry at 8:42pm according to the remaining members of the team,” Mr. Richardson explained. “A masked relic man attacked them and let nothing stand in the way of getting to the relic.”

“You need to find the person responsible, and quick.” The man pressed.

“But I-”

“We have no time to lose. Find the culprit and enough to put them behind bars for good. You have two weeks.”

Another brick. ‘Enough to put them behind bars’. All he had was a look and a hunch. He had worked with inspector Barnes long enough to know that relic men cases didn’t lead anywhere unless the investigator could prove means, identity and undeniable proof of wrongdoing. He wouldn’t lose face in front of his superiors. He nodded and swore to bring them to justice before exiting the room.

He drank the double espresso tightly clutched in his hand in three gulps. His exhaustion was back tenfold. How had she done it? He was with her. At the time of the attack he was on his way back to Fittes. He wondered if she could have had the time to escape and make her way to the other case. Had she grown desperate after she failed to steal the source he had on him, enough to kill an agent? If he’d given up, would his colleague still be alive?

He went back to the coffee shop. That girl would not leave his sight. Enough people had gotten hurt already.

“You’re back so soon?” she sent him a puzzled look.

“Looks like I’ll be here all day.”

“You might want to ease up on the double espressos then.” She grabbed the largest cup available, poured one espresso and filled the rest up with caramel syrup and milk. A comfort drink.

“On the house,” she winked as she handed him the cup.

He didn’t let the gesture fool him. He took the seat next to the window but made sure she was still in his sight. When he wasn’t watching her, he kept an eye on the door to the building. Bobby would be there soon with the research he had asked him.

The boy was at the door earlier than Kipps had thought. His arms were filled with papers and files. Enough reading to keep him busy while he waited for his target’s shift to end.

“Hello, Mr. Kipps, here are the documents on the cases you asked.”

Kipps had always liked how reliable and helpful Bobby had been every time he worked with him. He thanked him with a smile.

“Will we see you tonight on our case? Ned has had some issues with our supervisor lately,” he said, but Kipps was only half listening.

“Bobby, would you do me one last favour?”

A tinge of guilt pierced through him as he ignored the boy’s comments.

Bobby nodded, eager to help.

“Can you ask me the same question but louder, and mention this street.” He slid a paper across the table.

The boy sent him a puzzled look but obliged. His acting skills weren’t perfect and his voice was exaggeratingly loud. It worked though. A few heads turned and the barista’s attention was caught.

“I’ll gladly assist you, Bobby!” he replied, just as loud.

The girl’s eyes lingered a minute longer before returning to her work. He felt confident the first part of his plan was accomplished.

He spent the rest of the day reading through a dozen of casefiles, taking notes on chronology and notable points for each attack. The earliest attack he found dated back a year. At the time, the only cases where he could find a clear intention to target Fittes were spaced out, only two or three per months. Until three months ago when the attacks became more regular. Once a week then several times a week, jumping at an alarming rate. The past month was the worst, with a peak of one attack per day. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been informed sooner. Truly, he was disappointed that he hadn’t paid close enough attention to realise what was happening on his own.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed movement behind the bar. A face he hadn’t seen before was serving a customer, and the familiar silhouette disappeared in the back. He gathered his research, quickly storing everything in his bag, and made his way out to look for the back exit. He reached it just in time to see her crossing the street. The chase was on.

--- Reader ---

At first, she thought she was imagining the footsteps resonating behind her in every street she took. She checked the reflections in the windows of the cars parked there and saw him keeping his distance but watching her closely. She took the next turn left and heard the footsteps that had followed her hurry behind her. Good, she had picked the right street. She spotted the narrow alleyway ahead. He was so predictable. She stationed herself right around the corner, her back against the wall, waiting for him to turn in three, two, one… When he inevitably turned into the alley to trap her, she had already grabbed the knife strapped to her ankle. She threw him against the opposite wall, blade on his skin, relishing the terrified look on his face. That was for last night, you asshole.

“Why are you following me?” She knew why. The recognition in his eyes had been too clear this morning.

“We both know why I’m here, sweetheart.” The surprise faded from his features and was replaced by arrogance. She jammed her elbow between his ribs, knocking the air out of him. If not scared, at least he looked uncomfortable.

“Why the creepy guy followed the girl walking alone into an alley? Yeah, I get the picture. No regrets then.” She pressed the blade harder against his throat. His eyes widened slightly at the threat.

“I know you’re the one attacking Fittes agents,” he claimed while holding her stare. Even with a knife to the throat he still thought he had the upper hand. She rolled her eyes.

“Wow, a creep and a snitch. Don’t mind if I do.” She let her blade draw blood, the drop rolling down his neck to stain his precious spotless uniform.

“I just want to talk!” he cowered, his hands raised as best he could in surrender.

“Talk about what?”

“Did you kill an agent last night?”

The blade slipped slightly between her fingers. She might have preyed on Fittes agents, beat them up, but humiliating them was much more fun than killing them. She held his questioning eyes without a word.

“If not you, then who did?”

It would be easy to think him reasonable in that moment, like you might have a reasonable conversation with him. He almost looked ready to hear her side of the story, but she was reluctant to give him the benefit of the doubt. She weighed her options. He knew about her, more than that he had recognized her. She might have been wearing a mask and he might not have any concrete proof, but he had followed his hunch and tracked her down. He wouldn’t back off easily. That made him her biggest target yet, and she had every reason to get rid of him. Permanently.

She stared at the knife to his throat and thought of pressing it deeper, get it over with, but she knew too well that it was only to scare him more than anything else. She would never kill anyone, she’d promised herself that. What did that leave her? She needed time to think, see if there was any way around the mess she was in. His eyes were still set on her, intently watching every twitch of eyebrow like he was trying to read her mind. From what he said, she wasn’t the only one he was after. Maybe she could use that, turn it to her advantage.

Reluctantly, she withdrew the knife from his throat. He took a deep breath. She really had scared him. She grinned at his disheveled appearance. It was a good look for him, it took some of the smugness off. He tried his best to regain his composure.

“Come on,” he said with a tilt of the head, “I know a place where we can talk.”

She had noticed when walking here that it was a very residential neighbourhood. Streets lined with identical houses, very few shops, and even fewer people at this hour. It was safe to assume he was referring to his own flat, unless he was working with someone else.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. We can talk here.”

He looked around with a perplexed look. “We can’t discuss this in public.”

“There’s no one around, it’s almost curfew.”

“Only agents and accredited people can walk around past curfew. How didn’t you get caught?”

“I’m not telling you anything until I know what’s in it for me.”

“Talk or I call DEPRAC.”

“To tell them what?”

“I’ll tell them all about what you’re really doing at the Fittes coffee shop.”

“Serving coffee?”

He scowled. She had to admit, it was fun to get on his nerves.

“Stop playing dumb,” he raised his voice. “I recognized you this morning. You’re the one who attacked me. Twice!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She feigned ignorance. He really didn’t have any proof, maybe she would be okay. She started to turn back to leave him stranded in the alley.

“I won’t let this go. I know how you pick your cases, I know how you operate. And you can be sure that I won’t let you out of my sight until I make sure DEPRAC sends you to jail.”

She stopped in her tracks. Was he bluffing or was he really able to make her life hell?

“Oh, and I’ll make sure that you can’t work anywhere near the Fittes headquarters. You know, just to be safe.”

Her grip tightened around her pocketknife. She wanted to cut the complacent smile off his face.

“What do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“A deal. I need information on another relic man. Help me and I’ll let you keep your job.”

“Just to rat me out the second you don’t need me anymore? Pass.”

“Fine. Help me and I won’t go to DEPRAC. On one condition: you stop robbing Fittes agents.”

She would have stopped anyway, now that he was onto her. The offer seemed reasonable enough, though at the moment she didn’t have much choice. At least with that kind of arrangement she would have some time to figure something out, or flee before DEPRAC got too close. She sighed and held her hand out. He firmly shook it. “Deal.”

[hellorhightreason]

Screaming crying clawing at the walls Alice you are *the* Kipps writer how are you able to nail the mix of arrogance and sad wet cat energy so well I am in awe of you

[ukulelevillainwrites]

merry that’s the best compliment you could give me

[ukulelevillainwrites]

Doomed

ongoing

pairing: quill kipps x reader

summary: A string of attacks has been troubling the Fittes agency. Agents get assaulted, relics go missing and the attacker remains at large. Quill Kipps is nominated to take down whoever is behind this. Only this job isn't like anything else he's done before, and it leads him down a path of strange alliances and confusing feelings.

total word count: 7.4k so far

Prologue

Part 1 - A game of cat and mouse

Part 2 - Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows

Part 3 - TBD

Epilogue / Sequel

[ukulelevillainwrites]

Doomed

series in 5 parts (prologue, pt1, pt2, pt3, epilogue/sequel)

pairing: quill kipps x reader

word count: 5.1k

summary: A string of attacks has been troubling the Fittes agency. Agents get assaulted, relics go missing and the attacker remains at large. Quill Kipps is nominated to take down whoever is behind this. Only this job isn't like anything else he's done before, and it leads him down a path of strange alliances and confusing feelings.

comment: here's something more substantial to get into the plot 👀 i hope you enjoy!

taglist: @avdiobliss ; @maraschinomerry ; @neewtmas ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @demigoddess-of-cheese

Part 1 - A game of cat and mouse

--- Kipps ---

Quill Kipps had always been an exemplary agent. He had learned how to hold a rapier at age six, he had memorized the Fittes manual of psychical interventions from cover to cover by age ten and he kept up with the recent progress in technological discoveries against visitors. He had been both a team member and a team leader, he dedicated his free time to work on extra projects with DEPRAC and he often referred to Inspector Barnes as his mentor. However, in this exact moment, he had no idea what he was doing.

This new mission was probably the biggest opportunity he had been offered so far. It said long about his achievements, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to worry about the future as much as he did now. That was if he didn’t mess it up. He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t. Too many people relied on him already. He had been offered this job specifically because he was qualified. He had made himself a reputation and he was going to uphold it. He had to keep going, it was too late to turn back, and now was not the time to doubt his abilities. Heaven knew uncertainty had a bad habit of creeping up on him in the worst moments lately.

He sat at his usual table in the Archives, newspapers in hand, and silenced the unwanted voice in his head as best he could. This part should be the easy one, he had practically taught Bobby everything he knew about research. The first step was observing. He needed to get familiar with this attacker’s preys of choice. If he could even start to draw a motive, it would be even better.

The attacks weren’t on the front page, or anywhere to be found in the first five pages. The department of internal affairs might be discreet but it seemed they knew how to pull some strings. It looked like they didn’t want to tarnish the agency’s reputation or give ideas to the wrong people. The details of the different cases were not mentioned. The articles mostly boiled down to a straightforward description of the assault and the state of the affair, whether it was ongoing or if DEPRAC had already caught the assailant. They hadn’t of course, otherwise he wouldn’t be there. He didn’t mind the gaps in the stories, the Fittes database would fill them quickly enough. What worried him was the apparent randomness in the assailant’s choices. He had been at Fittes long enough to recognize some of the names cited in the articles. The victims didn’t seem to have much in common. Some were team leaders, some usually stuck to research, some had always been with Fittes and some transferred from Rotwell a few months back. It started to feel like the assailant had a personal vendetta against Fittes, and the reason why remained unclear.

He got up to make his way back to the headquarters, determined to clear up the motive by looking into the details of the cases. Unfortunately, one more obstacle showed up in his path. At the other end of the corridor stood Lockwood, looking as annoying as ever. The boy rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s called research Tony. I wouldn’t expect you to know what that is.”

The boy sighed again and turned around.

“No George or Lucy to keep you in check today?”

“They’re meeting Barnes for a case actually. You know, the one you turned down? It’s probably for the best though, less casualties.” He retorted with that annoying grin of his.

“I’m”-

I’m working on a much bigger case, he wanted to say. A case that would save lives. A case that will, once solved, protect countless agents against dangerous threats. The whole point of said case however was to remain secret for the time being.

Lockwood looked back at him with an arrogant frown.

“You’re what?” he asked, “a terrible team leader? I think we both know that.”

He turned around before he could respond.

Kipps thought about calling after him, but his dignity would take a critical hit. That irrelevant prick wasn’t worth it.

            --- Reader ---

The coffee shop was buzzing with activity. The chattering of agents and the noise of the coffee maker were hammering in her head, using up the energy she had tried to save all afternoon for what she hoped to be a successful evening. The customers kept coming in, all looking annoyingly fresh and energetic. Their day was just starting after all. She served them one after the other, methodically avoiding the nauseating wannabes hoping to get a free drink. She had a few leads for the night; she figured she’d pick the one she wanted on the moment, listening to her instinct.

A few customers away, she noticed a familiar face. The respected and celebrated Quill Kipps was chatting with a colleague. She had seen him several times in the paper, often with a proud, military-like picture next to an impacting quote about Fittes and its latest prowess. He didn’t look like his picture. At least not at the moment. He looked uncomfortable, avoidant, dismissing his colleague’s questions with worry. When his turn came to order he latched onto her with round eyes, turning his whole attention to his order, leaving none for the girl accompanying him.

“What’s going on with you?” the girl asked.

He quickly turned his head back to her. “I’ll tell you more when I can. I promise.”

He winked and focused back on y/n, ordering right away to keep his friend from responding. What was he hiding? She tried to keep herself from staring. She didn’t want to seem too intrigued by his behavior. She poured his order and sealed the cup, trying to ignore his stare she could still feel on her. When she handed him his coffee, her eyes lingered despite her best efforts, but so did his. They stared at each other for a second too long. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the other customers waiting, including a familiar annoying face, and turned back to her job with a strange feeling in her stomach.

The next customer happened to be an old friend of hers; and by friend she meant victim. Well, was he really a victim when he had held the entire line, refusing to move, until she caved and wrote a fake number on his cup? Thankfully that time he kept a low profile and didn’t try to push her again. He mumbled his order and didn’t look her in the eye, probably in an attempt to hide the bruise she had left on his jaw. She was ready to forget about him when she heard Kipps ask the guy if he had a minute. She stepped behind the coffee maker, pretending to meticulously clean its every nook and cranny while casually leaning in.

“It all happened so fast, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help you out…”

“Do you remember anything at all?”

“Well, his face was covered so I couldn’t identify him but he was strong. He did this.”

She assumed he was showing the team leader his bruised skin. She kept her eyes glued to the machine when the voices got further. She turned back to see the both of them standing close to the counter. She ducked, pretending to look between the cartons of milk.

“A friend of mine has a case near the place where I was attacked. You should check it out, it’s on Bastwick Street. You can probably catch him if you leave now.”

The idea was tempting. It was also risky to say the least. She had done no recon, no preparation of any kind, but Quill Kipps was looking into cases that she was involved in. She had to know more, even if it was dangerous.

As it turned out, following Kipps on a whim hadn’t allowed y/n to learn more about what he knew. It did however earn her another income. When she was standing in the dark narrow street near the house where the agents were working their magic, she realized that she hadn’t thought her plan through. She didn’t even have a plan. She had followed him from a safe distance as if she didn’t already know that he would supervise a case and see if a relic man showed up. She thought about leaving. It would have been the smart thing to do. Don’t draw attention to yourself, keep a low profile. She hadn’t listened to the voice in her head. Instead, she recognized his silhouette when he exited the house, silver net in hand, and she did what she did best. She threw him against the wall, not anticipating the strong resistance in his shoulders. She had thought it was simply his uniform that made him look like a square. She pushed him again, this time with her foot, the strength of her leg throwing him against the wall. His left arm took the hit first, knocking the source out of his hands. She grabbed it before it could hit the ground and dodged Kipps’s attempt at grabbing her mask. She ran to the opposite wall and scaled it like she did every time. She didn’t look back until she was several blocks away. Her heart was racing in the best way, adrenaline coursing through her veins, and a smile was plastered on her face.

            --- Kipps ---

Staring at his empty coffee cup, Kipps couldn’t focus long enough to read the article in front of him. He hadn’t slept a wink after the case he supervised the previous night. He was supposed to get a lead; all he got was a sprained shoulder. He sat up straight and the movement triggered the pain again. He clenched his fist out of frustration, unsuccessfully trying to shut off the memory. Whoever was behind this would pay. He’d make sure of it.

A loud burst of laughter erupted in the foyer, chasing away his thoughts.

“They assigned me the Hanbury case! Can you believe it?”

The obnoxious agent bragged about how “easy” and “career boosting” that case would be. The Fittes committee had already discussed it thoroughly in assembly, using said case as an opportunity to train dozens of agents on research methods and source identification training. Solving it wouldn’t boost his career, especially not if he kept shouting confidential information like this.

“And it’s just two blocks away! We’re gonna be done so quick, they even want to keep the source for a while so we don’t have to go to the furnaces!”

Kipps crossed the space separating him from the group in two strides.

“Keep your voice down!”

He looked around him, noticing the DEPRAC agents, the line of applicants, the two janitors exiting in the left corner, the coffee shop a few feet away. So many potential suspects standing within hearing distance of this moron. He started to get an idea of how his suspect could have gotten information on where to get sources.

“Why do you think it’s okay for you to discuss your cases loudly in a public place like this?”

“Chill out man, we’re inside Fittes! Besides, who do you think you are to talk to me like that?”

“I’m your supervisor for the night now, idiot. You better check your tone while we’re on the case.”

“Whatever, mate.” The prick retorted.

He walked away before he let his anger inevitably boil over. What kind of HR mistake had allowed this guy to work here? He hadn’t slept enough to handle this. Now he had another case to prepare on top of the dozens of cases already on his plate for this mission. Just when he thought of giving up to go home, a familiar face approached.

“Hello, Mr. Kipps!”

An idea popped in his head.

“Bobby! Just the person I wanted to see!”

The boy’s face lit up. Kipps explained that he needed detailed files on a list of cases. The names of the agents, the address, the source identified, and any comments he judged relevant to mention.

“Do you think you could deliver those by tomorrow morning?”

“I’ll do my best! What is it for?”

“You’re the best Bobby!”

He left before he could ask any more questions. He hated how he avoided his team lately. First Kat, now Bobby… Asking for his help without explaining why felt wrong. He had always valued honesty among his team. It was a valuable part of bonding with his peers to always be their best on the job. Trust was fundamental for him. All this secrecy was weighing on his integrity. Truly, the reason why he dismissed them was because they would see right through him.

After looking up the details of the case of the idiot he would be supervising, he headed home to get some sleep before heading there. His shoulder was already a disadvantage, he didn’t need to head into a fight with slow reflexes. He assumed the next case would be the same, but his luck could run out. It was fortunate that the first lead he followed ended up being the choice of the assailant too. However, his gut was telling him that his colleague of the night hadn’t bragged about his case just in the foyer.

The rest he got and the two cups of coffee he drank before heading back out did the trick. With renewed confidence, he headed to the Hanbury case, devising his strategy for the night. He thought back on what he did wrong the last time he got ambushed. He needed to watch out for nearby cul-de-sacs and always keep his hands free. The attacker wouldn’t have a chance if he managed to get his rapier out in time. He would be on full alert as soon as he stepped out of the house.

However angry he had been earlier, he was now grateful to have such a conceited colleague. When the familiar shadow emerged from the alleyway, he already had the source tucked safely in the jacket of his uniform, coupled with a secure tie to his belt. His free hands reached for his rapier faster than the night before, and he threw his opponent against the wall before he could get too close. The assailant cried out and Kipps lost his composure for a split second. The cry had sounded feminine. It completely changed the idea he had built in his head of who his adversary could be. He had been a fool from the start, and he realized he hadn’t been paying attention to the right people, losing precious time. It was such an easily avoidable mistake. The masked woman pushed back, bringing him back to what mattered most at the moment. He pressed his blade tighter against her throat, regaining the upper hand.

“Careful, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want my blade to slip.”

He held his head high and she looked back at him with fury. Her eyes lit up, like she wanted to retort something clever. She refrained, probably scared of what would happen if she opened her mouth. First smart thing she did that night. They stared at each other for a few more seconds, her struggle useless against his grip. She stopped resisting when she realized that pushing back pressed on her lungs. Despite his hold, she wasn’t panicked. She deliberately held his gaze in a cold, calculating manner. He couldn’t look away. There was something hypnotic about the deepness of her eyes, even in the barely lit corner where they were standing.

“You had to know it wouldn’t last forever, right?” he asked in a low voice. “Hunting Fittes agents could only end badly for you. We’re the best after all.”

He smiled, but it was bittersweet. Something was creeping up his neck, like his hair was standing up. Cold sweat. Shivers. Fear. A visitor was nearby. His eyes darted to the entrance of the alley, where a ghost lamp shone dimly. That was all he could see. He looked back at his adversary who was looking in the same direction. Did she have talent? He frowned, but before he could think, her heel collided with his foot. He lowered his rapier, the bolt of pain throwing him off. She threw a well-placed punch that triggered the injury in his shoulder before he could stand straight again. He toppled over, the air knocked out of his lungs. He fell to the floor, holding onto his hurting arm. When he looked over, she was already gone.

            --- Kipps ---

Even though he had brought back the source safely and handled the case without too much trouble, Kipps’s night had been short. First because his opponent was strong. He didn’t know who she was, but he knew she could throw a punch. His night was also cut short by his alarm set as early as possible, to make sure he would be at the headquarters first thing in the morning. Even though he didn’t have a name yet, he had made significant progress regarding the identity of the assailant and most importantly how the agents were getting targeted. The department of internal affairs would certainly instate new discretion policies and the sooner the better. They didn’t need any more attacks targeting their agents.

Before heading to the fifth floor, he grabbed a much-needed cup of coffee. It was early and the place was deserted at this hour. Aside from the two supervisors seating by the window, the only other face was a familiar one. The barista who had served him the other day was standing behind the counter, a tired look on her face.

“Good morning,” he started with a thin smile.

“Double espresso?”

Despite the crowd when he was there last, she had somehow remembered his order. That or he looked more tired than he thought. She handed him the cup and, just like he did last time, he felt a bolt of electricity run through him at the brief contact of their fingers. He looked up at her and stared into her eyes, captivated. This felt familiar, and not just because he had been there less than twenty-four hours ago. There was something about the way she looked at him. A brick fell on his head as the realization sunk in. All sleep vanished from his eyes. He tried his best to remain casual. A polite smile. A nod. He then ran for the door. He had done it. Three days to solve a high responsibility mission. He could practically feel his future career securing as he climbed the steps two at a time. He didn’t even need the coffee in his hand anymore, he’d never been more energized.

He walked up to the door and knocked loud enough for the whole floor to hear. Mr. Richardson opened immediately, like he had been waiting for him, and pulled him in before hurriedly closing the door behind him.

“There’s been another attack,” the man said.

Kipps couldn’t help the smug smile tugging at his lips.

“I think you mean attempted attack.”

The man didn’t seem to hear, the worried look not leaving his features.

“An agent died. Another one is in the hospital,” he said in a grave tone.

Kipps dropped into his seat. How was this possible?

“How did… Where did…”

He couldn’t think straight.

He knew it was her. He had seen it with his own eyes. He had stopped her, he knew who she was. It was over. Did she somehow flee to another case and kill an agent after failing to steal a source from him? Questions flooded his mind.

“The case handled by Miss Grunewald and her team on James’s Street went awry at 8:42pm according to the remaining members of the team,” Mr. Richardson explained. “A masked relic man attacked them and let nothing stand in the way of getting to the relic.”

“You need to find the person responsible, and quick.” The man pressed.

“But I-”

“We have no time to lose. Find the culprit and enough to put them behind bars for good. You have two weeks.”

Another brick. ‘Enough to put them behind bars’. All he had was a look and a hunch. He had worked with inspector Barnes long enough to know that relic men cases didn’t lead anywhere unless the investigator could prove means, identity and undeniable proof of wrongdoing. He wouldn’t lose face in front of his superiors. He nodded and swore to bring them to justice before exiting the room.

He drank the double espresso tightly clutched in his hand in three gulps. His exhaustion was back tenfold. How had she done it? He was with her. At the time of the attack he was on his way back to Fittes. He wondered if she could have had the time to escape and make her way to the other case. Had she grown desperate after she failed to steal the source he had on him, enough to kill an agent? If he’d given up, would his colleague still be alive?

He went back to the coffee shop. That girl would not leave his sight. Enough people had gotten hurt already.

“You’re back so soon?” she sent him a puzzled look.

“Looks like I’ll be here all day.”

“You might want to ease up on the double espressos then.” She grabbed the largest cup available, poured one espresso and filled the rest up with caramel syrup and milk. A comfort drink.

“On the house,” she winked as she handed him the cup.

He didn’t let the gesture fool him. He took the seat next to the window but made sure she was still in his sight. When he wasn’t watching her, he kept an eye on the door to the building. Bobby would be there soon with the research he had asked him.

The boy was at the door earlier than Kipps had thought. His arms were filled with papers and files. Enough reading to keep him busy while he waited for his target’s shift to end.

“Hello, Mr. Kipps, here are the documents on the cases you asked.”

Kipps had always liked how reliable and helpful Bobby had been every time he worked with him. He thanked him with a smile.

“Will we see you tonight on our case? Ned has had some issues with our supervisor lately,” he said, but Kipps was only half listening.

“Bobby, would you do me one last favour?”

A tinge of guilt pierced through him as he ignored the boy’s comments.

Bobby nodded, eager to help.

“Can you ask me the same question but louder, and mention this street.” He slid a paper across the table.

The boy sent him a puzzled look but obliged. His acting skills weren’t perfect and his voice was exaggeratingly loud. It worked though. A few heads turned and the barista’s attention was caught.

“I’ll gladly assist you, Bobby!” he replied, just as loud.

The girl’s eyes lingered a minute longer before returning to her work. He felt confident the first part of his plan was accomplished.

He spent the rest of the day reading through a dozen of casefiles, taking notes on chronology and notable points for each attack. The earliest attack he found dated back a year. At the time, the only cases where he could find a clear intention to target Fittes were spaced out, only two or three per months. Until three months ago when the attacks became more regular. Once a week then several times a week, jumping at an alarming rate. The past month was the worst, with a peak of one attack per day. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t been informed sooner. Truly, he was disappointed that he hadn’t paid close enough attention to realise what was happening on his own.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed movement behind the bar. A face he hadn’t seen before was serving a customer, and the familiar silhouette disappeared in the back. He gathered his research, quickly storing everything in his bag, and made his way out to look for the back exit. He reached it just in time to see her crossing the street. The chase was on.

--- Reader ---

At first, she thought she was imagining the footsteps resonating behind her in every street she took. She checked the reflections in the windows of the cars parked there and saw him keeping his distance but watching her closely. She took the next turn left and heard the footsteps that had followed her hurry behind her. Good, she had picked the right street. She spotted the narrow alleyway ahead. He was so predictable. She stationed herself right around the corner, her back against the wall, waiting for him to turn in three, two, one… When he inevitably turned into the alley to trap her, she had already grabbed the knife strapped to her ankle. She threw him against the opposite wall, blade on his skin, relishing the terrified look on his face. That was for last night, you asshole.

“Why are you following me?” She knew why. The recognition in his eyes had been too clear this morning.

“We both know why I’m here, sweetheart.” The surprise faded from his features and was replaced by arrogance. She jammed her elbow between his ribs, knocking the air out of him. If not scared, at least he looked uncomfortable.

“Why the creepy guy followed the girl walking alone into an alley? Yeah, I get the picture. No regrets then.” She pressed the blade harder against his throat. His eyes widened slightly at the threat.

“I know you’re the one attacking Fittes agents,” he claimed while holding her stare. Even with a knife to the throat he still thought he had the upper hand. She rolled her eyes.

“Wow, a creep and a snitch. Don’t mind if I do.” She let her blade draw blood, the drop rolling down his neck to stain his precious spotless uniform.

“I just want to talk!” he cowered, his hands raised as best he could in surrender.

“Talk about what?”

“Did you kill an agent last night?”

The blade slipped slightly between her fingers. She might have preyed on Fittes agents, beat them up, but humiliating them was much more fun than killing them. She held his questioning eyes without a word.

“If not you, then who did?”

It would be easy to think him reasonable in that moment, like you might have a reasonable conversation with him. He almost looked ready to hear her side of the story, but she was reluctant to give him the benefit of the doubt. She weighed her options. He knew about her, more than that he had recognized her. She might have been wearing a mask and he might not have any concrete proof, but he had followed his hunch and tracked her down. He wouldn’t back off easily. That made him her biggest target yet, and she had every reason to get rid of him. Permanently.

She stared at the knife to his throat and thought of pressing it deeper, get it over with, but she knew too well that it was only to scare him more than anything else. She would never kill anyone, she’d promised herself that. What did that leave her? She needed time to think, see if there was any way around the mess she was in. His eyes were still set on her, intently watching every twitch of eyebrow like he was trying to read her mind. From what he said, she wasn’t the only one he was after. Maybe she could use that, turn it to her advantage.

Reluctantly, she withdrew the knife from his throat. He took a deep breath. She really had scared him. She grinned at his disheveled appearance. It was a good look for him, it took some of the smugness off. He tried his best to regain his composure.

“Come on,” he said with a tilt of the head, “I know a place where we can talk.”

She had noticed when walking here that it was a very residential neighbourhood. Streets lined with identical houses, very few shops, and even fewer people at this hour. It was safe to assume he was referring to his own flat, unless he was working with someone else.

“I’m not going anywhere with you. We can talk here.”

He looked around with a perplexed look. “We can’t discuss this in public.”

“There’s no one around, it’s almost curfew.”

“Only agents and accredited people can walk around past curfew. How didn’t you get caught?”

“I’m not telling you anything until I know what’s in it for me.”

“Talk or I call DEPRAC.”

“To tell them what?”

“I’ll tell them all about what you’re really doing at the Fittes coffee shop.”

“Serving coffee?”

He scowled. She had to admit, it was fun to get on his nerves.

“Stop playing dumb,” he raised his voice. “I recognized you this morning. You’re the one who attacked me. Twice!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She feigned ignorance. He really didn’t have any proof, maybe she would be okay. She started to turn back to leave him stranded in the alley.

“I won’t let this go. I know how you pick your cases, I know how you operate. And you can be sure that I won’t let you out of my sight until I make sure DEPRAC sends you to jail.”

She stopped in her tracks. Was he bluffing or was he really able to make her life hell?

“Oh, and I’ll make sure that you can’t work anywhere near the Fittes headquarters. You know, just to be safe.”

Her grip tightened around her pocketknife. She wanted to cut the complacent smile off his face.

“What do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“A deal. I need information on another relic man. Help me and I’ll let you keep your job.”

“Just to rat me out the second you don’t need me anymore? Pass.”

“Fine. Help me and I won’t go to DEPRAC. On one condition: you stop robbing Fittes agents.”

She would have stopped anyway, now that he was onto her. The offer seemed reasonable enough, though at the moment she didn’t have much choice. At least with that kind of arrangement she would have some time to figure something out, or flee before DEPRAC got too close. She sighed and held her hand out. He firmly shook it. “Deal.”

[ukulelevillainwrites]

Doomed

series in 5 parts (prologue, pt1, pt2, pt3, epilogue/sequel)

pairing: quill kipps x reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: A string of attacks has been troubling the Fittes agency. Agents get assaulted, relics go missing and the attacker remains at large. Quill Kipps is nominated to take down whoever is behind this. Only this job isn't like anything else he's done before, and it leads him down a path of strange alliances and confusing feelings.

comment: i'm so excited to finally put this out in the world! i love this fic i'm super excited about it and even though i'm frustrated with how long it's taking me to write it i just know it'll be worth it. I hope this first glance makes you want to read more and i'll try to have the next part out soon ;)

Prologue

--- Reader ---

The street was deserted. It was hard to see anything, the only light was coming from a malfunctioning ghost lamp at the end of the street. The city hadn’t bothered to fix it, or anything else in this part of town. It wasn’t like it was frequented by the most benevolent people, which made the lack of activity suspicious. It was far past curfew, anyone sound of mind was safely resting within walls secured with iron lining. Y/n wasn’t one of those people. Instead, her day was just starting. Of course, in a world plagued by ghosts and other remnants of all things dead, starting your day at sundown could make you a hero. You could be celebrated and praised by government officials and newspapers alike who loved to thank their precious agents for keeping the nation safe. But she wasn’t one of those either.

Instead of wearing a prestigious grey jacket, she was tracking them down. They made for easy preys and even easier cash. Their obnoxious habits made them very easy to locate and follow. The vans carrying the name of their agency or at the very least a silver unicorn decorating the doors of the vehicle made them very recognizable by day or by night. She wasn’t the kind to target children who got forced into the industry by greedy parents. She preferred by far making the most pretentious agents miserable. She kept a detailed list of names and the more she observed the agency and its workers during the day, the longer the list grew.

Her official job, her front cover at the coffee shop on the Fittes house ground floor, provided the perfect opportunity to gather intel. If you want to keep your business a secret, maybe don’t ask a bunch of teenagers to take care of it. The most arrogant ones were always the chattiest. They bragged loudly about their achievements which meant they detailed the locations of upcoming cases, previous sources and where they were stored, how their job had been so remarkable that they would have an assembly about it before burning it at the furnaces. Fools. She was always there listening and watching. In some cases she was truly petty, she knew it, but rude customers and embarrassing flirters deserved to go on the list.

That night, she had a bone to pick with a particularly arrogant one. He had come into the shop, puffing out his chest like he owned the place, saluting his colleagues and acting like a politician on election day. Of course, the disinterested looks of his peers took some of the effect off. Nonetheless, he approached the counter and ignored the line without a second look.

“One espresso to go babydoll. Extra black and extra… hot.”

She had to stifle a laugh to avoid spilling the order of her current customer. When she turned her head towards the next person in line, he catcalled her again.

“Hey doll face, I don’t have all day.”

“The line is over there,” she indicated without looking at him.

“Don’t I get special treatment for keeping you safe?”

He then pretended to stretch to display his rapier. Or at least that was what she hoped, the other option being much grosser.

“I don’t think a guy who can’t even see a line will save this country from anything.”

She handed the customer in front of her their order. He intercepted it with a self-sufficient grin but she refused to let go. Guys like him needed to be taught some manners. He apparently mistook this as interest.

“Can’t let me go so easily now, can you? How about you meet me over on Chilton Street, I can take you out after this legendary case I’ll be done with quickly.”

She pulled the cup harder, just to let go at the last second. The lid popped off and the pretentious prick spilled the drink all over his uniform. Jackpot. He didn’t bother coming up with anything to say and left, finally. She made her paying customer another cup, but she took a mental note of the address. He’d see her again sooner than he expected.

Armed with her rapier and her forged license, she had traveled up Chilton Street to locate the potential site of this so-called legendary case. It was late, the streets had already been deserted for a while but she kept up appearances. Two houses looked like they could do the trick. Residential buildings, three floors – maybe four – and the tell-tale silver van parked between them. They weren’t too far apart, so she picked the alleyway across the street to stake out both locations. She dropped her backpack to her feet and pulled out her notebook to review her notes. The work had practically been done for her that day. Shortly after the moron had left the coffee shop, another agent who had witnessed the whole scene dropped everything she needed right into her lap.

“Nice work with the coffee earlier, someone really had to shut this asshole up.”

She had smiled shyly, pretending to be embarrassed, and took the girl’s order.

“You shouldn’t let a jerk like that make you feel bad. He’s overcompensating for his lack of everything else.”

She laughed. “Really?” she had asked cautiously.

“He’s a terrible agent! The only time I had him on my team we just put him on furnaces duty. I think all team leaders have the same trick.”

She handed the girl her coffee with a radiant smile. For once, relic hunting would be fun and easy.

She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. She ducked and discreetly rose back up, identifying doll face in chief and his team striding towards the second house she had identified. She put her notes back in her bag with a smile and pulled out her balaclava instead. She kept it ready in her pocket and crossed the street to hide next to the house. From outside, she could faintly hear the orders given among the agents and the distant screams of the visitor. She patiently waited for what felt like forever, her mask pressing uncomfortably against her features. Finally came out one then two other agents. Her prey kept her waiting which made her want to punch him more. When he finally trailed after the group, she swooped in behind him with a hand over his mouth and put him in an armlock to drag him in the darkness of the alleyway. The poor guy couldn’t even get his rapier out that she had already knocked him out. She took the source out of his limp hands, scaled the wall and called it a day. She truly hadn’t expected it to be that easy, but she wasn’t going to complain.

                        --- Kipps ---

The elevator door opened with a ring, bringing Kipps out his reverie. The fifth floor was deserted at this hour. His steps resonated across the hardwood floors, warning those awaiting him of his arrival. He wished he had been granted the same courtesy. All he had was a room number and a time. The rumors spreading among Fittes agents hadn’t helped him to narrow down the topic of this meeting. It could have been about an upcoming case with confidential information. Going to such length to preserve secrecy seemed a bit extreme. Maybe it was about one of his teammates being assigned to a different supervisor. Over the past few days, he had dared to imagine getting promoted when he felt particularly optimistic. On his worst days he thought he could get retired early. Nothing had transpired since the moment this intriguing letter had been left in his mailbox. He gripped the paper tighter and knocked, the chattering happening inside stopping instantly.

“Mr. Kipps!” A tall, white-haired man greeted him at the door. “We were expecting you. Please, come in.”

Kipps scanned the room for familiar faces. He had never met the man at the door, neither did he know the man standing behind the desk in front of him. Before he could ask, the man shook his hand and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the armchairs opposite him.

“Nicolas Richardson, head of internal affairs,” he introduced himself. “And you might have recognized my colleague, Dominic Russell, the department’s spokesman.”

The white-haired man came to stand beside his colleague. Kipps vaguely recalled hearing from Mr. Russell during major Fittes events, but the man standing next to him didn’t look familiar at all from up-close. He remembered hearing supervisors discuss a potential scandal, maybe the topic of this secretive meeting, but he didn’t have time to finish his thought as the man continued.

“You will have to excuse our method of communication that might have seemed a bit unorthodox, we unfortunately need to discuss a sensitive matter and we preferred to keep this as quiet as possible.” A deep frown creased the man’s eyes.

Kipps furrowed his brows. It was hard to tell if this discussion would lead to good news or disastrous ones. Despite his frown, the man had managed to remain stoic without a trace of worry in his eyes. Even he who was usually quite good at reading people couldn’t put his finger on what the man in front of him had in mind.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the mishaps that have plagued our valiant teams for the past few months.”

There were so many he wasn’t sure what he was referring to specifically. The Problem had gotten worse lately, or at least it looked that way. Many accidents had been reported, most of them injuring and killing agents. Kipps certainly wouldn’t have referred to them as simple “mishaps”. He must have let his expression betray his confusion as Mr. Russell explained further.

“I’m referring to the ill-fated encounters some of our agents have had with nefarious individuals.”

It clarified the situation he described without really narrowing it down.

“What I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room.”

However annoyed he had been at the man for beating around the bush, he had to admit he had managed to pique his interest with a simple phrase. He leaned forward in his seat, resting his arms on his knees.

“It would appear,” he continued in a lowered voice, “that our agents have been specifically targeted by those unfortunate events.”

Kipps’s eyes widened slightly, a response certainly expected by the man in front of him. If he was honest with himself though, the news wasn’t so surprising. After all, the most prestigious agency was bound to attract attention, good and bad. It wasn’t unpredictable that the relic market favored them to fill their stock. Mr. Russell was really pondering on this revelation. The silence stretched. With every passing minute, Kipps realized that something wasn’t right. It really was unfortunate that Fittes was targeted by criminals, and it wasn’t a reassuring thought for all the young members of the agency. Unfortunately, it wasn’t new. Relic men had always plagued London, and they had always preyed around haunted sites to profit off it. So why was this man trying to draw this like it was news of the year?

“We are familiar with your work Mr. Kipps.” Mr. Richardson said, taking over the conversation. “We’ve heard all about your accomplishments. You’ve been trusted by many supervisors in the past, you’ve been an exemplary team leader, you’ve even been working closely with DEPRAC, correct?”

“As Fittes’s special liaison, indeed.”

The two men exchanged a look.

“We have a job for you. If you’re interested.”

Finally, some news worthy of his attention.

“May I ask what kind of job?” he asked back cautiously.

“We would like to offer you a promotion of sort. It would require a high level of discretion. We think maybe you should suspend your missions with DEPRAC while taking on those new responsibilities.” The head of the department explained.

Kipps frowned. He had liked working with DEPRAC so far. He felt like he made a difference, beyond his position of Fittes. A promotion was what he had hoped for, but this wasn’t what he had envisioned.

“You would be in charge of looking into this conspiracy against Fittes agents.” Mr. Russell finally dropped. 

This certainly explained the mystery that had shrouded this meeting. The responsibility was enormous, but so was the opportunity to make himself a lasting place at Fittes, something that had troubled him lately. If he pulled this off, he would be recognized as an essential member of the agency, outside of his usual duties. He would also be acknowledged for other, longer-lasting talents. A small part of him wanted to accept on the spot.

“What kind of duties would I be performing?”

“We would like you to discover who the individual in question is, if they are connected to other relic dealers and to build a rock-solid case against them. Working with DEPRAC, I’m sure you’ll be equipped to do so.” The spokesman explained.

“This would require total anonymity, and total discretion from you during the entirety of this mission.” Mr. Richardson added. “You could not tell anyone about your activity and your contacts with Fittes’s organization and DEPRAC would be reduced to its bare minimum. Keep your usual duties with the lowest profile possible. We do not know who could be involved.”

The suspicions that transpired from such precautions were worrying. Who could be stupid enough to betray the oldest and most prestigious agency in the country? Well, he would find out soon enough.

He stroke his chin, deep in thought. He wasn’t thrilled about this mission conflicting with his other existing duties, but if he applied himself to this job he could be back to his routine in no time with a golden reputation and a free ticket to the next level of his career.

He stood up and held his hand out.

“Gentlemen, I am honored that you are trusting me with such a task.”

[ukulelevillainwrites]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Hi everyone! I have been MIA for FAR too long  

as you may know this weekend is QKAW (that i personally pronounce cacaw) or Quill Kipps Appreciation Weekend, thank you @lilaccatholic for this awesome celebration of our favourite ginger man!!

I thought it was the perfect occasion to try and finish this fic i've been working on and excited about for a (very) long time. I have failed miserably of course, life keeps getting in the way, but I still wanted to take part in this amazing event so I thought I would tease you all with the prologue :)

Doomed should have 5 parts: a prologue, three main parts and a bonus epilogue/sequel. the prologue sets the plot with a short part, the next parts will be far longer. I will keep you updated on this account about my progress and i really hope i'll get a break with enough inspiration to keep this fic going because i really love it

anyways here's the ao3 link, and i'll make a tumblr version of it right after i post this :) enjoy!!

[zannolin]

damn i wish u guys could read this fic i haven't written and this fic i haven't finished writing and this fic i'm putting off outlining and this fic i outlined but haven't started and this fic i'll never write and this other fic i haven't written and this fic that exists only in vague impressions in my head that fall apart every time i try to commit them to the page and th

[ukulelevillainwrites]

i want so badly for my kipps fic to be ready for the kipps appreciation weekend in september but there’s so much more to write and i know it won’t be ready and it frustrates me immensely

[ukulelevillainwrites]

the guy with the list

one shot

Pairing: george karim x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: George can't pick up on social cues so he makes a list

Comment: short little surprise george drabble for all the george fans out there, just a fluffy little fic on this rainy sunday afternoon

@maraschinomerry @neewtmas @avdiobliss @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29 @bobbys-not-that-small @demigoddess-of-ghosts

George was terrible at picking up on social cues. He couldn’t take a hint to save his life. He learned that the hard way when Lucy moved in. Or at least what he thought was the hard way. He put his foot in his mouth enough times when y/n was around to really grasp the concept of embarrassment. He didn’t use to care about those things. Until she came around.

He had been oblivious to her signs, her flirting, her teasing. He took everything literally, including Lucy’s exaggerated looks or winks, which he mistook for dust getting in her eye. The first three months of their platonic relationship had been a landmine of misunderstandings and avoidable hurt feelings. So, when they finally managed to get their words out and address what was clearly going on – according to Lucy – he wanted to avoid useless fights as much as possible. For this purpose, he had started a list. Well, more like lists. Plural. One wasn’t enough to cover everything.

He reached for the notebook he kept in the third drawer of his desk. It had been the first one he had managed to find empty that night. His mind was still reeling from the look in her eyes, which he was able to interpret in hindsight as fondness. The way her hand had reached for his, her touch featherlight against his skin. The light tug at his wrist, which meant she wanted him to get closer, he noted. The soft, barely perceptible smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. The hypnotic pink of her lips, which didn’t require any interpretation, he was just fascinated by it. Her nose tilting up and her eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t believed in magic, but maybe he did now. He dealt with the supernatural every day, but nothing was more out of this world than the feeling of her lips against his. At that moment he had acted on instinct. Looking back, he wondered how he had known to put his arms around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back. How he had known to draw her closer. How he had known to deepen the kiss just enough to take the lead. How had he known when to pull back and look into her eyes? And how could he ever do it again if he didn’t understand that?

His first entry had been messy, trying to capture the moment, to immortalize the feeling forever. He didn’t want to forget it for anything in the world. But it had only brought more fears, more insecurities and doubts. How would he ever make her as happy as he had felt just a few moments ago? He needed to sort this out, into categories, lists by themes. He would be more observant, more attentive, more everything if it meant keeping her happy.

On the second page of his notebook, he had listed her looks. The fond look he had first written about, trying to describe it in vivid detail, blushing as the words filled the page.

He hadn’t needed to think about it for too long before the list grew more extensive. He thought of the way she gazed at him with bright eyes and smile lines tugging at their corner, usually followed by a playful, mostly harmless provocation; her teasing look he loved so much. She usually looked more exasperated when she made a sarcastic comment, most of the time at Lockwood for being too prideful. Lucy had called him out when she caught him smiling to himself when she did that. He also listed the way her eyes sparkled when she was full of enthusiasm. The way her eyes seemed muted when she said she was fine, but she really wasn’t. The thinly veiled fury when she said she was fine and she was, as long as you don’t mess with her. The disdainful one – that one was for Kipps. The eye roll that made him smile.

Further down the line he had managed to catch the stolen glances too, that had a mischievous air to them. He prayed he’d never have to see sadness in her eyes ever again. But if he did, he knew that a hug, a cup of green tea with bergamot and a piece of dark chocolate would do the trick.

He turned the page and remembered how Lucy had helped with a few hints, before he had caught on to y/n’s insinuations. Specifically, he had been dense about body language. He had been shocked to learn that the way she rested her hand lightly on his forearm when they were sitting at the kitchen table, talking seemingly innocently, hadn’t been so innocent. But it wasn’t like the way she bit her lower lip. The forearm touch was fondness. The lip thing was attraction. He had blushed when Lucy had told him that last part. When he had first asked y/n why she was doing that with her mouth, she had said something about dry lips and lip balm. Weird how she always seemed to have this issue when he was on chain duty.

Now that they were closer – a lot closer – he got to enjoy a whole new flourish of soft touches and attentions. She preferred to hug in the morning, the sleepier she looked, the longer the hug. He noted that it was worth extra point if he nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck with a kiss at the top of her head. He knew this because she hugged his waist tighter when he did it that one time. He also knew that if he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it, she would look fondly at him and stroke his neck, so he did. A lot. He knew that playing with her hair helped her fall asleep. After tough cases he always insisted for her to sleep in his bed, so he could watch over her and make sure she slept through the night.

He smiled reading through all her likes and dislikes, finding pieces of her in her tastes he had learned by heart. A unique brand of chocolate, a tea for each time of day. Flowers for every occasion and movies for every mood. His finger traced over the page. He was holding a piece of her in those words, his scribbled notes forming a portrait of her looking at him with a tender smile.

He could spend hours analyzing her smile. She loved to communicate with unsaid words. She preferred to look at him with a tug at her lips and a raise of eyebrows. Their own secret language. “They are so gone for each other,” she would say silently with curled lips whenever Lockwood and Lucy would stare at each other in that intense way they did. It happened often enough that it had earned a spot in the list.

“Nice work with the research,” was the subtitle of what he called her professional smile.

“Thanks for having my back,” was expressed with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

He sometimes found her holding back a laugh, when she forced her lips to behave in front of a client to not give anything away. Uncontrollable tears always formed at the corner of her eyes and smile lines rose to her eyes despite her best efforts. Once the coast was clear, the dam would finally break with wrinkles on her nose and the laugh he loved so much finally escaping. He would do anything just to hear it again.

His favorite smile of all was always the one reserved for him, the one that matched her sparkling eyes when it was just them. It held too much power, because she knew he could never resist it. He was drawn to it. If she looked at him that way she knew he would have his forehead against hers in seconds, gazing at her with a matching intensity.

He often went over the lists before going to sleep, hoping sleeping on it would help him memorizing it faster. Last night however, he forgot to put it away. He only realized the mistake when he found her standing in his room, notebook in hand, with an unreadable expression on her face. That look wasn’t part of the list yet. His heart dropped to his feet when he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. This was a mistake. Guys who made lists didn’t have the best reputation from what he was told. He blushed with shame as he crossed the threshold of his room, stepping into what he expected to be their first fight. Maybe their last one too.

She turned around and a tear rolled down her cheek. Before he could apologize, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tightly wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, both out of surprise and because of the tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“This is the most attentive and caring thing anyone has ever done. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered, smiling as he kissed the top of her hair.

He held her close, relief flooding him. Those were happy tears. He needed a new list.  

[bella-rose29]

"Weird how she always seemed to have this issue when he was on chain duty"

alice i adore you this was so cute and sweet 😭

[ukulelevillainwrites]

the guy with the list

one shot

Pairing: george karim x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: George can't pick up on social cues so he makes a list

Comment: short little surprise george drabble for all the george fans out there, just a fluffy little fic on this rainy sunday afternoon

@maraschinomerry @neewtmas @avdiobliss @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29 @bobbys-not-that-small @demigoddess-of-ghosts

George was terrible at picking up on social cues. He couldn’t take a hint to save his life. He learned that the hard way when Lucy moved in. Or at least what he thought was the hard way. He put his foot in his mouth enough times when y/n was around to really grasp the concept of embarrassment. He didn’t use to care about those things. Until she came around.

He had been oblivious to her signs, her flirting, her teasing. He took everything literally, including Lucy’s exaggerated looks or winks, which he mistook for dust getting in her eye. The first three months of their platonic relationship had been a landmine of misunderstandings and avoidable hurt feelings. So, when they finally managed to get their words out and address what was clearly going on – according to Lucy – he wanted to avoid useless fights as much as possible. For this purpose, he had started a list. Well, more like lists. Plural. One wasn’t enough to cover everything.

He reached for the notebook he kept in the third drawer of his desk. It had been the first one he had managed to find empty that night. His mind was still reeling from the look in her eyes, which he was able to interpret in hindsight as fondness. The way her hand had reached for his, her touch featherlight against his skin. The light tug at his wrist, which meant she wanted him to get closer, he noted. The soft, barely perceptible smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. The hypnotic pink of her lips, which didn’t require any interpretation, he was just fascinated by it. Her nose tilting up and her eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t believed in magic, but maybe he did now. He dealt with the supernatural every day, but nothing was more out of this world than the feeling of her lips against his. At that moment he had acted on instinct. Looking back, he wondered how he had known to put his arms around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back. How he had known to draw her closer. How he had known to deepen the kiss just enough to take the lead. How had he known when to pull back and look into her eyes? And how could he ever do it again if he didn’t understand that?

His first entry had been messy, trying to capture the moment, to immortalize the feeling forever. He didn’t want to forget it for anything in the world. But it had only brought more fears, more insecurities and doubts. How would he ever make her as happy as he had felt just a few moments ago? He needed to sort this out, into categories, lists by themes. He would be more observant, more attentive, more everything if it meant keeping her happy.

On the second page of his notebook, he had listed her looks. The fond look he had first written about, trying to describe it in vivid detail, blushing as the words filled the page.

He hadn’t needed to think about it for too long before the list grew more extensive. He thought of the way she gazed at him with bright eyes and smile lines tugging at their corner, usually followed by a playful, mostly harmless provocation; her teasing look he loved so much. She usually looked more exasperated when she made a sarcastic comment, most of the time at Lockwood for being too prideful. Lucy had called him out when she caught him smiling to himself when she did that. He also listed the way her eyes sparkled when she was full of enthusiasm. The way her eyes seemed muted when she said she was fine, but she really wasn’t. The thinly veiled fury when she said she was fine and she was, as long as you don’t mess with her. The disdainful one – that one was for Kipps. The eye roll that made him smile.

Further down the line he had managed to catch the stolen glances too, that had a mischievous air to them. He prayed he’d never have to see sadness in her eyes ever again. But if he did, he knew that a hug, a cup of green tea with bergamot and a piece of dark chocolate would do the trick.

He turned the page and remembered how Lucy had helped with a few hints, before he had caught on to y/n’s insinuations. Specifically, he had been dense about body language. He had been shocked to learn that the way she rested her hand lightly on his forearm when they were sitting at the kitchen table, talking seemingly innocently, hadn’t been so innocent. But it wasn’t like the way she bit her lower lip. The forearm touch was fondness. The lip thing was attraction. He had blushed when Lucy had told him that last part. When he had first asked y/n why she was doing that with her mouth, she had said something about dry lips and lip balm. Weird how she always seemed to have this issue when he was on chain duty.

Now that they were closer – a lot closer – he got to enjoy a whole new flourish of soft touches and attentions. She preferred to hug in the morning, the sleepier she looked, the longer the hug. He noted that it was worth extra point if he nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck with a kiss at the top of her head. He knew this because she hugged his waist tighter when he did it that one time. He also knew that if he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it, she would look fondly at him and stroke his neck, so he did. A lot. He knew that playing with her hair helped her fall asleep. After tough cases he always insisted for her to sleep in his bed, so he could watch over her and make sure she slept through the night.

He smiled reading through all her likes and dislikes, finding pieces of her in her tastes he had learned by heart. A unique brand of chocolate, a tea for each time of day. Flowers for every occasion and movies for every mood. His finger traced over the page. He was holding a piece of her in those words, his scribbled notes forming a portrait of her looking at him with a tender smile.

He could spend hours analyzing her smile. She loved to communicate with unsaid words. She preferred to look at him with a tug at her lips and a raise of eyebrows. Their own secret language. “They are so gone for each other,” she would say silently with curled lips whenever Lockwood and Lucy would stare at each other in that intense way they did. It happened often enough that it had earned a spot in the list.

“Nice work with the research,” was the subtitle of what he called her professional smile.

“Thanks for having my back,” was expressed with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

He sometimes found her holding back a laugh, when she forced her lips to behave in front of a client to not give anything away. Uncontrollable tears always formed at the corner of her eyes and smile lines rose to her eyes despite her best efforts. Once the coast was clear, the dam would finally break with wrinkles on her nose and the laugh he loved so much finally escaping. He would do anything just to hear it again.

His favorite smile of all was always the one reserved for him, the one that matched her sparkling eyes when it was just them. It held too much power, because she knew he could never resist it. He was drawn to it. If she looked at him that way she knew he would have his forehead against hers in seconds, gazing at her with a matching intensity.

He often went over the lists before going to sleep, hoping sleeping on it would help him memorizing it faster. Last night however, he forgot to put it away. He only realized the mistake when he found her standing in his room, notebook in hand, with an unreadable expression on her face. That look wasn’t part of the list yet. His heart dropped to his feet when he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. This was a mistake. Guys who made lists didn’t have the best reputation from what he was told. He blushed with shame as he crossed the threshold of his room, stepping into what he expected to be their first fight. Maybe their last one too.

She turned around and a tear rolled down her cheek. Before he could apologize, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tightly wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, both out of surprise and because of the tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“This is the most attentive and caring thing anyone has ever done. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered, smiling as he kissed the top of her hair.

He held her close, relief flooding him. Those were happy tears. He needed a new list.  

[hellorhightreason]

I am CLAWING at the walls right now oh my god

List making is so so special to me and this was surprisingly reaffirming, if future partners don't put in this amount of thought then I don't want them 😌 also the lip thing when he's handling chains excuse me while I scream

[ukulelevillainwrites]

i've got gasping and screaming in the reblogs, this is why i do this 🫡

[ukulelevillainwrites]

the guy with the list

one shot

Pairing: george karim x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: George can't pick up on social cues so he makes a list

Comment: short little surprise george drabble for all the george fans out there, just a fluffy little fic on this rainy sunday afternoon

@maraschinomerry @neewtmas @avdiobliss @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29 @bobbys-not-that-small @demigoddess-of-ghosts

George was terrible at picking up on social cues. He couldn’t take a hint to save his life. He learned that the hard way when Lucy moved in. Or at least what he thought was the hard way. He put his foot in his mouth enough times when y/n was around to really grasp the concept of embarrassment. He didn’t use to care about those things. Until she came around.

He had been oblivious to her signs, her flirting, her teasing. He took everything literally, including Lucy’s exaggerated looks or winks, which he mistook for dust getting in her eye. The first three months of their platonic relationship had been a landmine of misunderstandings and avoidable hurt feelings. So, when they finally managed to get their words out and address what was clearly going on – according to Lucy – he wanted to avoid useless fights as much as possible. For this purpose, he had started a list. Well, more like lists. Plural. One wasn’t enough to cover everything.

He reached for the notebook he kept in the third drawer of his desk. It had been the first one he had managed to find empty that night. His mind was still reeling from the look in her eyes, which he was able to interpret in hindsight as fondness. The way her hand had reached for his, her touch featherlight against his skin. The light tug at his wrist, which meant she wanted him to get closer, he noted. The soft, barely perceptible smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. The hypnotic pink of her lips, which didn’t require any interpretation, he was just fascinated by it. Her nose tilting up and her eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t believed in magic, but maybe he did now. He dealt with the supernatural every day, but nothing was more out of this world than the feeling of her lips against his. At that moment he had acted on instinct. Looking back, he wondered how he had known to put his arms around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back. How he had known to draw her closer. How he had known to deepen the kiss just enough to take the lead. How had he known when to pull back and look into her eyes? And how could he ever do it again if he didn’t understand that?

His first entry had been messy, trying to capture the moment, to immortalize the feeling forever. He didn’t want to forget it for anything in the world. But it had only brought more fears, more insecurities and doubts. How would he ever make her as happy as he had felt just a few moments ago? He needed to sort this out, into categories, lists by themes. He would be more observant, more attentive, more everything if it meant keeping her happy.

On the second page of his notebook, he had listed her looks. The fond look he had first written about, trying to describe it in vivid detail, blushing as the words filled the page.

He hadn’t needed to think about it for too long before the list grew more extensive. He thought of the way she gazed at him with bright eyes and smile lines tugging at their corner, usually followed by a playful, mostly harmless provocation; her teasing look he loved so much. She usually looked more exasperated when she made a sarcastic comment, most of the time at Lockwood for being too prideful. Lucy had called him out when she caught him smiling to himself when she did that. He also listed the way her eyes sparkled when she was full of enthusiasm. The way her eyes seemed muted when she said she was fine, but she really wasn’t. The thinly veiled fury when she said she was fine and she was, as long as you don’t mess with her. The disdainful one – that one was for Kipps. The eye roll that made him smile.

Further down the line he had managed to catch the stolen glances too, that had a mischievous air to them. He prayed he’d never have to see sadness in her eyes ever again. But if he did, he knew that a hug, a cup of green tea with bergamot and a piece of dark chocolate would do the trick.

He turned the page and remembered how Lucy had helped with a few hints, before he had caught on to y/n’s insinuations. Specifically, he had been dense about body language. He had been shocked to learn that the way she rested her hand lightly on his forearm when they were sitting at the kitchen table, talking seemingly innocently, hadn’t been so innocent. But it wasn’t like the way she bit her lower lip. The forearm touch was fondness. The lip thing was attraction. He had blushed when Lucy had told him that last part. When he had first asked y/n why she was doing that with her mouth, she had said something about dry lips and lip balm. Weird how she always seemed to have this issue when he was on chain duty.

Now that they were closer – a lot closer – he got to enjoy a whole new flourish of soft touches and attentions. She preferred to hug in the morning, the sleepier she looked, the longer the hug. He noted that it was worth extra point if he nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck with a kiss at the top of her head. He knew this because she hugged his waist tighter when he did it that one time. He also knew that if he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it, she would look fondly at him and stroke his neck, so he did. A lot. He knew that playing with her hair helped her fall asleep. After tough cases he always insisted for her to sleep in his bed, so he could watch over her and make sure she slept through the night.

He smiled reading through all her likes and dislikes, finding pieces of her in her tastes he had learned by heart. A unique brand of chocolate, a tea for each time of day. Flowers for every occasion and movies for every mood. His finger traced over the page. He was holding a piece of her in those words, his scribbled notes forming a portrait of her looking at him with a tender smile.

He could spend hours analyzing her smile. She loved to communicate with unsaid words. She preferred to look at him with a tug at her lips and a raise of eyebrows. Their own secret language. “They are so gone for each other,” she would say silently with curled lips whenever Lockwood and Lucy would stare at each other in that intense way they did. It happened often enough that it had earned a spot in the list.

“Nice work with the research,” was the subtitle of what he called her professional smile.

“Thanks for having my back,” was expressed with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

He sometimes found her holding back a laugh, when she forced her lips to behave in front of a client to not give anything away. Uncontrollable tears always formed at the corner of her eyes and smile lines rose to her eyes despite her best efforts. Once the coast was clear, the dam would finally break with wrinkles on her nose and the laugh he loved so much finally escaping. He would do anything just to hear it again.

His favorite smile of all was always the one reserved for him, the one that matched her sparkling eyes when it was just them. It held too much power, because she knew he could never resist it. He was drawn to it. If she looked at him that way she knew he would have his forehead against hers in seconds, gazing at her with a matching intensity.

He often went over the lists before going to sleep, hoping sleeping on it would help him memorizing it faster. Last night however, he forgot to put it away. He only realized the mistake when he found her standing in his room, notebook in hand, with an unreadable expression on her face. That look wasn’t part of the list yet. His heart dropped to his feet when he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. This was a mistake. Guys who made lists didn’t have the best reputation from what he was told. He blushed with shame as he crossed the threshold of his room, stepping into what he expected to be their first fight. Maybe their last one too.

She turned around and a tear rolled down her cheek. Before he could apologize, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tightly wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, both out of surprise and because of the tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“This is the most attentive and caring thing anyone has ever done. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered, smiling as he kissed the top of her hair.

He held her close, relief flooding him. Those were happy tears. He needed a new list.  

[tsaronie-cheezecake]

as one george fan myself I must say ALICE YOU'RE AMAZING, and rainy afternoon is the perfect vibe for this!! THE FLUFFY THE BIT AT THE END MADE ME ANXIOUS FOR A SECOND EROGHHERG

also also

He reached for the notebook he kept in the third drawer of his desk. It had been the first one he had managed to find empty that night. His mind was still reeling from the look in her eyes, which he was able to interpret in hindsight as fondness. The way her hand had reached for his, her touch featherlight against his skin. The light tug at his wrist, which meant she wanted him to get closer, he noted. The soft, barely perceptible smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. The hypnotic pink of her lips, which didn’t require any interpretation, he was just fascinated by it. Her nose tilting up and her eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t believed in magic, but maybe he did now. He dealt with the supernatural every day, but nothing was more out of this world than the feeling of her lips against his. At that moment he had acted on instinct. Looking back, he wondered how he had known to put his arms around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back. How he had known to draw her closer. How he had known to deepen the kiss just enough to take the lead. How had he known when to pull back and look into her eyes? And how could he ever do it again if he didn’t understand that?

THIS like how tender he is and catching every single detail

After tough cases he always insisted for her to sleep in his bed, so he could watch over her and make sure she slept through the night.

😭😭😭😭

it's short but so sweet

[ukulelevillainwrites]

the guy with the list

one shot

Pairing: george karim x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: George can't pick up on social cues so he makes a list

Comment: short little surprise george drabble for all the george fans out there, just a fluffy little fic on this rainy sunday afternoon

@maraschinomerry @neewtmas @avdiobliss @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29 @bobbys-not-that-small @demigoddess-of-ghosts

George was terrible at picking up on social cues. He couldn’t take a hint to save his life. He learned that the hard way when Lucy moved in. Or at least what he thought was the hard way. He put his foot in his mouth enough times when y/n was around to really grasp the concept of embarrassment. He didn’t use to care about those things. Until she came around.

He had been oblivious to her signs, her flirting, her teasing. He took everything literally, including Lucy’s exaggerated looks or winks, which he mistook for dust getting in her eye. The first three months of their platonic relationship had been a landmine of misunderstandings and avoidable hurt feelings. So, when they finally managed to get their words out and address what was clearly going on – according to Lucy – he wanted to avoid useless fights as much as possible. For this purpose, he had started a list. Well, more like lists. Plural. One wasn’t enough to cover everything.

He reached for the notebook he kept in the third drawer of his desk. It had been the first one he had managed to find empty that night. His mind was still reeling from the look in her eyes, which he was able to interpret in hindsight as fondness. The way her hand had reached for his, her touch featherlight against his skin. The light tug at his wrist, which meant she wanted him to get closer, he noted. The soft, barely perceptible smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. The hypnotic pink of her lips, which didn’t require any interpretation, he was just fascinated by it. Her nose tilting up and her eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t believed in magic, but maybe he did now. He dealt with the supernatural every day, but nothing was more out of this world than the feeling of her lips against his. At that moment he had acted on instinct. Looking back, he wondered how he had known to put his arms around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back. How he had known to draw her closer. How he had known to deepen the kiss just enough to take the lead. How had he known when to pull back and look into her eyes? And how could he ever do it again if he didn’t understand that?

His first entry had been messy, trying to capture the moment, to immortalize the feeling forever. He didn’t want to forget it for anything in the world. But it had only brought more fears, more insecurities and doubts. How would he ever make her as happy as he had felt just a few moments ago? He needed to sort this out, into categories, lists by themes. He would be more observant, more attentive, more everything if it meant keeping her happy.

On the second page of his notebook, he had listed her looks. The fond look he had first written about, trying to describe it in vivid detail, blushing as the words filled the page.

He hadn’t needed to think about it for too long before the list grew more extensive. He thought of the way she gazed at him with bright eyes and smile lines tugging at their corner, usually followed by a playful, mostly harmless provocation; her teasing look he loved so much. She usually looked more exasperated when she made a sarcastic comment, most of the time at Lockwood for being too prideful. Lucy had called him out when she caught him smiling to himself when she did that. He also listed the way her eyes sparkled when she was full of enthusiasm. The way her eyes seemed muted when she said she was fine, but she really wasn’t. The thinly veiled fury when she said she was fine and she was, as long as you don’t mess with her. The disdainful one – that one was for Kipps. The eye roll that made him smile.

Further down the line he had managed to catch the stolen glances too, that had a mischievous air to them. He prayed he’d never have to see sadness in her eyes ever again. But if he did, he knew that a hug, a cup of green tea with bergamot and a piece of dark chocolate would do the trick.

He turned the page and remembered how Lucy had helped with a few hints, before he had caught on to y/n’s insinuations. Specifically, he had been dense about body language. He had been shocked to learn that the way she rested her hand lightly on his forearm when they were sitting at the kitchen table, talking seemingly innocently, hadn’t been so innocent. But it wasn’t like the way she bit her lower lip. The forearm touch was fondness. The lip thing was attraction. He had blushed when Lucy had told him that last part. When he had first asked y/n why she was doing that with her mouth, she had said something about dry lips and lip balm. Weird how she always seemed to have this issue when he was on chain duty.

Now that they were closer – a lot closer – he got to enjoy a whole new flourish of soft touches and attentions. She preferred to hug in the morning, the sleepier she looked, the longer the hug. He noted that it was worth extra point if he nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck with a kiss at the top of her head. He knew this because she hugged his waist tighter when he did it that one time. He also knew that if he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it, she would look fondly at him and stroke his neck, so he did. A lot. He knew that playing with her hair helped her fall asleep. After tough cases he always insisted for her to sleep in his bed, so he could watch over her and make sure she slept through the night.

He smiled reading through all her likes and dislikes, finding pieces of her in her tastes he had learned by heart. A unique brand of chocolate, a tea for each time of day. Flowers for every occasion and movies for every mood. His finger traced over the page. He was holding a piece of her in those words, his scribbled notes forming a portrait of her looking at him with a tender smile.

He could spend hours analyzing her smile. She loved to communicate with unsaid words. She preferred to look at him with a tug at her lips and a raise of eyebrows. Their own secret language. “They are so gone for each other,” she would say silently with curled lips whenever Lockwood and Lucy would stare at each other in that intense way they did. It happened often enough that it had earned a spot in the list.

“Nice work with the research,” was the subtitle of what he called her professional smile.

“Thanks for having my back,” was expressed with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

He sometimes found her holding back a laugh, when she forced her lips to behave in front of a client to not give anything away. Uncontrollable tears always formed at the corner of her eyes and smile lines rose to her eyes despite her best efforts. Once the coast was clear, the dam would finally break with wrinkles on her nose and the laugh he loved so much finally escaping. He would do anything just to hear it again.

His favorite smile of all was always the one reserved for him, the one that matched her sparkling eyes when it was just them. It held too much power, because she knew he could never resist it. He was drawn to it. If she looked at him that way she knew he would have his forehead against hers in seconds, gazing at her with a matching intensity.

He often went over the lists before going to sleep, hoping sleeping on it would help him memorizing it faster. Last night however, he forgot to put it away. He only realized the mistake when he found her standing in his room, notebook in hand, with an unreadable expression on her face. That look wasn’t part of the list yet. His heart dropped to his feet when he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. This was a mistake. Guys who made lists didn’t have the best reputation from what he was told. He blushed with shame as he crossed the threshold of his room, stepping into what he expected to be their first fight. Maybe their last one too.

She turned around and a tear rolled down her cheek. Before he could apologize, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tightly wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, both out of surprise and because of the tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“This is the most attentive and caring thing anyone has ever done. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered, smiling as he kissed the top of her hair.

He held her close, relief flooding him. Those were happy tears. He needed a new list.  

[cityhaunts13]

ALICE. LORD. MIGHT START CRYING. ALSO BUFF!GEORGE MAKING AN APPEARANCE YES PLEASE

[ukulelevillainwrites]

crying happy tears? 'cause they have to go on the list

[ukulelevillainwrites]

the guy with the list

one shot

Pairing: george karim x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: George can't pick up on social cues so he makes a list

Comment: short little surprise george drabble for all the george fans out there, just a fluffy little fic on this rainy sunday afternoon

@maraschinomerry @neewtmas @avdiobliss @oblivious-idiot @bella-rose29 @bobbys-not-that-small @demigoddess-of-ghosts

George was terrible at picking up on social cues. He couldn’t take a hint to save his life. He learned that the hard way when Lucy moved in. Or at least what he thought was the hard way. He put his foot in his mouth enough times when y/n was around to really grasp the concept of embarrassment. He didn’t use to care about those things. Until she came around.

He had been oblivious to her signs, her flirting, her teasing. He took everything literally, including Lucy’s exaggerated looks or winks, which he mistook for dust getting in her eye. The first three months of their platonic relationship had been a landmine of misunderstandings and avoidable hurt feelings. So, when they finally managed to get their words out and address what was clearly going on – according to Lucy – he wanted to avoid useless fights as much as possible. For this purpose, he had started a list. Well, more like lists. Plural. One wasn’t enough to cover everything.

He reached for the notebook he kept in the third drawer of his desk. It had been the first one he had managed to find empty that night. His mind was still reeling from the look in her eyes, which he was able to interpret in hindsight as fondness. The way her hand had reached for his, her touch featherlight against his skin. The light tug at his wrist, which meant she wanted him to get closer, he noted. The soft, barely perceptible smile, tugging at the corner of her mouth. The hypnotic pink of her lips, which didn’t require any interpretation, he was just fascinated by it. Her nose tilting up and her eyes fluttering shut. He hadn’t believed in magic, but maybe he did now. He dealt with the supernatural every day, but nothing was more out of this world than the feeling of her lips against his. At that moment he had acted on instinct. Looking back, he wondered how he had known to put his arms around her waist, one hand pressed against the small of her back. How he had known to draw her closer. How he had known to deepen the kiss just enough to take the lead. How had he known when to pull back and look into her eyes? And how could he ever do it again if he didn’t understand that?

His first entry had been messy, trying to capture the moment, to immortalize the feeling forever. He didn’t want to forget it for anything in the world. But it had only brought more fears, more insecurities and doubts. How would he ever make her as happy as he had felt just a few moments ago? He needed to sort this out, into categories, lists by themes. He would be more observant, more attentive, more everything if it meant keeping her happy.

On the second page of his notebook, he had listed her looks. The fond look he had first written about, trying to describe it in vivid detail, blushing as the words filled the page.

He hadn’t needed to think about it for too long before the list grew more extensive. He thought of the way she gazed at him with bright eyes and smile lines tugging at their corner, usually followed by a playful, mostly harmless provocation; her teasing look he loved so much. She usually looked more exasperated when she made a sarcastic comment, most of the time at Lockwood for being too prideful. Lucy had called him out when she caught him smiling to himself when she did that. He also listed the way her eyes sparkled when she was full of enthusiasm. The way her eyes seemed muted when she said she was fine, but she really wasn’t. The thinly veiled fury when she said she was fine and she was, as long as you don’t mess with her. The disdainful one – that one was for Kipps. The eye roll that made him smile.

Further down the line he had managed to catch the stolen glances too, that had a mischievous air to them. He prayed he’d never have to see sadness in her eyes ever again. But if he did, he knew that a hug, a cup of green tea with bergamot and a piece of dark chocolate would do the trick.

He turned the page and remembered how Lucy had helped with a few hints, before he had caught on to y/n’s insinuations. Specifically, he had been dense about body language. He had been shocked to learn that the way she rested her hand lightly on his forearm when they were sitting at the kitchen table, talking seemingly innocently, hadn’t been so innocent. But it wasn’t like the way she bit her lower lip. The forearm touch was fondness. The lip thing was attraction. He had blushed when Lucy had told him that last part. When he had first asked y/n why she was doing that with her mouth, she had said something about dry lips and lip balm. Weird how she always seemed to have this issue when he was on chain duty.

Now that they were closer – a lot closer – he got to enjoy a whole new flourish of soft touches and attentions. She preferred to hug in the morning, the sleepier she looked, the longer the hug. He noted that it was worth extra point if he nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck with a kiss at the top of her head. He knew this because she hugged his waist tighter when he did it that one time. He also knew that if he took her hand in his and kissed the top of it, she would look fondly at him and stroke his neck, so he did. A lot. He knew that playing with her hair helped her fall asleep. After tough cases he always insisted for her to sleep in his bed, so he could watch over her and make sure she slept through the night.

He smiled reading through all her likes and dislikes, finding pieces of her in her tastes he had learned by heart. A unique brand of chocolate, a tea for each time of day. Flowers for every occasion and movies for every mood. His finger traced over the page. He was holding a piece of her in those words, his scribbled notes forming a portrait of her looking at him with a tender smile.

He could spend hours analyzing her smile. She loved to communicate with unsaid words. She preferred to look at him with a tug at her lips and a raise of eyebrows. Their own secret language. “They are so gone for each other,” she would say silently with curled lips whenever Lockwood and Lucy would stare at each other in that intense way they did. It happened often enough that it had earned a spot in the list.

“Nice work with the research,” was the subtitle of what he called her professional smile.

“Thanks for having my back,” was expressed with a shy, almost embarrassed smile.

He sometimes found her holding back a laugh, when she forced her lips to behave in front of a client to not give anything away. Uncontrollable tears always formed at the corner of her eyes and smile lines rose to her eyes despite her best efforts. Once the coast was clear, the dam would finally break with wrinkles on her nose and the laugh he loved so much finally escaping. He would do anything just to hear it again.

His favorite smile of all was always the one reserved for him, the one that matched her sparkling eyes when it was just them. It held too much power, because she knew he could never resist it. He was drawn to it. If she looked at him that way she knew he would have his forehead against hers in seconds, gazing at her with a matching intensity.

He often went over the lists before going to sleep, hoping sleeping on it would help him memorizing it faster. Last night however, he forgot to put it away. He only realized the mistake when he found her standing in his room, notebook in hand, with an unreadable expression on her face. That look wasn’t part of the list yet. His heart dropped to his feet when he noticed the tears forming in her eyes. This was a mistake. Guys who made lists didn’t have the best reputation from what he was told. He blushed with shame as he crossed the threshold of his room, stepping into what he expected to be their first fight. Maybe their last one too.

She turned around and a tear rolled down her cheek. Before he could apologize, she pulled him into a hug, her arms tightly wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, both out of surprise and because of the tight embrace.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“This is the most attentive and caring thing anyone has ever done. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered, smiling as he kissed the top of her hair.

He held her close, relief flooding him. Those were happy tears. He needed a new list.  

[ukulelevillainwrites]

we're not gonna be friends

one shot

Warnings: none

Content: not ennemies, more like annoyed at each other, to lovers, f!reader x George

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: George and y/n can't stand each other, but Lucy can see through their annoyance. Maybe she should help them out a little bit.

Comment: it took me an embarrassingly long time to write this but i'm so happy it's finally here! It was inspired by the song We're not gonna be friends by PJ Frantz which is attached to this

@neewtmas ; @maraschinomerry ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @lewkwoodnco ; @clarabowmp3 ; @demigoddess-of-ghosts

The kitchen was silent like it often was before breakfast. Or was it lunchtime already? Despite the number of clocks in the house, y/n couldn’t keep track of the day. Unlike Tendy’s where every agent had to keep a tight schedule, Lockwood&Co taught her to be more spontaneous with her day. She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around. The only thing she knew by heart was the quietness before a shared meal. The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

She tried to appreciate the peace before the storm but it was tainted with the heavy stillness of the room. With his back turned to her, George couldn’t see her disappointment at the lack of conversation between them. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to find any sort of anchor with him. She had tried her best to be friendly, helpful, grateful for everything he did around the house but nothing had worked. Even the best conversation starters she could find about the Problem would get shut down in two sentences or less. Once, she mentioned the conversation she had overheard between two of her ex-colleagues, theories on the best ways to stop the Problem. His eyes had lit up, eager to respond and keep the debate going. He had only taken part of the conversation to contradict whatever the agents had said, but she was glad of the progress she made. However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

She had grown frustrated of the situation. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Lockwood and Lucy, she would have given up entirely. But they kept insisting that they could be the best of friends and if she was honest with herself she felt insecure about wrecking the harmony between the three roommates. She already felt guilty enough for making Lucy share her room, no matter how much she insisted that she liked having her here. So, she attempted a new approach: instead of talking to him, she would try to help him out, be of service.

She waited patiently for him to finish whatever step he was on in his recipe to get the plates from behind him. When he rested the spoon he had in hand on the side of the pan, she stood up and went for the plates. He got there first and turned around carrying the four plates. Instead of handing them to her, he avoided her eyes and set them down himself, practically walking through her. She didn’t let his rudeness stop her from helping and opened the cupboard where sat the glasses. He was faster once more and slid his fingers inside the glasses to grab two with each hand. Refusing to back down, she took the forks and knives out and set one of each next to the plates. She went next for the napkins but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of metal hitting plates. She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

“Should I bring the napkins or do you have preferences for that too?” She tried to say on a light tone but her annoyance bled through.

“However you want is fine.”

“Apparently not…” she mumbled.

“They’re just napkins, y/n.”

“They were just forks.”

“That’s differ-“

She slammed the door behind her before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry anymore. The front door opened and she came face to face with Lockwood who was coming back from whatever errand he and Lucy had run in the morning.

“Hey,” he said as she passed by him. “Aren’t we about to eat?” he asked, but she was already climbing up the stairs.

He and Lucy exchanged a look before the girl decided to go after her. Even though y/n hadn’t said anything, Lucy was pretty sure George had to be involved. She couldn’t really blame her. She and George had had a difficult start too. But it hadn’t taken this long for the researcher to warm up to her. And y/n was much more polite than she had been. Something was off and he had some explaining to do. She would ask him about it after she made sure y/n was okay. She climbed the stairs up to the attic and found y/n angrily fluffing the pillows on her bed. She didn’t have to ask to know whose face she was picturing while violently adjusting the stuffing of a forest green throw pillow.

“So…” she started carefully, “how was your morning?”

“He is the most obnoxious and condescending jerk I’ve ever met.”

“What happened now?” she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant and helpful. I talk about subjects he is interested in, I help out on chores he does, I do everything to be nice and a good roommate and he still won’t talk to me for more than thirty seconds and he won’t under any circumstances let me help out.”

She threw the innocent pillow on her bed to punctuate her annoyance.

Lucy felt torn by the situation. On the one hand she felt bad for her. Getting used to living with George hadn’t been easy for her either, but compared to how he was treating y/n, she had had it easy. He had been irritable lately and he snapped at the slightest inconvenience. On the other hand, she might have an idea of what was really going on.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

“And deal with him? No thanks.”

She resolutely sat on her bed, crossing her arms to mark her words.

“I’ll bring up a plate for you.” Lucy said as she made her way back down the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Where should I start?” The skull countered in that invasive way he had of barging in on her conversations.

She ignored him and tapped George on the shoulder, making him look away from his cooking.

“Please, Lucy, we’re about to eat.”

“Yeah, well y/n’s not coming down because of you.”

“She’s not?” Lockwood chimed in.

“Our dear friend George annoyed her away.”

Lockwood smiled somewhat fondly. This was classic George.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said flatly.

“You didn’t let her help, you keep leaving her out!”

George took a deep breath before affirming decidedly

“I don’t like the way she sets the forks and knives.”

She and Lockwood exchanged a look. He couldn’t be serious.

“George, please,” Lockwood started, sensing Lucy’s annoyance.

“She doesn’t check if they match and she sets them haphazardly because she can’t be bothered to place them on each side of the plate, it drives me nuts!”

She looked across the table to see Lockwood smiling at her, silently acknowledging his friend’s quirks.

“George,” he started, “I can’t have two team members unable to work together over forks and knives. I’m gonna need you to make an effort, try and be friends.” He punctuated his words with one of his charming smiles.

George stood up and grabbed his plate.

“I can’t be friends with her.” He declared before going in his room.

Lockwood sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Lucy told him.

“How can I not? They’re this close to being at each other’s throat.”

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

“Maybe we could make them collaborate more…” She told Lockwood with a grin.

They shared a complicit look.

George was halfway through an article when Lockwood called him down. He wondered what could be more important than being prepared for a case but with Lockwood it could be anything. Without looking up from the newspaper he was reading he went downstairs, only to be greeted with Lucy’s insistent stare. She had that look on her face. It instantly filled him with dread. Whatever they did, it obviously meant more work for him.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Lucy answered too quickly. “We just…”

He left the article on the nearest table to cross his arms. He looked back at Lockwood.

“We knocked over a few boxes while training.”

“So? Just clean it up.”

“They’re yours. It’s your records and research on the Problem…”

George stormed downstairs. Dealing with Lockwood’s recklessness in the field was already a lot, but carelessness in the house they all lived in, that’s where he drew the line.

“I’m sorry George,” Lockwood chased after him, “I want to help but I don’t know your system.”

“You’d mess it up anyway. It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.

“At least let me get you some help,” Lucy said, already halfway back into the hall.

Before he could protest, she called “y/n! We need your help!”

The girl arrived shortly after, visibly unhappy about the situation.

“We have errands to run, but have fun you two!” Lucy said cheerfully, quickly exiting through the front door before anyone of them could protest.

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

“What do you need help with?” y/n asked flatly.

Without sparing her another glance he rushed back downstairs to evaluate how much damage had been done. He didn’t want to try and explain his system. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. He was aware of his quirks and weird habits, and he was aware that it didn’t make sense to most people. Lockwood had made that clear. And even though Lucy made efforts, his filing system was where she drew the line. He didn’t want to hear the same thing from y/n.

Papers were scattered across the office floor. The filing box labelled ‘Problem’ was upside down, balanced between two chairs and on the verge of joining its content below it. The tabs he had placed inside to keep everything organized hadn’t survived the attack. This would take hours.

“So, you’re not even going to talk to me now?” y/n’s voice resonated from the kitchen.

His heart started to beat faster. With wild eyes, he started to pick up the papers mechanically while his mind reeled. What was he supposed to say? Her footsteps resonated louder as she stepped further down into the basement. The air grew thicker with tension as she did so. He wished he would break through the window and run away from this awkward situation.

“George?” she started, crossing her arms as she reached the last step.

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes towards her, silently cursing himself for screwing up their relationship this badly. He blinked, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Fine.” she let out, slightly louder.

The look on her face made him ache. She looked terrifying when she was angry. He froze halfway through collecting the papers at his feet. She frowned at him, probably wondering what was wrong with him. She bent down and picked the papers up for him, organizing them in neat piles on the one desk that Lockwood and Lucy had spared.

“You know,” she started, “you’re probably the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

He still stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by the coldness of her voice. He stared blankly as she angrily collected the papers and forcefully sorted them, creasing some of them in the process.

“I tried to help around the house, but you never let me. I clean, you clean again after me. I initiate conversation and you find any excuse to leave the room.”

She looked down at the last papers she picked up. They were newspaper cuttings about the most relevant outbreaks of the Problem. She smiled as she read the titles and it sent a chill down his spine. Whatever was coming next was not going to be good.

“I spent hours reading all I could find about the origin of the Problem. Lucy said that was how she got you to open up. I thought we could finally have something to talk about. Instead, you walked out after two minutes.”

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation.

“Am I really that hard to live with?” she asked. There was a crack in her voice.

He couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. But no matter how much he wanted to find the right thing to say, he came up short.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

She looked up, surprised.

“What was that?” she said, eager to make him apologize again.

“You heard me…” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t think I did,” she smiled. “George Karim apologizing? That’s more unlikely than seeing a ghost hula hooping.”

He smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the air feel warmer in the basement. The first crumb of complicity gave him enough courage to try to make up for his rudeness. He added the papers in his hand to the pile on the desk in front of him before continuing.

“I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome.” He looked down, ashamed to admit he had badly misread the situation. “I’m just used to Lucy pushing back and when you didn’t, I thought… that maybe you were faking it? That you were talking about the Problem just to make fun, and you helped out just to annoy me and slow me down-”

“Oh, being nice is annoying now?”

“I don’t know! I’m a jerk, I see that now.”

“At least we can agree on that.”

He looked back up expecting to see her frowning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You’re finally honest with me. I take that as a victory,” she said decidedly as she reached for the upturned cardboard box.

“So I’m guessing you have a system to organize your files?”

The question caught him off-guard. Was she really moving on from three months of feud that easily? It felt like a trick. She stared at him expectantly.

“Just… chronological.” He said cautiously.

“I don’t think you’d use that many tabs if it was just chronological. You must have subcategories, right? Like at least geographical and then maybe by source…”

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

“I always start with the chronological order and then I file everything according to geography. For each year, I like to organize the records by city then order them by region and finally-”

“Alphabetically?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I take the region most located South then move back up East, then North and finish West.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier to visualize on a map.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

When she and Lockwood came back from their errand, which really consisted of going to the coffeeshop closest to the house to let George and y/n have it out, Lucy was shocked to discover that her plan had actually worked. Well, not that shocked. She knew there was something there. They just needed a little push.

They had to climb down the stairs to the basement to finally find them because none of them answered their calls from the hallway. They were deep in conversation about the Problem. The files and boxes had been entirely cleaned up, everything was back on the shelves and… Wait, did George just laugh at something y/n said? How long had they been gone?

Lockwood had a confused look on her face, matching hers. It didn’t leave him the entire way to the client’s house that evening. There was no more tense silence, awkward avoidance or strange atmosphere in the group. The change was radical. Had she known it would have been this effective, she would have locked them up in the basement three months ago. She had been worried they would have ripped each other’s eyes out in such close quarters. In this moment though, they stared intently at each other more than they looked murderous. She smiled to herself, only making Lockwood more confused. She threw him a look. They are so gone for each other. He looked at her sideways, seemingly in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows. I swear! You’ll see. He seemed unconvinced, but she knew. “I can’t be friends with her” George had said. Yes, quite literally, she thought.

The cab came to a halt in front of their workplace for the night. 11 Hall Road. Lucy would have loved to have an exciting new case that she could add to her journal, but the truth was that most cases were plain. An old person dies, the inheritors need to clear the house before living there or selling it. Those who had become apathetical to the Problem said it was just another expense to plan alongside the funeral. She wasn’t in the mood for apathetical. Not when she had two idiotic friends practically holding hands after being at each other’s throat for the past three months. It comforted her to see them remain focused on their tasks without breaking conversation, and she almost didn’t want to tell them to stop to allow her to use her talent. A job was still a job though.

When silence hit them, so did the cold realization of all the sorrow surrounding them. Wailing filled Lucy’s ears and soon the faint outline of the phantasm haunting the place appeared in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t perceive it very well, but its screams made it hard for her to think. Lockwood stepped in front of her, rapier drawn and ready for a fight, while George tried to yell over the disembodied screams what the source could be. y/n was running through the house following his directions but to no avail. His last idea was a miniature car in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Found it!” y/n called from upstairs.

But Lucy was the one with the silver nets. She drew her own rapier, aiming for the stairs. The phantasm was faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the figure floating upstairs, so fast she doubted her mind for a second. y/n’s scream confirmed she hadn’t been dreaming. Lucy saw the girl running past her in the opposite direction, only stopped by the chest of drawers stationed on the landing. She hit her side with a definite thump, bringing her down and leaving her paralyzed on the floor of the corridor. Lucy hurried up the stairs and came to stand between y/n and the ghost, drawing intricate patterns she had practiced with Lockwood. When she heard the boys climbing the stairs, she used her other hand to take the silver nets out of her pocket. They got caught in her belt and the second she looked away was enough for the visitor to float closer to y/n, still lying a few feet behind her. Using her remaining strength, y/n threw a salt bomb, winning enough time for Lockwood to join Lucy’s side, covering George while he took care of the source.

None of them really spoke on their way back, still shaken from the close call they avoided. Y/n didn’t suffer major injuries, just a few bad bruises, which was a relief. It was enough for Lockwood to tell her to stay home for the next few days. She hadn’t protested, probably because she was exhausted from the night and the drive had rocked her to sleep. When they arrived in front of Portland Row, George didn’t let Lucy wake her up. Instead he carried her inside and despite the night they’d had, she smiled.

The rays of light shining on her face hurt her closed eyes, but not as much as the bruises in her side that decided to wake up as soon as she emerged from her heavy sleep. She was sore, thirsty and only managed to groan when trying to move in what was definitely not her bed. She reached over, eyes still closed, and encountered something cold. Her reflexes kicked in, knocking the glass over and effectively pouring its content on her. She jerked up and immediately screamed at the pain stabbing her side.

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room.

Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

“No, no, no, slow down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you do that.”

He gently nudged her back down, elevating her head with a pillow and removing the blanket to toss it on the floor. She shivered.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as he casually laid something else on her.

“Terrible,” she simply said as she managed to open an eye.

“Do you remember last night?” he continued while helping her sit.

“Yes… I think.” She looked around with half-opened eyes. “Why am I in your room?”

“Lockwood almost passed out after the first flight of stairs.”

She opened her second eye and stared at him dubitatively.

“Fine I wasn’t doing great either.”

She laughed lightly but it only triggered her injury again.

“Here, drink this,” he handed her a cup of tea, “and today you’re on bed rest. No work, no chores, nothing. Not even laughing.”

“I should keep you around then,” she said, before taking a sip.

He threw her a look, but even with eyes half open she could see the shadow of a smile on his face.

He went back downstairs, leaving her to savor her tea, its warmth welcome after having been awakened in such a brutal way. She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood. She hadn’t realized how soft it was, having only touched it with her eyes. The night after the case was a blur, but she could have sworn that only one person had carried her upstairs. She smiled to herself as she looked around his room. Papers were left scattered on his desk, some fallen on the floor. Trinkets were gathered on every shelf that wasn’t already full of books. It was messy, disorganized, but comforting in its own way. She wondered how someone who kept such meticulous files on the Problem could live in a room like this. If she tried to make sense of it, she would probably spend the day here, and she simply refused that. Staying still was out of the question. She carefully sat back up before she tried to get onto her feet. The whole ordeal took about ten minutes. This might not be the brightest idea, she thought to herself, but she was finally making progress with George, they had a semblance of connection and she certainly wouldn’t let one wound stand in the way of her friendship with him.

One painful shower and a whole hour later, y/n made her way downstairs and joined George in the kitchen. She hadn’t even made it through the door that she could already hear him telling her off for getting out of bed. He chastised her about the dangers of disregarding health and how irresponsible it was of her to push her body to its limit. She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

“Why did you come down anyway?”

“I was hungry,” she said while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You could’ve just told me I would have brought something for you.”

“Actually, since I’m on house arrest and you’re finally speaking to me, why don’t you let me help you out today? You know like cleaning, cooking… everything you do all the time for everyone and never let me help with?”

“No. You’re injured. You shouldn’t move that much.”

“How about research then? That’s just reading.”

“No,” he said decisively, punctuating his rejection with a pointed look.

“Stubborn idiot.”

“Well, I am not the idiot who tripped and almost shattered my hip on a dresser.”

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re just jealous because even injured I have better aim than you.” She blurted out, hoping the redness of her face wasn’t obvious.

When he didn’t respond, an idea popped into her head.

“And you probably don’t want me to help because you’re scared I’ll be better at research than you are too.”

He smiled, set the orange down on the table and turned back to the dishes he had started before she got there.

“You really think I’d fall for that? Who do you think I am? Lockwood?”

She took back the fruit and slumped into her chair.

“Can you at least let me help? I can’t stay still for so long, I’ll go mad”

She fidgeted with the orange in her hands, planting her short nails into its skin the best she could. She only managed to pull off small pieces each time.

“You’ll slow me down, and I can’t allow myself to miss a single element. I don’t want last night to happen again.”

She looked up to find him already staring.

“I managed to keep up with your files on the Problem, why would that be any different?”

He didn’t have anything to say back. She smiled triumphantly.

“You have no more arguments, I win the argument! Where should I start?”

He sighed, dried the glass he was holding and sat next to her.

“By learning how to peel an orange properly.” He retorted, snatching the fruit from her hand.

Methodically, he sunk his finger under the peel, tearing it confidently. The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

“I can do that myself you know.”

“Can you?”

“Jerk.” She laughed. Being friends with him wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be, but she had to admit that she liked it.

He got up and snatched a piece from her hand.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“Compensation for my efforts.” He smirked.

He disappeared into the living room and came back with piles of materials in his arms. He did a second trip to bring books and case files, then a third to get notebooks from his room. When he got back into the kitchen, he sat next to her and wrote the name of the client on the thinking cloth. He pushed back his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s get to work.”

George knew that y/n was too stubborn to rest despite her injury, and she was too clever to be tricked into it. To be fair, he hadn’t tried that hard. He really was glad of the company. He gave her some context for their upcoming case and described his usual research methods. He realized he might have been explaining things too fast when he noticed her staring at him with round eyes.

“I lost you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of…” she answered, embarrassed. “Am I wasting your time?”

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

He was right, though. Not only was he greatly enjoying himself, she was also a quick learner. By the second hour spent gathering material, they had already uncovered crucial elements about the history of the place and they had started narrowing in on the type of object that could be a potential source. They made a good team.

The day had gone by without any of them leaving the kitchen. They were enthralled in their work with a comfortable silence between them. They sat side by side, sharing documents and exchanging notes on the Thinking Cloth with an appeasing familiarity. Deep down, George felt guilty that they missed out on moments like these in the past because he was too focused on keeping his new colleague at arm’s length. Their knees bumped every once in a while, each moment making his heart skip a beat. Out of surprise, that is, not that he paid it any mind.

In just a day he had learned to read her smile. The soft polite one was how she asked if he wanted more tea. The shy one meant she needed his help but didn’t want to ask. His favorite one was her triumphant smile when she finally figured out what the source must be. He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it.

“It’s late, I should probably get some sleep,” she quickly said when their eyes met.

“Yeah,” he let go of her hand, “good idea.”

She used his shoulder to stand up and flinched. He didn’t know if it was from the contact or the effort.

“Good night,” he said gently, trying to shake off some of the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he mumbled as he watched her close the door behind her.

He found it ironic that she was giving him advice when she had been blatantly ignoring everything he said about her health all day long. He returned to the newspaper he was reading, every word on the page escaping his attention. What smile had she used when she left the room? He took a pen to keep his eyes from skipping five words at a time. She had touched his shoulder on purpose earlier, hadn’t she? This was useless. He gathered up the rest of the papers he hadn’t read yet and headed back to his room, conceding defeat to the butterflies settling in his stomach.

y/n woke up around 2 am, her aching body forcing her awake demanding a glass of water. Everything was dark around her, but she could hear Lucy’s steady breathing on the opposite side of the room. She did her best to get to her feet silently, ignoring the pain still twisting her side. The steps creaked lightly underneath her bare feet, the sound resonating loudly in the silent house. She reached the first landing discreetly with the hope that she wouldn’t wake anyone up. Instead, she was surprised to see a ray of light coming from under George’s door. It was ajar, so she pushed it lightly to see him hunched over his desk, still reading the newspapers she had left on the table a few hours earlier.

“You’re really stubborn you know?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear her behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted.

She knew there was no point in arguing, especially at this hour.

“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be fine, thanks.” He turned around. His hair was visibly disheveled. Even though he didn’t put that much effort into it at regular hours, it was obvious that he was tired.

When she came back a few moments later, he was still absorbed by whatever article he was reading. He hardly paid attention when she set the steaming cup next to him. She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes. The contact of his hand on the bare skin of her arm almost made her spill her water.

“Take a look,” he simply said. He pointed at an annotation he had written in the margin of a newspaper article he was reading.

She sat on the stool next to him to inspect his findings. His scribbling was already hard to read in the daylight, but in the dead hours of the night it was almost impossible. He saw her squint and read aloud. The words evaded her. She blamed the lack of sleep and not the fact that his hand was still resting on her arm, gently swaying back and forth. She stared at it, its slow movements calming her down. It made her feel peaceful, appeased. She wondered however why her heart was beating faster if she was feeling so calm.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and was caught off guard by the gentleness in his eyes.

“You should go back to bed.”

“No, no, tell me. I’m listening.”

She could see the cogs turning in his head, weighing his options, whether forcing her to rest would be worth the effort or pointless from the start. He sighed.

“I found another death related to the client’s house. I’m trying to see if the haunting is caused by what we found earlier or if it’s something else entirely.”

“That’s way too much work to do by yourself in one night.”

“Someone has to do it. You should rest, I’ll tell you what I found in the morning.”

She got up, but she knew fully well she wasn’t letting him work all night alone. She took all the papers she could gather in her arms, ignoring his hushed protests, and made herself comfortable in his bed. He looked at her incredulously. She tapped the spot next to her, a large smile lighting up her face.

He sounded defeated when he said “why are you like this?”

“You look out for me, I look out for you.”

It shut him up on the spot. She got under the covers and organized the documents in piles around her while he stared silently, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? If we’re here all night we might as well get comfortable.”

His eyes were so round she thought it must hurt him. “We?”

She tapped the spot next to her again.

“Come on. You can’t tell me to rest if you’re not doing it either.”

Reluctantly, he joined her, looking like he was intruding in the sheets of a total stranger. At first, he pushed the cover aside. It was as if he was allergic to comfort. He kept his distance and even hesitated to reach over to grab a newspaper. They read in silence, the only sound coming occasionally from the turning of pages. He seemed to quickly forget about his awkwardness though, as he leaned in whenever he found something. He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him. By the time he finished his mug, they were shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices in each other’s ear. Even in hushed tones, she could sense how enthusiastic he was about what he discovered one newspaper after the other. She could have listened to him talk for hours… if she wasn’t so exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, her head was drawing impossibly close to George’s shoulder. She was too comfortable to resist. When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She sunk into a deeper slumber, George’s even breathing rocking her to sleep, until the turning of pages disturbed her ears. He wasn’t going to sleep unless she made him. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers up his torso to find his neck, his chin, and finally his glasses. She took them off before turning her back on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Forcing you to get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Give me back my glasses.”

“Come get them yourself.”

She was certain he would concede defeat after this. What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

“You’re impossible. You’re stubborn, insufferable-”

“You used that one earlier already.”

He laughed. “You’re just proving my point.”

A light laugh escaped her too, only it made her bruises act up again. She flinched.

George let go of her hand, his fingers traveling lightly over her side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit.”

He sighed in her neck, making her shiver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out sooner what the source was. I could have saved you the injury.”

Something clicked in her mind, clearing all desire to sleep for a moment.

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?”

He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

“George, you’re not the reason why I couldn’t avoid running into a dresser.”

He laughed, but he avoided her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now please get some sleep.”

He looked back at her with intensity. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, almost black.

“On one condition.”

Before she could ask what he needed from her, he took it. His lips crashed against hers with a hunger she didn’t know he had. She was still in shock when he drew back, looking back at her hesitantly. He didn’t seem to know that she loved this unsuspected bold side of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back in. He seemed surprised at first, but his hands quickly ran up her back to draw her nearer. She could have expected to feel anything from kissing George. Awkwardness, shyness, a few days ago she would have completely rejected the idea. She certainly wouldn’t have expected it to feel so right. His hands seemed to fit the small of her back like puzzle pieces locking perfectly in place. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to wanting more. She needed him, all of him, impossibly closer. She circled his hips with her leg while her hands roamed down his back. He smiled into each kiss, leaving her lips every now and then to trail her cheeks and down her neck. She looked back at him with sparkling eyes.

“So, one condition?”

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Her smile grew bigger.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[tsaronie-cheezecake]

I had to re-read this and make some points about this bc wow, i kinda giggled when the skull showed up ngl and their whole bickering at the start was sooooo good to set the scene at the end too

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

THIS 👀 the fact that lucy knew all this and like made me think about her and lockwood too so like, george and y/n fighting for months bc he had feelings but he wanted to like hide it in a way?

and then later them talking while sorting out the boxes and her figuring out what methods he uses and him like figuring out her different smiles OIHERIGHERIG

George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood.

CUTE

how gentle it all was at the end tho?? like dancing in the kitchen at midnight vibes and them just researching together and falling asleep so precious... gosh

ALICE YOU ARE AMAZING and your fics bring such a comfort and they are so like idk well done and your use of descriptions like "she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth."

and like the orange scene like he be bf

[ukulelevillainwrites]

🤭🤭 eeeeeeeeeeee

[ukulelevillainwrites]

we're not gonna be friends

one shot

Warnings: none

Content: not ennemies, more like annoyed at each other, to lovers, f!reader x George

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: George and y/n can't stand each other, but Lucy can see through their annoyance. Maybe she should help them out a little bit.

Comment: it took me an embarrassingly long time to write this but i'm so happy it's finally here! It was inspired by the song We're not gonna be friends by PJ Frantz which is attached to this

@neewtmas ; @maraschinomerry ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @lewkwoodnco ; @clarabowmp3 ; @demigoddess-of-ghosts

The kitchen was silent like it often was before breakfast. Or was it lunchtime already? Despite the number of clocks in the house, y/n couldn’t keep track of the day. Unlike Tendy’s where every agent had to keep a tight schedule, Lockwood&Co taught her to be more spontaneous with her day. She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around. The only thing she knew by heart was the quietness before a shared meal. The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

She tried to appreciate the peace before the storm but it was tainted with the heavy stillness of the room. With his back turned to her, George couldn’t see her disappointment at the lack of conversation between them. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to find any sort of anchor with him. She had tried her best to be friendly, helpful, grateful for everything he did around the house but nothing had worked. Even the best conversation starters she could find about the Problem would get shut down in two sentences or less. Once, she mentioned the conversation she had overheard between two of her ex-colleagues, theories on the best ways to stop the Problem. His eyes had lit up, eager to respond and keep the debate going. He had only taken part of the conversation to contradict whatever the agents had said, but she was glad of the progress she made. However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

She had grown frustrated of the situation. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Lockwood and Lucy, she would have given up entirely. But they kept insisting that they could be the best of friends and if she was honest with herself she felt insecure about wrecking the harmony between the three roommates. She already felt guilty enough for making Lucy share her room, no matter how much she insisted that she liked having her here. So, she attempted a new approach: instead of talking to him, she would try to help him out, be of service.

She waited patiently for him to finish whatever step he was on in his recipe to get the plates from behind him. When he rested the spoon he had in hand on the side of the pan, she stood up and went for the plates. He got there first and turned around carrying the four plates. Instead of handing them to her, he avoided her eyes and set them down himself, practically walking through her. She didn’t let his rudeness stop her from helping and opened the cupboard where sat the glasses. He was faster once more and slid his fingers inside the glasses to grab two with each hand. Refusing to back down, she took the forks and knives out and set one of each next to the plates. She went next for the napkins but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of metal hitting plates. She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

“Should I bring the napkins or do you have preferences for that too?” She tried to say on a light tone but her annoyance bled through.

“However you want is fine.”

“Apparently not…” she mumbled.

“They’re just napkins, y/n.”

“They were just forks.”

“That’s differ-“

She slammed the door behind her before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry anymore. The front door opened and she came face to face with Lockwood who was coming back from whatever errand he and Lucy had run in the morning.

“Hey,” he said as she passed by him. “Aren’t we about to eat?” he asked, but she was already climbing up the stairs.

He and Lucy exchanged a look before the girl decided to go after her. Even though y/n hadn’t said anything, Lucy was pretty sure George had to be involved. She couldn’t really blame her. She and George had had a difficult start too. But it hadn’t taken this long for the researcher to warm up to her. And y/n was much more polite than she had been. Something was off and he had some explaining to do. She would ask him about it after she made sure y/n was okay. She climbed the stairs up to the attic and found y/n angrily fluffing the pillows on her bed. She didn’t have to ask to know whose face she was picturing while violently adjusting the stuffing of a forest green throw pillow.

“So…” she started carefully, “how was your morning?”

“He is the most obnoxious and condescending jerk I’ve ever met.”

“What happened now?” she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant and helpful. I talk about subjects he is interested in, I help out on chores he does, I do everything to be nice and a good roommate and he still won’t talk to me for more than thirty seconds and he won’t under any circumstances let me help out.”

She threw the innocent pillow on her bed to punctuate her annoyance.

Lucy felt torn by the situation. On the one hand she felt bad for her. Getting used to living with George hadn’t been easy for her either, but compared to how he was treating y/n, she had had it easy. He had been irritable lately and he snapped at the slightest inconvenience. On the other hand, she might have an idea of what was really going on.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

“And deal with him? No thanks.”

She resolutely sat on her bed, crossing her arms to mark her words.

“I’ll bring up a plate for you.” Lucy said as she made her way back down the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Where should I start?” The skull countered in that invasive way he had of barging in on her conversations.

She ignored him and tapped George on the shoulder, making him look away from his cooking.

“Please, Lucy, we’re about to eat.”

“Yeah, well y/n’s not coming down because of you.”

“She’s not?” Lockwood chimed in.

“Our dear friend George annoyed her away.”

Lockwood smiled somewhat fondly. This was classic George.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said flatly.

“You didn’t let her help, you keep leaving her out!”

George took a deep breath before affirming decidedly

“I don’t like the way she sets the forks and knives.”

She and Lockwood exchanged a look. He couldn’t be serious.

“George, please,” Lockwood started, sensing Lucy’s annoyance.

“She doesn’t check if they match and she sets them haphazardly because she can’t be bothered to place them on each side of the plate, it drives me nuts!”

She looked across the table to see Lockwood smiling at her, silently acknowledging his friend’s quirks.

“George,” he started, “I can’t have two team members unable to work together over forks and knives. I’m gonna need you to make an effort, try and be friends.” He punctuated his words with one of his charming smiles.

George stood up and grabbed his plate.

“I can’t be friends with her.” He declared before going in his room.

Lockwood sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Lucy told him.

“How can I not? They’re this close to being at each other’s throat.”

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

“Maybe we could make them collaborate more…” She told Lockwood with a grin.

They shared a complicit look.

George was halfway through an article when Lockwood called him down. He wondered what could be more important than being prepared for a case but with Lockwood it could be anything. Without looking up from the newspaper he was reading he went downstairs, only to be greeted with Lucy’s insistent stare. She had that look on her face. It instantly filled him with dread. Whatever they did, it obviously meant more work for him.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Lucy answered too quickly. “We just…”

He left the article on the nearest table to cross his arms. He looked back at Lockwood.

“We knocked over a few boxes while training.”

“So? Just clean it up.”

“They’re yours. It’s your records and research on the Problem…”

George stormed downstairs. Dealing with Lockwood’s recklessness in the field was already a lot, but carelessness in the house they all lived in, that’s where he drew the line.

“I’m sorry George,” Lockwood chased after him, “I want to help but I don’t know your system.”

“You’d mess it up anyway. It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.

“At least let me get you some help,” Lucy said, already halfway back into the hall.

Before he could protest, she called “y/n! We need your help!”

The girl arrived shortly after, visibly unhappy about the situation.

“We have errands to run, but have fun you two!” Lucy said cheerfully, quickly exiting through the front door before anyone of them could protest.

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

“What do you need help with?” y/n asked flatly.

Without sparing her another glance he rushed back downstairs to evaluate how much damage had been done. He didn’t want to try and explain his system. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. He was aware of his quirks and weird habits, and he was aware that it didn’t make sense to most people. Lockwood had made that clear. And even though Lucy made efforts, his filing system was where she drew the line. He didn’t want to hear the same thing from y/n.

Papers were scattered across the office floor. The filing box labelled ‘Problem’ was upside down, balanced between two chairs and on the verge of joining its content below it. The tabs he had placed inside to keep everything organized hadn’t survived the attack. This would take hours.

“So, you’re not even going to talk to me now?” y/n’s voice resonated from the kitchen.

His heart started to beat faster. With wild eyes, he started to pick up the papers mechanically while his mind reeled. What was he supposed to say? Her footsteps resonated louder as she stepped further down into the basement. The air grew thicker with tension as she did so. He wished he would break through the window and run away from this awkward situation.

“George?” she started, crossing her arms as she reached the last step.

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes towards her, silently cursing himself for screwing up their relationship this badly. He blinked, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Fine.” she let out, slightly louder.

The look on her face made him ache. She looked terrifying when she was angry. He froze halfway through collecting the papers at his feet. She frowned at him, probably wondering what was wrong with him. She bent down and picked the papers up for him, organizing them in neat piles on the one desk that Lockwood and Lucy had spared.

“You know,” she started, “you’re probably the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

He still stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by the coldness of her voice. He stared blankly as she angrily collected the papers and forcefully sorted them, creasing some of them in the process.

“I tried to help around the house, but you never let me. I clean, you clean again after me. I initiate conversation and you find any excuse to leave the room.”

She looked down at the last papers she picked up. They were newspaper cuttings about the most relevant outbreaks of the Problem. She smiled as she read the titles and it sent a chill down his spine. Whatever was coming next was not going to be good.

“I spent hours reading all I could find about the origin of the Problem. Lucy said that was how she got you to open up. I thought we could finally have something to talk about. Instead, you walked out after two minutes.”

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation.

“Am I really that hard to live with?” she asked. There was a crack in her voice.

He couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. But no matter how much he wanted to find the right thing to say, he came up short.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

She looked up, surprised.

“What was that?” she said, eager to make him apologize again.

“You heard me…” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t think I did,” she smiled. “George Karim apologizing? That’s more unlikely than seeing a ghost hula hooping.”

He smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the air feel warmer in the basement. The first crumb of complicity gave him enough courage to try to make up for his rudeness. He added the papers in his hand to the pile on the desk in front of him before continuing.

“I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome.” He looked down, ashamed to admit he had badly misread the situation. “I’m just used to Lucy pushing back and when you didn’t, I thought… that maybe you were faking it? That you were talking about the Problem just to make fun, and you helped out just to annoy me and slow me down-”

“Oh, being nice is annoying now?”

“I don’t know! I’m a jerk, I see that now.”

“At least we can agree on that.”

He looked back up expecting to see her frowning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You’re finally honest with me. I take that as a victory,” she said decidedly as she reached for the upturned cardboard box.

“So I’m guessing you have a system to organize your files?”

The question caught him off-guard. Was she really moving on from three months of feud that easily? It felt like a trick. She stared at him expectantly.

“Just… chronological.” He said cautiously.

“I don’t think you’d use that many tabs if it was just chronological. You must have subcategories, right? Like at least geographical and then maybe by source…”

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

“I always start with the chronological order and then I file everything according to geography. For each year, I like to organize the records by city then order them by region and finally-”

“Alphabetically?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I take the region most located South then move back up East, then North and finish West.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier to visualize on a map.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

When she and Lockwood came back from their errand, which really consisted of going to the coffeeshop closest to the house to let George and y/n have it out, Lucy was shocked to discover that her plan had actually worked. Well, not that shocked. She knew there was something there. They just needed a little push.

They had to climb down the stairs to the basement to finally find them because none of them answered their calls from the hallway. They were deep in conversation about the Problem. The files and boxes had been entirely cleaned up, everything was back on the shelves and… Wait, did George just laugh at something y/n said? How long had they been gone?

Lockwood had a confused look on her face, matching hers. It didn’t leave him the entire way to the client’s house that evening. There was no more tense silence, awkward avoidance or strange atmosphere in the group. The change was radical. Had she known it would have been this effective, she would have locked them up in the basement three months ago. She had been worried they would have ripped each other’s eyes out in such close quarters. In this moment though, they stared intently at each other more than they looked murderous. She smiled to herself, only making Lockwood more confused. She threw him a look. They are so gone for each other. He looked at her sideways, seemingly in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows. I swear! You’ll see. He seemed unconvinced, but she knew. “I can’t be friends with her” George had said. Yes, quite literally, she thought.

The cab came to a halt in front of their workplace for the night. 11 Hall Road. Lucy would have loved to have an exciting new case that she could add to her journal, but the truth was that most cases were plain. An old person dies, the inheritors need to clear the house before living there or selling it. Those who had become apathetical to the Problem said it was just another expense to plan alongside the funeral. She wasn’t in the mood for apathetical. Not when she had two idiotic friends practically holding hands after being at each other’s throat for the past three months. It comforted her to see them remain focused on their tasks without breaking conversation, and she almost didn’t want to tell them to stop to allow her to use her talent. A job was still a job though.

When silence hit them, so did the cold realization of all the sorrow surrounding them. Wailing filled Lucy’s ears and soon the faint outline of the phantasm haunting the place appeared in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t perceive it very well, but its screams made it hard for her to think. Lockwood stepped in front of her, rapier drawn and ready for a fight, while George tried to yell over the disembodied screams what the source could be. y/n was running through the house following his directions but to no avail. His last idea was a miniature car in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Found it!” y/n called from upstairs.

But Lucy was the one with the silver nets. She drew her own rapier, aiming for the stairs. The phantasm was faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the figure floating upstairs, so fast she doubted her mind for a second. y/n’s scream confirmed she hadn’t been dreaming. Lucy saw the girl running past her in the opposite direction, only stopped by the chest of drawers stationed on the landing. She hit her side with a definite thump, bringing her down and leaving her paralyzed on the floor of the corridor. Lucy hurried up the stairs and came to stand between y/n and the ghost, drawing intricate patterns she had practiced with Lockwood. When she heard the boys climbing the stairs, she used her other hand to take the silver nets out of her pocket. They got caught in her belt and the second she looked away was enough for the visitor to float closer to y/n, still lying a few feet behind her. Using her remaining strength, y/n threw a salt bomb, winning enough time for Lockwood to join Lucy’s side, covering George while he took care of the source.

None of them really spoke on their way back, still shaken from the close call they avoided. Y/n didn’t suffer major injuries, just a few bad bruises, which was a relief. It was enough for Lockwood to tell her to stay home for the next few days. She hadn’t protested, probably because she was exhausted from the night and the drive had rocked her to sleep. When they arrived in front of Portland Row, George didn’t let Lucy wake her up. Instead he carried her inside and despite the night they’d had, she smiled.

The rays of light shining on her face hurt her closed eyes, but not as much as the bruises in her side that decided to wake up as soon as she emerged from her heavy sleep. She was sore, thirsty and only managed to groan when trying to move in what was definitely not her bed. She reached over, eyes still closed, and encountered something cold. Her reflexes kicked in, knocking the glass over and effectively pouring its content on her. She jerked up and immediately screamed at the pain stabbing her side.

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room.

Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

“No, no, no, slow down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you do that.”

He gently nudged her back down, elevating her head with a pillow and removing the blanket to toss it on the floor. She shivered.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as he casually laid something else on her.

“Terrible,” she simply said as she managed to open an eye.

“Do you remember last night?” he continued while helping her sit.

“Yes… I think.” She looked around with half-opened eyes. “Why am I in your room?”

“Lockwood almost passed out after the first flight of stairs.”

She opened her second eye and stared at him dubitatively.

“Fine I wasn’t doing great either.”

She laughed lightly but it only triggered her injury again.

“Here, drink this,” he handed her a cup of tea, “and today you’re on bed rest. No work, no chores, nothing. Not even laughing.”

“I should keep you around then,” she said, before taking a sip.

He threw her a look, but even with eyes half open she could see the shadow of a smile on his face.

He went back downstairs, leaving her to savor her tea, its warmth welcome after having been awakened in such a brutal way. She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood. She hadn’t realized how soft it was, having only touched it with her eyes. The night after the case was a blur, but she could have sworn that only one person had carried her upstairs. She smiled to herself as she looked around his room. Papers were left scattered on his desk, some fallen on the floor. Trinkets were gathered on every shelf that wasn’t already full of books. It was messy, disorganized, but comforting in its own way. She wondered how someone who kept such meticulous files on the Problem could live in a room like this. If she tried to make sense of it, she would probably spend the day here, and she simply refused that. Staying still was out of the question. She carefully sat back up before she tried to get onto her feet. The whole ordeal took about ten minutes. This might not be the brightest idea, she thought to herself, but she was finally making progress with George, they had a semblance of connection and she certainly wouldn’t let one wound stand in the way of her friendship with him.

One painful shower and a whole hour later, y/n made her way downstairs and joined George in the kitchen. She hadn’t even made it through the door that she could already hear him telling her off for getting out of bed. He chastised her about the dangers of disregarding health and how irresponsible it was of her to push her body to its limit. She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

“Why did you come down anyway?”

“I was hungry,” she said while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You could’ve just told me I would have brought something for you.”

“Actually, since I’m on house arrest and you’re finally speaking to me, why don’t you let me help you out today? You know like cleaning, cooking… everything you do all the time for everyone and never let me help with?”

“No. You’re injured. You shouldn’t move that much.”

“How about research then? That’s just reading.”

“No,” he said decisively, punctuating his rejection with a pointed look.

“Stubborn idiot.”

“Well, I am not the idiot who tripped and almost shattered my hip on a dresser.”

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re just jealous because even injured I have better aim than you.” She blurted out, hoping the redness of her face wasn’t obvious.

When he didn’t respond, an idea popped into her head.

“And you probably don’t want me to help because you’re scared I’ll be better at research than you are too.”

He smiled, set the orange down on the table and turned back to the dishes he had started before she got there.

“You really think I’d fall for that? Who do you think I am? Lockwood?”

She took back the fruit and slumped into her chair.

“Can you at least let me help? I can’t stay still for so long, I’ll go mad”

She fidgeted with the orange in her hands, planting her short nails into its skin the best she could. She only managed to pull off small pieces each time.

“You’ll slow me down, and I can’t allow myself to miss a single element. I don’t want last night to happen again.”

She looked up to find him already staring.

“I managed to keep up with your files on the Problem, why would that be any different?”

He didn’t have anything to say back. She smiled triumphantly.

“You have no more arguments, I win the argument! Where should I start?”

He sighed, dried the glass he was holding and sat next to her.

“By learning how to peel an orange properly.” He retorted, snatching the fruit from her hand.

Methodically, he sunk his finger under the peel, tearing it confidently. The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

“I can do that myself you know.”

“Can you?”

“Jerk.” She laughed. Being friends with him wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be, but she had to admit that she liked it.

He got up and snatched a piece from her hand.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“Compensation for my efforts.” He smirked.

He disappeared into the living room and came back with piles of materials in his arms. He did a second trip to bring books and case files, then a third to get notebooks from his room. When he got back into the kitchen, he sat next to her and wrote the name of the client on the thinking cloth. He pushed back his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s get to work.”

George knew that y/n was too stubborn to rest despite her injury, and she was too clever to be tricked into it. To be fair, he hadn’t tried that hard. He really was glad of the company. He gave her some context for their upcoming case and described his usual research methods. He realized he might have been explaining things too fast when he noticed her staring at him with round eyes.

“I lost you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of…” she answered, embarrassed. “Am I wasting your time?”

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

He was right, though. Not only was he greatly enjoying himself, she was also a quick learner. By the second hour spent gathering material, they had already uncovered crucial elements about the history of the place and they had started narrowing in on the type of object that could be a potential source. They made a good team.

The day had gone by without any of them leaving the kitchen. They were enthralled in their work with a comfortable silence between them. They sat side by side, sharing documents and exchanging notes on the Thinking Cloth with an appeasing familiarity. Deep down, George felt guilty that they missed out on moments like these in the past because he was too focused on keeping his new colleague at arm’s length. Their knees bumped every once in a while, each moment making his heart skip a beat. Out of surprise, that is, not that he paid it any mind.

In just a day he had learned to read her smile. The soft polite one was how she asked if he wanted more tea. The shy one meant she needed his help but didn’t want to ask. His favorite one was her triumphant smile when she finally figured out what the source must be. He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it.

“It’s late, I should probably get some sleep,” she quickly said when their eyes met.

“Yeah,” he let go of her hand, “good idea.”

She used his shoulder to stand up and flinched. He didn’t know if it was from the contact or the effort.

“Good night,” he said gently, trying to shake off some of the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he mumbled as he watched her close the door behind her.

He found it ironic that she was giving him advice when she had been blatantly ignoring everything he said about her health all day long. He returned to the newspaper he was reading, every word on the page escaping his attention. What smile had she used when she left the room? He took a pen to keep his eyes from skipping five words at a time. She had touched his shoulder on purpose earlier, hadn’t she? This was useless. He gathered up the rest of the papers he hadn’t read yet and headed back to his room, conceding defeat to the butterflies settling in his stomach.

y/n woke up around 2 am, her aching body forcing her awake demanding a glass of water. Everything was dark around her, but she could hear Lucy’s steady breathing on the opposite side of the room. She did her best to get to her feet silently, ignoring the pain still twisting her side. The steps creaked lightly underneath her bare feet, the sound resonating loudly in the silent house. She reached the first landing discreetly with the hope that she wouldn’t wake anyone up. Instead, she was surprised to see a ray of light coming from under George’s door. It was ajar, so she pushed it lightly to see him hunched over his desk, still reading the newspapers she had left on the table a few hours earlier.

“You’re really stubborn you know?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear her behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted.

She knew there was no point in arguing, especially at this hour.

“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be fine, thanks.” He turned around. His hair was visibly disheveled. Even though he didn’t put that much effort into it at regular hours, it was obvious that he was tired.

When she came back a few moments later, he was still absorbed by whatever article he was reading. He hardly paid attention when she set the steaming cup next to him. She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes. The contact of his hand on the bare skin of her arm almost made her spill her water.

“Take a look,” he simply said. He pointed at an annotation he had written in the margin of a newspaper article he was reading.

She sat on the stool next to him to inspect his findings. His scribbling was already hard to read in the daylight, but in the dead hours of the night it was almost impossible. He saw her squint and read aloud. The words evaded her. She blamed the lack of sleep and not the fact that his hand was still resting on her arm, gently swaying back and forth. She stared at it, its slow movements calming her down. It made her feel peaceful, appeased. She wondered however why her heart was beating faster if she was feeling so calm.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and was caught off guard by the gentleness in his eyes.

“You should go back to bed.”

“No, no, tell me. I’m listening.”

She could see the cogs turning in his head, weighing his options, whether forcing her to rest would be worth the effort or pointless from the start. He sighed.

“I found another death related to the client’s house. I’m trying to see if the haunting is caused by what we found earlier or if it’s something else entirely.”

“That’s way too much work to do by yourself in one night.”

“Someone has to do it. You should rest, I’ll tell you what I found in the morning.”

She got up, but she knew fully well she wasn’t letting him work all night alone. She took all the papers she could gather in her arms, ignoring his hushed protests, and made herself comfortable in his bed. He looked at her incredulously. She tapped the spot next to her, a large smile lighting up her face.

He sounded defeated when he said “why are you like this?”

“You look out for me, I look out for you.”

It shut him up on the spot. She got under the covers and organized the documents in piles around her while he stared silently, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? If we’re here all night we might as well get comfortable.”

His eyes were so round she thought it must hurt him. “We?”

She tapped the spot next to her again.

“Come on. You can’t tell me to rest if you’re not doing it either.”

Reluctantly, he joined her, looking like he was intruding in the sheets of a total stranger. At first, he pushed the cover aside. It was as if he was allergic to comfort. He kept his distance and even hesitated to reach over to grab a newspaper. They read in silence, the only sound coming occasionally from the turning of pages. He seemed to quickly forget about his awkwardness though, as he leaned in whenever he found something. He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him. By the time he finished his mug, they were shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices in each other’s ear. Even in hushed tones, she could sense how enthusiastic he was about what he discovered one newspaper after the other. She could have listened to him talk for hours… if she wasn’t so exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, her head was drawing impossibly close to George’s shoulder. She was too comfortable to resist. When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She sunk into a deeper slumber, George’s even breathing rocking her to sleep, until the turning of pages disturbed her ears. He wasn’t going to sleep unless she made him. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers up his torso to find his neck, his chin, and finally his glasses. She took them off before turning her back on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Forcing you to get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Give me back my glasses.”

“Come get them yourself.”

She was certain he would concede defeat after this. What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

“You’re impossible. You’re stubborn, insufferable-”

“You used that one earlier already.”

He laughed. “You’re just proving my point.”

A light laugh escaped her too, only it made her bruises act up again. She flinched.

George let go of her hand, his fingers traveling lightly over her side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit.”

He sighed in her neck, making her shiver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out sooner what the source was. I could have saved you the injury.”

Something clicked in her mind, clearing all desire to sleep for a moment.

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?”

He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

“George, you’re not the reason why I couldn’t avoid running into a dresser.”

He laughed, but he avoided her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now please get some sleep.”

He looked back at her with intensity. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, almost black.

“On one condition.”

Before she could ask what he needed from her, he took it. His lips crashed against hers with a hunger she didn’t know he had. She was still in shock when he drew back, looking back at her hesitantly. He didn’t seem to know that she loved this unsuspected bold side of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back in. He seemed surprised at first, but his hands quickly ran up her back to draw her nearer. She could have expected to feel anything from kissing George. Awkwardness, shyness, a few days ago she would have completely rejected the idea. She certainly wouldn’t have expected it to feel so right. His hands seemed to fit the small of her back like puzzle pieces locking perfectly in place. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to wanting more. She needed him, all of him, impossibly closer. She circled his hips with her leg while her hands roamed down his back. He smiled into each kiss, leaving her lips every now and then to trail her cheeks and down her neck. She looked back at him with sparkling eyes.

“So, one condition?”

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Her smile grew bigger.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[neewtmas]

*cracks knuckles* okay let's do this

First of all you’re insane for using that first pic✋🏻😮‍💨

She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around.

They have the same fucked up eating schedule I have hallelujah

The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

The cosy vibes are off the charts ☕️☕️☕️

However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

He is just social anxiety in person omg

She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

Dude wtf is wrong with u😒

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

Good question lucy! I was asking the same thing

She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch.

Meddling lucy truly is the best Lucy🤩

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

🦋🦋🦋

Aww no poor baby🫂

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

He’s such a fucking nerd I love him

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room. Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

God now I am the idiot🤡

She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood.

Alksjdgjgsalaeh

She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

He can just go and yell at me whenever he wants🥰

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills.

HUH🫠🫠🫠

The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

Not the orange peeling ahhhh

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

🥹🥹🥹

She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes.

He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it

My guyyyyy

He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him

Not tricking him into falling asleep lmao

When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

AHHHHHHHHHH

What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

I am GAGGED✋🏻✋🏻✋🏻

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?” He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

SPEECHLESS; CLAWING AT THE WALL

The KISS

Alice you absolute legend

[ukulelevillainwrites]

LISA 🤭🤭😭😭😭

i will always admire your dedication to george fics forever and ever and eva

[neewtmas]

no but you don't understand! It's dedication to youuuuu

[ukulelevillainwrites]

i’m your biggest fan 😭

[ukulelevillainwrites]

we're not gonna be friends

one shot

Warnings: none

Content: not ennemies, more like annoyed at each other, to lovers, f!reader x George

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: George and y/n can't stand each other, but Lucy can see through their annoyance. Maybe she should help them out a little bit.

Comment: it took me an embarrassingly long time to write this but i'm so happy it's finally here! It was inspired by the song We're not gonna be friends by PJ Frantz which is attached to this

@neewtmas ; @maraschinomerry ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @lewkwoodnco ; @clarabowmp3 ; @demigoddess-of-ghosts

The kitchen was silent like it often was before breakfast. Or was it lunchtime already? Despite the number of clocks in the house, y/n couldn’t keep track of the day. Unlike Tendy’s where every agent had to keep a tight schedule, Lockwood&Co taught her to be more spontaneous with her day. She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around. The only thing she knew by heart was the quietness before a shared meal. The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

She tried to appreciate the peace before the storm but it was tainted with the heavy stillness of the room. With his back turned to her, George couldn’t see her disappointment at the lack of conversation between them. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to find any sort of anchor with him. She had tried her best to be friendly, helpful, grateful for everything he did around the house but nothing had worked. Even the best conversation starters she could find about the Problem would get shut down in two sentences or less. Once, she mentioned the conversation she had overheard between two of her ex-colleagues, theories on the best ways to stop the Problem. His eyes had lit up, eager to respond and keep the debate going. He had only taken part of the conversation to contradict whatever the agents had said, but she was glad of the progress she made. However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

She had grown frustrated of the situation. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Lockwood and Lucy, she would have given up entirely. But they kept insisting that they could be the best of friends and if she was honest with herself she felt insecure about wrecking the harmony between the three roommates. She already felt guilty enough for making Lucy share her room, no matter how much she insisted that she liked having her here. So, she attempted a new approach: instead of talking to him, she would try to help him out, be of service.

She waited patiently for him to finish whatever step he was on in his recipe to get the plates from behind him. When he rested the spoon he had in hand on the side of the pan, she stood up and went for the plates. He got there first and turned around carrying the four plates. Instead of handing them to her, he avoided her eyes and set them down himself, practically walking through her. She didn’t let his rudeness stop her from helping and opened the cupboard where sat the glasses. He was faster once more and slid his fingers inside the glasses to grab two with each hand. Refusing to back down, she took the forks and knives out and set one of each next to the plates. She went next for the napkins but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of metal hitting plates. She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

“Should I bring the napkins or do you have preferences for that too?” She tried to say on a light tone but her annoyance bled through.

“However you want is fine.”

“Apparently not…” she mumbled.

“They’re just napkins, y/n.”

“They were just forks.”

“That’s differ-“

She slammed the door behind her before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry anymore. The front door opened and she came face to face with Lockwood who was coming back from whatever errand he and Lucy had run in the morning.

“Hey,” he said as she passed by him. “Aren’t we about to eat?” he asked, but she was already climbing up the stairs.

He and Lucy exchanged a look before the girl decided to go after her. Even though y/n hadn’t said anything, Lucy was pretty sure George had to be involved. She couldn’t really blame her. She and George had had a difficult start too. But it hadn’t taken this long for the researcher to warm up to her. And y/n was much more polite than she had been. Something was off and he had some explaining to do. She would ask him about it after she made sure y/n was okay. She climbed the stairs up to the attic and found y/n angrily fluffing the pillows on her bed. She didn’t have to ask to know whose face she was picturing while violently adjusting the stuffing of a forest green throw pillow.

“So…” she started carefully, “how was your morning?”

“He is the most obnoxious and condescending jerk I’ve ever met.”

“What happened now?” she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant and helpful. I talk about subjects he is interested in, I help out on chores he does, I do everything to be nice and a good roommate and he still won’t talk to me for more than thirty seconds and he won’t under any circumstances let me help out.”

She threw the innocent pillow on her bed to punctuate her annoyance.

Lucy felt torn by the situation. On the one hand she felt bad for her. Getting used to living with George hadn’t been easy for her either, but compared to how he was treating y/n, she had had it easy. He had been irritable lately and he snapped at the slightest inconvenience. On the other hand, she might have an idea of what was really going on.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

“And deal with him? No thanks.”

She resolutely sat on her bed, crossing her arms to mark her words.

“I’ll bring up a plate for you.” Lucy said as she made her way back down the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Where should I start?” The skull countered in that invasive way he had of barging in on her conversations.

She ignored him and tapped George on the shoulder, making him look away from his cooking.

“Please, Lucy, we’re about to eat.”

“Yeah, well y/n’s not coming down because of you.”

“She’s not?” Lockwood chimed in.

“Our dear friend George annoyed her away.”

Lockwood smiled somewhat fondly. This was classic George.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said flatly.

“You didn’t let her help, you keep leaving her out!”

George took a deep breath before affirming decidedly

“I don’t like the way she sets the forks and knives.”

She and Lockwood exchanged a look. He couldn’t be serious.

“George, please,” Lockwood started, sensing Lucy’s annoyance.

“She doesn’t check if they match and she sets them haphazardly because she can’t be bothered to place them on each side of the plate, it drives me nuts!”

She looked across the table to see Lockwood smiling at her, silently acknowledging his friend’s quirks.

“George,” he started, “I can’t have two team members unable to work together over forks and knives. I’m gonna need you to make an effort, try and be friends.” He punctuated his words with one of his charming smiles.

George stood up and grabbed his plate.

“I can’t be friends with her.” He declared before going in his room.

Lockwood sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Lucy told him.

“How can I not? They’re this close to being at each other’s throat.”

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

“Maybe we could make them collaborate more…” She told Lockwood with a grin.

They shared a complicit look.

George was halfway through an article when Lockwood called him down. He wondered what could be more important than being prepared for a case but with Lockwood it could be anything. Without looking up from the newspaper he was reading he went downstairs, only to be greeted with Lucy’s insistent stare. She had that look on her face. It instantly filled him with dread. Whatever they did, it obviously meant more work for him.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Lucy answered too quickly. “We just…”

He left the article on the nearest table to cross his arms. He looked back at Lockwood.

“We knocked over a few boxes while training.”

“So? Just clean it up.”

“They’re yours. It’s your records and research on the Problem…”

George stormed downstairs. Dealing with Lockwood’s recklessness in the field was already a lot, but carelessness in the house they all lived in, that’s where he drew the line.

“I’m sorry George,” Lockwood chased after him, “I want to help but I don’t know your system.”

“You’d mess it up anyway. It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.

“At least let me get you some help,” Lucy said, already halfway back into the hall.

Before he could protest, she called “y/n! We need your help!”

The girl arrived shortly after, visibly unhappy about the situation.

“We have errands to run, but have fun you two!” Lucy said cheerfully, quickly exiting through the front door before anyone of them could protest.

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

“What do you need help with?” y/n asked flatly.

Without sparing her another glance he rushed back downstairs to evaluate how much damage had been done. He didn’t want to try and explain his system. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. He was aware of his quirks and weird habits, and he was aware that it didn’t make sense to most people. Lockwood had made that clear. And even though Lucy made efforts, his filing system was where she drew the line. He didn’t want to hear the same thing from y/n.

Papers were scattered across the office floor. The filing box labelled ‘Problem’ was upside down, balanced between two chairs and on the verge of joining its content below it. The tabs he had placed inside to keep everything organized hadn’t survived the attack. This would take hours.

“So, you’re not even going to talk to me now?” y/n’s voice resonated from the kitchen.

His heart started to beat faster. With wild eyes, he started to pick up the papers mechanically while his mind reeled. What was he supposed to say? Her footsteps resonated louder as she stepped further down into the basement. The air grew thicker with tension as she did so. He wished he would break through the window and run away from this awkward situation.

“George?” she started, crossing her arms as she reached the last step.

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes towards her, silently cursing himself for screwing up their relationship this badly. He blinked, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Fine.” she let out, slightly louder.

The look on her face made him ache. She looked terrifying when she was angry. He froze halfway through collecting the papers at his feet. She frowned at him, probably wondering what was wrong with him. She bent down and picked the papers up for him, organizing them in neat piles on the one desk that Lockwood and Lucy had spared.

“You know,” she started, “you’re probably the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

He still stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by the coldness of her voice. He stared blankly as she angrily collected the papers and forcefully sorted them, creasing some of them in the process.

“I tried to help around the house, but you never let me. I clean, you clean again after me. I initiate conversation and you find any excuse to leave the room.”

She looked down at the last papers she picked up. They were newspaper cuttings about the most relevant outbreaks of the Problem. She smiled as she read the titles and it sent a chill down his spine. Whatever was coming next was not going to be good.

“I spent hours reading all I could find about the origin of the Problem. Lucy said that was how she got you to open up. I thought we could finally have something to talk about. Instead, you walked out after two minutes.”

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation.

“Am I really that hard to live with?” she asked. There was a crack in her voice.

He couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. But no matter how much he wanted to find the right thing to say, he came up short.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

She looked up, surprised.

“What was that?” she said, eager to make him apologize again.

“You heard me…” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t think I did,” she smiled. “George Karim apologizing? That’s more unlikely than seeing a ghost hula hooping.”

He smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the air feel warmer in the basement. The first crumb of complicity gave him enough courage to try to make up for his rudeness. He added the papers in his hand to the pile on the desk in front of him before continuing.

“I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome.” He looked down, ashamed to admit he had badly misread the situation. “I’m just used to Lucy pushing back and when you didn’t, I thought… that maybe you were faking it? That you were talking about the Problem just to make fun, and you helped out just to annoy me and slow me down-”

“Oh, being nice is annoying now?”

“I don’t know! I’m a jerk, I see that now.”

“At least we can agree on that.”

He looked back up expecting to see her frowning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You’re finally honest with me. I take that as a victory,” she said decidedly as she reached for the upturned cardboard box.

“So I’m guessing you have a system to organize your files?”

The question caught him off-guard. Was she really moving on from three months of feud that easily? It felt like a trick. She stared at him expectantly.

“Just… chronological.” He said cautiously.

“I don’t think you’d use that many tabs if it was just chronological. You must have subcategories, right? Like at least geographical and then maybe by source…”

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

“I always start with the chronological order and then I file everything according to geography. For each year, I like to organize the records by city then order them by region and finally-”

“Alphabetically?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I take the region most located South then move back up East, then North and finish West.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier to visualize on a map.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

When she and Lockwood came back from their errand, which really consisted of going to the coffeeshop closest to the house to let George and y/n have it out, Lucy was shocked to discover that her plan had actually worked. Well, not that shocked. She knew there was something there. They just needed a little push.

They had to climb down the stairs to the basement to finally find them because none of them answered their calls from the hallway. They were deep in conversation about the Problem. The files and boxes had been entirely cleaned up, everything was back on the shelves and… Wait, did George just laugh at something y/n said? How long had they been gone?

Lockwood had a confused look on her face, matching hers. It didn’t leave him the entire way to the client’s house that evening. There was no more tense silence, awkward avoidance or strange atmosphere in the group. The change was radical. Had she known it would have been this effective, she would have locked them up in the basement three months ago. She had been worried they would have ripped each other’s eyes out in such close quarters. In this moment though, they stared intently at each other more than they looked murderous. She smiled to herself, only making Lockwood more confused. She threw him a look. They are so gone for each other. He looked at her sideways, seemingly in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows. I swear! You’ll see. He seemed unconvinced, but she knew. “I can’t be friends with her” George had said. Yes, quite literally, she thought.

The cab came to a halt in front of their workplace for the night. 11 Hall Road. Lucy would have loved to have an exciting new case that she could add to her journal, but the truth was that most cases were plain. An old person dies, the inheritors need to clear the house before living there or selling it. Those who had become apathetical to the Problem said it was just another expense to plan alongside the funeral. She wasn’t in the mood for apathetical. Not when she had two idiotic friends practically holding hands after being at each other’s throat for the past three months. It comforted her to see them remain focused on their tasks without breaking conversation, and she almost didn’t want to tell them to stop to allow her to use her talent. A job was still a job though.

When silence hit them, so did the cold realization of all the sorrow surrounding them. Wailing filled Lucy’s ears and soon the faint outline of the phantasm haunting the place appeared in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t perceive it very well, but its screams made it hard for her to think. Lockwood stepped in front of her, rapier drawn and ready for a fight, while George tried to yell over the disembodied screams what the source could be. y/n was running through the house following his directions but to no avail. His last idea was a miniature car in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Found it!” y/n called from upstairs.

But Lucy was the one with the silver nets. She drew her own rapier, aiming for the stairs. The phantasm was faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the figure floating upstairs, so fast she doubted her mind for a second. y/n’s scream confirmed she hadn’t been dreaming. Lucy saw the girl running past her in the opposite direction, only stopped by the chest of drawers stationed on the landing. She hit her side with a definite thump, bringing her down and leaving her paralyzed on the floor of the corridor. Lucy hurried up the stairs and came to stand between y/n and the ghost, drawing intricate patterns she had practiced with Lockwood. When she heard the boys climbing the stairs, she used her other hand to take the silver nets out of her pocket. They got caught in her belt and the second she looked away was enough for the visitor to float closer to y/n, still lying a few feet behind her. Using her remaining strength, y/n threw a salt bomb, winning enough time for Lockwood to join Lucy’s side, covering George while he took care of the source.

None of them really spoke on their way back, still shaken from the close call they avoided. Y/n didn’t suffer major injuries, just a few bad bruises, which was a relief. It was enough for Lockwood to tell her to stay home for the next few days. She hadn’t protested, probably because she was exhausted from the night and the drive had rocked her to sleep. When they arrived in front of Portland Row, George didn’t let Lucy wake her up. Instead he carried her inside and despite the night they’d had, she smiled.

The rays of light shining on her face hurt her closed eyes, but not as much as the bruises in her side that decided to wake up as soon as she emerged from her heavy sleep. She was sore, thirsty and only managed to groan when trying to move in what was definitely not her bed. She reached over, eyes still closed, and encountered something cold. Her reflexes kicked in, knocking the glass over and effectively pouring its content on her. She jerked up and immediately screamed at the pain stabbing her side.

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room.

Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

“No, no, no, slow down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you do that.”

He gently nudged her back down, elevating her head with a pillow and removing the blanket to toss it on the floor. She shivered.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as he casually laid something else on her.

“Terrible,” she simply said as she managed to open an eye.

“Do you remember last night?” he continued while helping her sit.

“Yes… I think.” She looked around with half-opened eyes. “Why am I in your room?”

“Lockwood almost passed out after the first flight of stairs.”

She opened her second eye and stared at him dubitatively.

“Fine I wasn’t doing great either.”

She laughed lightly but it only triggered her injury again.

“Here, drink this,” he handed her a cup of tea, “and today you’re on bed rest. No work, no chores, nothing. Not even laughing.”

“I should keep you around then,” she said, before taking a sip.

He threw her a look, but even with eyes half open she could see the shadow of a smile on his face.

He went back downstairs, leaving her to savor her tea, its warmth welcome after having been awakened in such a brutal way. She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood. She hadn’t realized how soft it was, having only touched it with her eyes. The night after the case was a blur, but she could have sworn that only one person had carried her upstairs. She smiled to herself as she looked around his room. Papers were left scattered on his desk, some fallen on the floor. Trinkets were gathered on every shelf that wasn’t already full of books. It was messy, disorganized, but comforting in its own way. She wondered how someone who kept such meticulous files on the Problem could live in a room like this. If she tried to make sense of it, she would probably spend the day here, and she simply refused that. Staying still was out of the question. She carefully sat back up before she tried to get onto her feet. The whole ordeal took about ten minutes. This might not be the brightest idea, she thought to herself, but she was finally making progress with George, they had a semblance of connection and she certainly wouldn’t let one wound stand in the way of her friendship with him.

One painful shower and a whole hour later, y/n made her way downstairs and joined George in the kitchen. She hadn’t even made it through the door that she could already hear him telling her off for getting out of bed. He chastised her about the dangers of disregarding health and how irresponsible it was of her to push her body to its limit. She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

“Why did you come down anyway?”

“I was hungry,” she said while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You could’ve just told me I would have brought something for you.”

“Actually, since I’m on house arrest and you’re finally speaking to me, why don’t you let me help you out today? You know like cleaning, cooking… everything you do all the time for everyone and never let me help with?”

“No. You’re injured. You shouldn’t move that much.”

“How about research then? That’s just reading.”

“No,” he said decisively, punctuating his rejection with a pointed look.

“Stubborn idiot.”

“Well, I am not the idiot who tripped and almost shattered my hip on a dresser.”

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re just jealous because even injured I have better aim than you.” She blurted out, hoping the redness of her face wasn’t obvious.

When he didn’t respond, an idea popped into her head.

“And you probably don’t want me to help because you’re scared I’ll be better at research than you are too.”

He smiled, set the orange down on the table and turned back to the dishes he had started before she got there.

“You really think I’d fall for that? Who do you think I am? Lockwood?”

She took back the fruit and slumped into her chair.

“Can you at least let me help? I can’t stay still for so long, I’ll go mad”

She fidgeted with the orange in her hands, planting her short nails into its skin the best she could. She only managed to pull off small pieces each time.

“You’ll slow me down, and I can’t allow myself to miss a single element. I don’t want last night to happen again.”

She looked up to find him already staring.

“I managed to keep up with your files on the Problem, why would that be any different?”

He didn’t have anything to say back. She smiled triumphantly.

“You have no more arguments, I win the argument! Where should I start?”

He sighed, dried the glass he was holding and sat next to her.

“By learning how to peel an orange properly.” He retorted, snatching the fruit from her hand.

Methodically, he sunk his finger under the peel, tearing it confidently. The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

“I can do that myself you know.”

“Can you?”

“Jerk.” She laughed. Being friends with him wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be, but she had to admit that she liked it.

He got up and snatched a piece from her hand.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“Compensation for my efforts.” He smirked.

He disappeared into the living room and came back with piles of materials in his arms. He did a second trip to bring books and case files, then a third to get notebooks from his room. When he got back into the kitchen, he sat next to her and wrote the name of the client on the thinking cloth. He pushed back his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s get to work.”

George knew that y/n was too stubborn to rest despite her injury, and she was too clever to be tricked into it. To be fair, he hadn’t tried that hard. He really was glad of the company. He gave her some context for their upcoming case and described his usual research methods. He realized he might have been explaining things too fast when he noticed her staring at him with round eyes.

“I lost you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of…” she answered, embarrassed. “Am I wasting your time?”

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

He was right, though. Not only was he greatly enjoying himself, she was also a quick learner. By the second hour spent gathering material, they had already uncovered crucial elements about the history of the place and they had started narrowing in on the type of object that could be a potential source. They made a good team.

The day had gone by without any of them leaving the kitchen. They were enthralled in their work with a comfortable silence between them. They sat side by side, sharing documents and exchanging notes on the Thinking Cloth with an appeasing familiarity. Deep down, George felt guilty that they missed out on moments like these in the past because he was too focused on keeping his new colleague at arm’s length. Their knees bumped every once in a while, each moment making his heart skip a beat. Out of surprise, that is, not that he paid it any mind.

In just a day he had learned to read her smile. The soft polite one was how she asked if he wanted more tea. The shy one meant she needed his help but didn’t want to ask. His favorite one was her triumphant smile when she finally figured out what the source must be. He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it.

“It’s late, I should probably get some sleep,” she quickly said when their eyes met.

“Yeah,” he let go of her hand, “good idea.”

She used his shoulder to stand up and flinched. He didn’t know if it was from the contact or the effort.

“Good night,” he said gently, trying to shake off some of the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he mumbled as he watched her close the door behind her.

He found it ironic that she was giving him advice when she had been blatantly ignoring everything he said about her health all day long. He returned to the newspaper he was reading, every word on the page escaping his attention. What smile had she used when she left the room? He took a pen to keep his eyes from skipping five words at a time. She had touched his shoulder on purpose earlier, hadn’t she? This was useless. He gathered up the rest of the papers he hadn’t read yet and headed back to his room, conceding defeat to the butterflies settling in his stomach.

y/n woke up around 2 am, her aching body forcing her awake demanding a glass of water. Everything was dark around her, but she could hear Lucy’s steady breathing on the opposite side of the room. She did her best to get to her feet silently, ignoring the pain still twisting her side. The steps creaked lightly underneath her bare feet, the sound resonating loudly in the silent house. She reached the first landing discreetly with the hope that she wouldn’t wake anyone up. Instead, she was surprised to see a ray of light coming from under George’s door. It was ajar, so she pushed it lightly to see him hunched over his desk, still reading the newspapers she had left on the table a few hours earlier.

“You’re really stubborn you know?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear her behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted.

She knew there was no point in arguing, especially at this hour.

“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be fine, thanks.” He turned around. His hair was visibly disheveled. Even though he didn’t put that much effort into it at regular hours, it was obvious that he was tired.

When she came back a few moments later, he was still absorbed by whatever article he was reading. He hardly paid attention when she set the steaming cup next to him. She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes. The contact of his hand on the bare skin of her arm almost made her spill her water.

“Take a look,” he simply said. He pointed at an annotation he had written in the margin of a newspaper article he was reading.

She sat on the stool next to him to inspect his findings. His scribbling was already hard to read in the daylight, but in the dead hours of the night it was almost impossible. He saw her squint and read aloud. The words evaded her. She blamed the lack of sleep and not the fact that his hand was still resting on her arm, gently swaying back and forth. She stared at it, its slow movements calming her down. It made her feel peaceful, appeased. She wondered however why her heart was beating faster if she was feeling so calm.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and was caught off guard by the gentleness in his eyes.

“You should go back to bed.”

“No, no, tell me. I’m listening.”

She could see the cogs turning in his head, weighing his options, whether forcing her to rest would be worth the effort or pointless from the start. He sighed.

“I found another death related to the client’s house. I’m trying to see if the haunting is caused by what we found earlier or if it’s something else entirely.”

“That’s way too much work to do by yourself in one night.”

“Someone has to do it. You should rest, I’ll tell you what I found in the morning.”

She got up, but she knew fully well she wasn’t letting him work all night alone. She took all the papers she could gather in her arms, ignoring his hushed protests, and made herself comfortable in his bed. He looked at her incredulously. She tapped the spot next to her, a large smile lighting up her face.

He sounded defeated when he said “why are you like this?”

“You look out for me, I look out for you.”

It shut him up on the spot. She got under the covers and organized the documents in piles around her while he stared silently, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? If we’re here all night we might as well get comfortable.”

His eyes were so round she thought it must hurt him. “We?”

She tapped the spot next to her again.

“Come on. You can’t tell me to rest if you’re not doing it either.”

Reluctantly, he joined her, looking like he was intruding in the sheets of a total stranger. At first, he pushed the cover aside. It was as if he was allergic to comfort. He kept his distance and even hesitated to reach over to grab a newspaper. They read in silence, the only sound coming occasionally from the turning of pages. He seemed to quickly forget about his awkwardness though, as he leaned in whenever he found something. He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him. By the time he finished his mug, they were shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices in each other’s ear. Even in hushed tones, she could sense how enthusiastic he was about what he discovered one newspaper after the other. She could have listened to him talk for hours… if she wasn’t so exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, her head was drawing impossibly close to George’s shoulder. She was too comfortable to resist. When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She sunk into a deeper slumber, George’s even breathing rocking her to sleep, until the turning of pages disturbed her ears. He wasn’t going to sleep unless she made him. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers up his torso to find his neck, his chin, and finally his glasses. She took them off before turning her back on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Forcing you to get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Give me back my glasses.”

“Come get them yourself.”

She was certain he would concede defeat after this. What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

“You’re impossible. You’re stubborn, insufferable-”

“You used that one earlier already.”

He laughed. “You’re just proving my point.”

A light laugh escaped her too, only it made her bruises act up again. She flinched.

George let go of her hand, his fingers traveling lightly over her side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit.”

He sighed in her neck, making her shiver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out sooner what the source was. I could have saved you the injury.”

Something clicked in her mind, clearing all desire to sleep for a moment.

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?”

He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

“George, you’re not the reason why I couldn’t avoid running into a dresser.”

He laughed, but he avoided her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now please get some sleep.”

He looked back at her with intensity. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, almost black.

“On one condition.”

Before she could ask what he needed from her, he took it. His lips crashed against hers with a hunger she didn’t know he had. She was still in shock when he drew back, looking back at her hesitantly. He didn’t seem to know that she loved this unsuspected bold side of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back in. He seemed surprised at first, but his hands quickly ran up her back to draw her nearer. She could have expected to feel anything from kissing George. Awkwardness, shyness, a few days ago she would have completely rejected the idea. She certainly wouldn’t have expected it to feel so right. His hands seemed to fit the small of her back like puzzle pieces locking perfectly in place. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to wanting more. She needed him, all of him, impossibly closer. She circled his hips with her leg while her hands roamed down his back. He smiled into each kiss, leaving her lips every now and then to trail her cheeks and down her neck. She looked back at him with sparkling eyes.

“So, one condition?”

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Her smile grew bigger.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[elizabethbenettt]

I missed reading masterpieces of #georgekarim

[ukulelevillainwrites]

🤭🤭🤭 thank you!!

[ukulelevillainwrites]

we're not gonna be friends

one shot

Warnings: none

Content: not ennemies, more like annoyed at each other, to lovers, f!reader x George

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: George and y/n can't stand each other, but Lucy can see through their annoyance. Maybe she should help them out a little bit.

Comment: it took me an embarrassingly long time to write this but i'm so happy it's finally here! It was inspired by the song We're not gonna be friends by PJ Frantz which is attached to this

@neewtmas ; @maraschinomerry ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @lewkwoodnco ; @clarabowmp3 ; @demigoddess-of-ghosts

The kitchen was silent like it often was before breakfast. Or was it lunchtime already? Despite the number of clocks in the house, y/n couldn’t keep track of the day. Unlike Tendy’s where every agent had to keep a tight schedule, Lockwood&Co taught her to be more spontaneous with her day. She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around. The only thing she knew by heart was the quietness before a shared meal. The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

She tried to appreciate the peace before the storm but it was tainted with the heavy stillness of the room. With his back turned to her, George couldn’t see her disappointment at the lack of conversation between them. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to find any sort of anchor with him. She had tried her best to be friendly, helpful, grateful for everything he did around the house but nothing had worked. Even the best conversation starters she could find about the Problem would get shut down in two sentences or less. Once, she mentioned the conversation she had overheard between two of her ex-colleagues, theories on the best ways to stop the Problem. His eyes had lit up, eager to respond and keep the debate going. He had only taken part of the conversation to contradict whatever the agents had said, but she was glad of the progress she made. However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

She had grown frustrated of the situation. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Lockwood and Lucy, she would have given up entirely. But they kept insisting that they could be the best of friends and if she was honest with herself she felt insecure about wrecking the harmony between the three roommates. She already felt guilty enough for making Lucy share her room, no matter how much she insisted that she liked having her here. So, she attempted a new approach: instead of talking to him, she would try to help him out, be of service.

She waited patiently for him to finish whatever step he was on in his recipe to get the plates from behind him. When he rested the spoon he had in hand on the side of the pan, she stood up and went for the plates. He got there first and turned around carrying the four plates. Instead of handing them to her, he avoided her eyes and set them down himself, practically walking through her. She didn’t let his rudeness stop her from helping and opened the cupboard where sat the glasses. He was faster once more and slid his fingers inside the glasses to grab two with each hand. Refusing to back down, she took the forks and knives out and set one of each next to the plates. She went next for the napkins but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of metal hitting plates. She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

“Should I bring the napkins or do you have preferences for that too?” She tried to say on a light tone but her annoyance bled through.

“However you want is fine.”

“Apparently not…” she mumbled.

“They’re just napkins, y/n.”

“They were just forks.”

“That’s differ-“

She slammed the door behind her before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry anymore. The front door opened and she came face to face with Lockwood who was coming back from whatever errand he and Lucy had run in the morning.

“Hey,” he said as she passed by him. “Aren’t we about to eat?” he asked, but she was already climbing up the stairs.

He and Lucy exchanged a look before the girl decided to go after her. Even though y/n hadn’t said anything, Lucy was pretty sure George had to be involved. She couldn’t really blame her. She and George had had a difficult start too. But it hadn’t taken this long for the researcher to warm up to her. And y/n was much more polite than she had been. Something was off and he had some explaining to do. She would ask him about it after she made sure y/n was okay. She climbed the stairs up to the attic and found y/n angrily fluffing the pillows on her bed. She didn’t have to ask to know whose face she was picturing while violently adjusting the stuffing of a forest green throw pillow.

“So…” she started carefully, “how was your morning?”

“He is the most obnoxious and condescending jerk I’ve ever met.”

“What happened now?” she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant and helpful. I talk about subjects he is interested in, I help out on chores he does, I do everything to be nice and a good roommate and he still won’t talk to me for more than thirty seconds and he won’t under any circumstances let me help out.”

She threw the innocent pillow on her bed to punctuate her annoyance.

Lucy felt torn by the situation. On the one hand she felt bad for her. Getting used to living with George hadn’t been easy for her either, but compared to how he was treating y/n, she had had it easy. He had been irritable lately and he snapped at the slightest inconvenience. On the other hand, she might have an idea of what was really going on.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

“And deal with him? No thanks.”

She resolutely sat on her bed, crossing her arms to mark her words.

“I’ll bring up a plate for you.” Lucy said as she made her way back down the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Where should I start?” The skull countered in that invasive way he had of barging in on her conversations.

She ignored him and tapped George on the shoulder, making him look away from his cooking.

“Please, Lucy, we’re about to eat.”

“Yeah, well y/n’s not coming down because of you.”

“She’s not?” Lockwood chimed in.

“Our dear friend George annoyed her away.”

Lockwood smiled somewhat fondly. This was classic George.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said flatly.

“You didn’t let her help, you keep leaving her out!”

George took a deep breath before affirming decidedly

“I don’t like the way she sets the forks and knives.”

She and Lockwood exchanged a look. He couldn’t be serious.

“George, please,” Lockwood started, sensing Lucy’s annoyance.

“She doesn’t check if they match and she sets them haphazardly because she can’t be bothered to place them on each side of the plate, it drives me nuts!”

She looked across the table to see Lockwood smiling at her, silently acknowledging his friend’s quirks.

“George,” he started, “I can’t have two team members unable to work together over forks and knives. I’m gonna need you to make an effort, try and be friends.” He punctuated his words with one of his charming smiles.

George stood up and grabbed his plate.

“I can’t be friends with her.” He declared before going in his room.

Lockwood sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Lucy told him.

“How can I not? They’re this close to being at each other’s throat.”

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

“Maybe we could make them collaborate more…” She told Lockwood with a grin.

They shared a complicit look.

George was halfway through an article when Lockwood called him down. He wondered what could be more important than being prepared for a case but with Lockwood it could be anything. Without looking up from the newspaper he was reading he went downstairs, only to be greeted with Lucy’s insistent stare. She had that look on her face. It instantly filled him with dread. Whatever they did, it obviously meant more work for him.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Lucy answered too quickly. “We just…”

He left the article on the nearest table to cross his arms. He looked back at Lockwood.

“We knocked over a few boxes while training.”

“So? Just clean it up.”

“They’re yours. It’s your records and research on the Problem…”

George stormed downstairs. Dealing with Lockwood’s recklessness in the field was already a lot, but carelessness in the house they all lived in, that’s where he drew the line.

“I’m sorry George,” Lockwood chased after him, “I want to help but I don’t know your system.”

“You’d mess it up anyway. It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.

“At least let me get you some help,” Lucy said, already halfway back into the hall.

Before he could protest, she called “y/n! We need your help!”

The girl arrived shortly after, visibly unhappy about the situation.

“We have errands to run, but have fun you two!” Lucy said cheerfully, quickly exiting through the front door before anyone of them could protest.

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

“What do you need help with?” y/n asked flatly.

Without sparing her another glance he rushed back downstairs to evaluate how much damage had been done. He didn’t want to try and explain his system. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. He was aware of his quirks and weird habits, and he was aware that it didn’t make sense to most people. Lockwood had made that clear. And even though Lucy made efforts, his filing system was where she drew the line. He didn’t want to hear the same thing from y/n.

Papers were scattered across the office floor. The filing box labelled ‘Problem’ was upside down, balanced between two chairs and on the verge of joining its content below it. The tabs he had placed inside to keep everything organized hadn’t survived the attack. This would take hours.

“So, you’re not even going to talk to me now?” y/n’s voice resonated from the kitchen.

His heart started to beat faster. With wild eyes, he started to pick up the papers mechanically while his mind reeled. What was he supposed to say? Her footsteps resonated louder as she stepped further down into the basement. The air grew thicker with tension as she did so. He wished he would break through the window and run away from this awkward situation.

“George?” she started, crossing her arms as she reached the last step.

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes towards her, silently cursing himself for screwing up their relationship this badly. He blinked, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Fine.” she let out, slightly louder.

The look on her face made him ache. She looked terrifying when she was angry. He froze halfway through collecting the papers at his feet. She frowned at him, probably wondering what was wrong with him. She bent down and picked the papers up for him, organizing them in neat piles on the one desk that Lockwood and Lucy had spared.

“You know,” she started, “you’re probably the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

He still stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by the coldness of her voice. He stared blankly as she angrily collected the papers and forcefully sorted them, creasing some of them in the process.

“I tried to help around the house, but you never let me. I clean, you clean again after me. I initiate conversation and you find any excuse to leave the room.”

She looked down at the last papers she picked up. They were newspaper cuttings about the most relevant outbreaks of the Problem. She smiled as she read the titles and it sent a chill down his spine. Whatever was coming next was not going to be good.

“I spent hours reading all I could find about the origin of the Problem. Lucy said that was how she got you to open up. I thought we could finally have something to talk about. Instead, you walked out after two minutes.”

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation.

“Am I really that hard to live with?” she asked. There was a crack in her voice.

He couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. But no matter how much he wanted to find the right thing to say, he came up short.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

She looked up, surprised.

“What was that?” she said, eager to make him apologize again.

“You heard me…” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t think I did,” she smiled. “George Karim apologizing? That’s more unlikely than seeing a ghost hula hooping.”

He smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the air feel warmer in the basement. The first crumb of complicity gave him enough courage to try to make up for his rudeness. He added the papers in his hand to the pile on the desk in front of him before continuing.

“I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome.” He looked down, ashamed to admit he had badly misread the situation. “I’m just used to Lucy pushing back and when you didn’t, I thought… that maybe you were faking it? That you were talking about the Problem just to make fun, and you helped out just to annoy me and slow me down-”

“Oh, being nice is annoying now?”

“I don’t know! I’m a jerk, I see that now.”

“At least we can agree on that.”

He looked back up expecting to see her frowning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You’re finally honest with me. I take that as a victory,” she said decidedly as she reached for the upturned cardboard box.

“So I’m guessing you have a system to organize your files?”

The question caught him off-guard. Was she really moving on from three months of feud that easily? It felt like a trick. She stared at him expectantly.

“Just… chronological.” He said cautiously.

“I don’t think you’d use that many tabs if it was just chronological. You must have subcategories, right? Like at least geographical and then maybe by source…”

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

“I always start with the chronological order and then I file everything according to geography. For each year, I like to organize the records by city then order them by region and finally-”

“Alphabetically?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I take the region most located South then move back up East, then North and finish West.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier to visualize on a map.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

When she and Lockwood came back from their errand, which really consisted of going to the coffeeshop closest to the house to let George and y/n have it out, Lucy was shocked to discover that her plan had actually worked. Well, not that shocked. She knew there was something there. They just needed a little push.

They had to climb down the stairs to the basement to finally find them because none of them answered their calls from the hallway. They were deep in conversation about the Problem. The files and boxes had been entirely cleaned up, everything was back on the shelves and… Wait, did George just laugh at something y/n said? How long had they been gone?

Lockwood had a confused look on her face, matching hers. It didn’t leave him the entire way to the client’s house that evening. There was no more tense silence, awkward avoidance or strange atmosphere in the group. The change was radical. Had she known it would have been this effective, she would have locked them up in the basement three months ago. She had been worried they would have ripped each other’s eyes out in such close quarters. In this moment though, they stared intently at each other more than they looked murderous. She smiled to herself, only making Lockwood more confused. She threw him a look. They are so gone for each other. He looked at her sideways, seemingly in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows. I swear! You’ll see. He seemed unconvinced, but she knew. “I can’t be friends with her” George had said. Yes, quite literally, she thought.

The cab came to a halt in front of their workplace for the night. 11 Hall Road. Lucy would have loved to have an exciting new case that she could add to her journal, but the truth was that most cases were plain. An old person dies, the inheritors need to clear the house before living there or selling it. Those who had become apathetical to the Problem said it was just another expense to plan alongside the funeral. She wasn’t in the mood for apathetical. Not when she had two idiotic friends practically holding hands after being at each other’s throat for the past three months. It comforted her to see them remain focused on their tasks without breaking conversation, and she almost didn’t want to tell them to stop to allow her to use her talent. A job was still a job though.

When silence hit them, so did the cold realization of all the sorrow surrounding them. Wailing filled Lucy’s ears and soon the faint outline of the phantasm haunting the place appeared in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t perceive it very well, but its screams made it hard for her to think. Lockwood stepped in front of her, rapier drawn and ready for a fight, while George tried to yell over the disembodied screams what the source could be. y/n was running through the house following his directions but to no avail. His last idea was a miniature car in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Found it!” y/n called from upstairs.

But Lucy was the one with the silver nets. She drew her own rapier, aiming for the stairs. The phantasm was faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the figure floating upstairs, so fast she doubted her mind for a second. y/n’s scream confirmed she hadn’t been dreaming. Lucy saw the girl running past her in the opposite direction, only stopped by the chest of drawers stationed on the landing. She hit her side with a definite thump, bringing her down and leaving her paralyzed on the floor of the corridor. Lucy hurried up the stairs and came to stand between y/n and the ghost, drawing intricate patterns she had practiced with Lockwood. When she heard the boys climbing the stairs, she used her other hand to take the silver nets out of her pocket. They got caught in her belt and the second she looked away was enough for the visitor to float closer to y/n, still lying a few feet behind her. Using her remaining strength, y/n threw a salt bomb, winning enough time for Lockwood to join Lucy’s side, covering George while he took care of the source.

None of them really spoke on their way back, still shaken from the close call they avoided. Y/n didn’t suffer major injuries, just a few bad bruises, which was a relief. It was enough for Lockwood to tell her to stay home for the next few days. She hadn’t protested, probably because she was exhausted from the night and the drive had rocked her to sleep. When they arrived in front of Portland Row, George didn’t let Lucy wake her up. Instead he carried her inside and despite the night they’d had, she smiled.

The rays of light shining on her face hurt her closed eyes, but not as much as the bruises in her side that decided to wake up as soon as she emerged from her heavy sleep. She was sore, thirsty and only managed to groan when trying to move in what was definitely not her bed. She reached over, eyes still closed, and encountered something cold. Her reflexes kicked in, knocking the glass over and effectively pouring its content on her. She jerked up and immediately screamed at the pain stabbing her side.

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room.

Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

“No, no, no, slow down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you do that.”

He gently nudged her back down, elevating her head with a pillow and removing the blanket to toss it on the floor. She shivered.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as he casually laid something else on her.

“Terrible,” she simply said as she managed to open an eye.

“Do you remember last night?” he continued while helping her sit.

“Yes… I think.” She looked around with half-opened eyes. “Why am I in your room?”

“Lockwood almost passed out after the first flight of stairs.”

She opened her second eye and stared at him dubitatively.

“Fine I wasn’t doing great either.”

She laughed lightly but it only triggered her injury again.

“Here, drink this,” he handed her a cup of tea, “and today you’re on bed rest. No work, no chores, nothing. Not even laughing.”

“I should keep you around then,” she said, before taking a sip.

He threw her a look, but even with eyes half open she could see the shadow of a smile on his face.

He went back downstairs, leaving her to savor her tea, its warmth welcome after having been awakened in such a brutal way. She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood. She hadn’t realized how soft it was, having only touched it with her eyes. The night after the case was a blur, but she could have sworn that only one person had carried her upstairs. She smiled to herself as she looked around his room. Papers were left scattered on his desk, some fallen on the floor. Trinkets were gathered on every shelf that wasn’t already full of books. It was messy, disorganized, but comforting in its own way. She wondered how someone who kept such meticulous files on the Problem could live in a room like this. If she tried to make sense of it, she would probably spend the day here, and she simply refused that. Staying still was out of the question. She carefully sat back up before she tried to get onto her feet. The whole ordeal took about ten minutes. This might not be the brightest idea, she thought to herself, but she was finally making progress with George, they had a semblance of connection and she certainly wouldn’t let one wound stand in the way of her friendship with him.

One painful shower and a whole hour later, y/n made her way downstairs and joined George in the kitchen. She hadn’t even made it through the door that she could already hear him telling her off for getting out of bed. He chastised her about the dangers of disregarding health and how irresponsible it was of her to push her body to its limit. She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

“Why did you come down anyway?”

“I was hungry,” she said while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You could’ve just told me I would have brought something for you.”

“Actually, since I’m on house arrest and you’re finally speaking to me, why don’t you let me help you out today? You know like cleaning, cooking… everything you do all the time for everyone and never let me help with?”

“No. You’re injured. You shouldn’t move that much.”

“How about research then? That’s just reading.”

“No,” he said decisively, punctuating his rejection with a pointed look.

“Stubborn idiot.”

“Well, I am not the idiot who tripped and almost shattered my hip on a dresser.”

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re just jealous because even injured I have better aim than you.” She blurted out, hoping the redness of her face wasn’t obvious.

When he didn’t respond, an idea popped into her head.

“And you probably don’t want me to help because you’re scared I’ll be better at research than you are too.”

He smiled, set the orange down on the table and turned back to the dishes he had started before she got there.

“You really think I’d fall for that? Who do you think I am? Lockwood?”

She took back the fruit and slumped into her chair.

“Can you at least let me help? I can’t stay still for so long, I’ll go mad”

She fidgeted with the orange in her hands, planting her short nails into its skin the best she could. She only managed to pull off small pieces each time.

“You’ll slow me down, and I can’t allow myself to miss a single element. I don’t want last night to happen again.”

She looked up to find him already staring.

“I managed to keep up with your files on the Problem, why would that be any different?”

He didn’t have anything to say back. She smiled triumphantly.

“You have no more arguments, I win the argument! Where should I start?”

He sighed, dried the glass he was holding and sat next to her.

“By learning how to peel an orange properly.” He retorted, snatching the fruit from her hand.

Methodically, he sunk his finger under the peel, tearing it confidently. The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

“I can do that myself you know.”

“Can you?”

“Jerk.” She laughed. Being friends with him wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be, but she had to admit that she liked it.

He got up and snatched a piece from her hand.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“Compensation for my efforts.” He smirked.

He disappeared into the living room and came back with piles of materials in his arms. He did a second trip to bring books and case files, then a third to get notebooks from his room. When he got back into the kitchen, he sat next to her and wrote the name of the client on the thinking cloth. He pushed back his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s get to work.”

George knew that y/n was too stubborn to rest despite her injury, and she was too clever to be tricked into it. To be fair, he hadn’t tried that hard. He really was glad of the company. He gave her some context for their upcoming case and described his usual research methods. He realized he might have been explaining things too fast when he noticed her staring at him with round eyes.

“I lost you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of…” she answered, embarrassed. “Am I wasting your time?”

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

He was right, though. Not only was he greatly enjoying himself, she was also a quick learner. By the second hour spent gathering material, they had already uncovered crucial elements about the history of the place and they had started narrowing in on the type of object that could be a potential source. They made a good team.

The day had gone by without any of them leaving the kitchen. They were enthralled in their work with a comfortable silence between them. They sat side by side, sharing documents and exchanging notes on the Thinking Cloth with an appeasing familiarity. Deep down, George felt guilty that they missed out on moments like these in the past because he was too focused on keeping his new colleague at arm’s length. Their knees bumped every once in a while, each moment making his heart skip a beat. Out of surprise, that is, not that he paid it any mind.

In just a day he had learned to read her smile. The soft polite one was how she asked if he wanted more tea. The shy one meant she needed his help but didn’t want to ask. His favorite one was her triumphant smile when she finally figured out what the source must be. He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it.

“It’s late, I should probably get some sleep,” she quickly said when their eyes met.

“Yeah,” he let go of her hand, “good idea.”

She used his shoulder to stand up and flinched. He didn’t know if it was from the contact or the effort.

“Good night,” he said gently, trying to shake off some of the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he mumbled as he watched her close the door behind her.

He found it ironic that she was giving him advice when she had been blatantly ignoring everything he said about her health all day long. He returned to the newspaper he was reading, every word on the page escaping his attention. What smile had she used when she left the room? He took a pen to keep his eyes from skipping five words at a time. She had touched his shoulder on purpose earlier, hadn’t she? This was useless. He gathered up the rest of the papers he hadn’t read yet and headed back to his room, conceding defeat to the butterflies settling in his stomach.

y/n woke up around 2 am, her aching body forcing her awake demanding a glass of water. Everything was dark around her, but she could hear Lucy’s steady breathing on the opposite side of the room. She did her best to get to her feet silently, ignoring the pain still twisting her side. The steps creaked lightly underneath her bare feet, the sound resonating loudly in the silent house. She reached the first landing discreetly with the hope that she wouldn’t wake anyone up. Instead, she was surprised to see a ray of light coming from under George’s door. It was ajar, so she pushed it lightly to see him hunched over his desk, still reading the newspapers she had left on the table a few hours earlier.

“You’re really stubborn you know?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear her behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted.

She knew there was no point in arguing, especially at this hour.

“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be fine, thanks.” He turned around. His hair was visibly disheveled. Even though he didn’t put that much effort into it at regular hours, it was obvious that he was tired.

When she came back a few moments later, he was still absorbed by whatever article he was reading. He hardly paid attention when she set the steaming cup next to him. She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes. The contact of his hand on the bare skin of her arm almost made her spill her water.

“Take a look,” he simply said. He pointed at an annotation he had written in the margin of a newspaper article he was reading.

She sat on the stool next to him to inspect his findings. His scribbling was already hard to read in the daylight, but in the dead hours of the night it was almost impossible. He saw her squint and read aloud. The words evaded her. She blamed the lack of sleep and not the fact that his hand was still resting on her arm, gently swaying back and forth. She stared at it, its slow movements calming her down. It made her feel peaceful, appeased. She wondered however why her heart was beating faster if she was feeling so calm.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and was caught off guard by the gentleness in his eyes.

“You should go back to bed.”

“No, no, tell me. I’m listening.”

She could see the cogs turning in his head, weighing his options, whether forcing her to rest would be worth the effort or pointless from the start. He sighed.

“I found another death related to the client’s house. I’m trying to see if the haunting is caused by what we found earlier or if it’s something else entirely.”

“That’s way too much work to do by yourself in one night.”

“Someone has to do it. You should rest, I’ll tell you what I found in the morning.”

She got up, but she knew fully well she wasn’t letting him work all night alone. She took all the papers she could gather in her arms, ignoring his hushed protests, and made herself comfortable in his bed. He looked at her incredulously. She tapped the spot next to her, a large smile lighting up her face.

He sounded defeated when he said “why are you like this?”

“You look out for me, I look out for you.”

It shut him up on the spot. She got under the covers and organized the documents in piles around her while he stared silently, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? If we’re here all night we might as well get comfortable.”

His eyes were so round she thought it must hurt him. “We?”

She tapped the spot next to her again.

“Come on. You can’t tell me to rest if you’re not doing it either.”

Reluctantly, he joined her, looking like he was intruding in the sheets of a total stranger. At first, he pushed the cover aside. It was as if he was allergic to comfort. He kept his distance and even hesitated to reach over to grab a newspaper. They read in silence, the only sound coming occasionally from the turning of pages. He seemed to quickly forget about his awkwardness though, as he leaned in whenever he found something. He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him. By the time he finished his mug, they were shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices in each other’s ear. Even in hushed tones, she could sense how enthusiastic he was about what he discovered one newspaper after the other. She could have listened to him talk for hours… if she wasn’t so exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, her head was drawing impossibly close to George’s shoulder. She was too comfortable to resist. When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She sunk into a deeper slumber, George’s even breathing rocking her to sleep, until the turning of pages disturbed her ears. He wasn’t going to sleep unless she made him. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers up his torso to find his neck, his chin, and finally his glasses. She took them off before turning her back on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Forcing you to get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Give me back my glasses.”

“Come get them yourself.”

She was certain he would concede defeat after this. What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

“You’re impossible. You’re stubborn, insufferable-”

“You used that one earlier already.”

He laughed. “You’re just proving my point.”

A light laugh escaped her too, only it made her bruises act up again. She flinched.

George let go of her hand, his fingers traveling lightly over her side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit.”

He sighed in her neck, making her shiver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out sooner what the source was. I could have saved you the injury.”

Something clicked in her mind, clearing all desire to sleep for a moment.

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?”

He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

“George, you’re not the reason why I couldn’t avoid running into a dresser.”

He laughed, but he avoided her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now please get some sleep.”

He looked back at her with intensity. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, almost black.

“On one condition.”

Before she could ask what he needed from her, he took it. His lips crashed against hers with a hunger she didn’t know he had. She was still in shock when he drew back, looking back at her hesitantly. He didn’t seem to know that she loved this unsuspected bold side of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back in. He seemed surprised at first, but his hands quickly ran up her back to draw her nearer. She could have expected to feel anything from kissing George. Awkwardness, shyness, a few days ago she would have completely rejected the idea. She certainly wouldn’t have expected it to feel so right. His hands seemed to fit the small of her back like puzzle pieces locking perfectly in place. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to wanting more. She needed him, all of him, impossibly closer. She circled his hips with her leg while her hands roamed down his back. He smiled into each kiss, leaving her lips every now and then to trail her cheeks and down her neck. She looked back at him with sparkling eyes.

“So, one condition?”

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Her smile grew bigger.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[neewtmas]

*cracks knuckles* okay let's do this

First of all you’re insane for using that first pic✋🏻😮‍💨

She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around.

They have the same fucked up eating schedule I have hallelujah

The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

The cosy vibes are off the charts ☕️☕️☕️

However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

He is just social anxiety in person omg

She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

Dude wtf is wrong with u😒

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

Good question lucy! I was asking the same thing

She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch.

Meddling lucy truly is the best Lucy🤩

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn’t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

🦋🦋🦋

Aww no poor baby🫂

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

He’s such a fucking nerd I love him

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room. Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

God now I am the idiot🤡

She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood.

Alksjdgjgsalaeh

She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

He can just go and yell at me whenever he wants🥰

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills.

HUH🫠🫠🫠

The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

Not the orange peeling ahhhh

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

🥹🥹🥹

She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes.

He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it

My guyyyyy

He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him

Not tricking him into falling asleep lmao

When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

AHHHHHHHHHH

What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

I am GAGGED✋🏻✋🏻✋🏻

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?” He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

SPEECHLESS; CLAWING AT THE WALL

The KISS

Alice you absolute legend

[ukulelevillainwrites]

LISA 🤭🤭😭😭😭

i will always admire your dedication to george fics forever and ever and eva