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sunrisesfromthewest · 1 year ago

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First Encounter Part 7

Author’s note🗣️: I made this part a little long since I been M.I.A, enjoy ;) 💕

Previous Parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

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After mourning your skittles that you didn’t even have a chance to enjoy, you return back outside with your now tolerable father to discuss the plan on saving Christine from McGrath.

Reaching the group, you noticed Mike and Armando standing to the side having a private discussion, but the more you watch their interaction, the faster you realized that Mike was lowkey praising his son's actions, giving him pats on the shoulder with a proud smile.

Sensing an extra pair of eyes on him Mike looks past Armando, to see you and Marcus, standing with the group, giving him a quizzical expression, as he ‘disciplines' Armando for his actions.

Switching his face from proud to annoyed, Mike smacks Armando’s arm, pointing at him, while saying, "But you bet not do that dumb shit ever again.”

Watching as Mike approach the group, with a perplexed Armando trailing behind him, you shake your head, amused by how Mike tried to cover his ass. Knowing that if he didn’t your father would start up with his mess again, but not to anyone surprise, Marcus already picked up on the bullshit.

“Over there praising that boy for his hereditary playboy moves, Imma whoop your ass after this rescue, Mike!" pausing he look at Armando with a devious smile," Oh and I can’t wait to get my hands on you!”

Rita cuts in before they could start bickering more, "ENOUGH! We need to focus on taking down McGrath, and not your kids FUCKING EACHOTHER!”

Stunned by how her bluntness, you watch as everyone stood still, either too scared to talk back or still in shock.

“Uh yeah, I think it’s time to focus on the real issue here.” you said swallowing hard as everyone gaze turn to you.

“Alright so we need to call back u-” Rita begins to say but is cut off by Mike, "No can do were still wanted fugitives and I know that McGrath wouldn’t like the extra reinforcement......this needs to be executed by us and us alone.”

Nodding her head she looks at Mike questionably, "Well how are we going to get their discreetly.”

“With him." he said pointing at Lockwood with a determined look.

“Mike will it be smart to use him.... he was the one that got us involved in this mess." Marcus said unsure by his decision to use Lockwood, knowing that he could fuck up the mission.

“He’s the reason this shit started, and he’s the only one that has direct contact to McGrath." Nodding his head in understanding Marcus says, “I know but I don’t trust him when it comes to communicating with McGrath.”

“I can help with that...I can easily transform Mike voice into Lockwood's, McGrath wouldn’t even know the difference.” Dorn says with certainty.

“Well let’s get to work, we already waisted enough time." Rita says giving her approval of the plan.

As everyone begins to break apart to get the plan in motion, you feel someone tug on your arm. Looking up you see Kelly giving you a forced smile, while tugging you away from any nosey listeners.

Already knowing what it might be about you roll your eyes, "Girl please don’t go into no rant about my dumb decision.”

Exhaling she shake her head sending you a pointed look,” Y/N I don’t even want to hear it, the fuck was you thinking.... sleeping with his fugitive ass.”

Rubbing at your face you say, "I know Kells...I messed up, but it’s been a stressful week working at the hospital and shit with everything going on...I needed that relief.”

“If you needed relief, you could’ve just called Rafe." she said folding her arms.

“Why the fuck you keep bringing him up, I don’t want nothing to do with his ass after what he did to me.” you said folding your arms with a rigid expression.

Studying you with her pensive eyes, she releases a sigh, "Okay, my bad for bringing him up but.... I would rather you deal with him than Armando.”

Blinking you stare at Kelly with a blank face, completely frozen.

“Kelly...since we all under a lot of stress and pressure right now.... Imma act like I didn’t just hear you say that stupid shit.” you said with a clenched jaw.

“Y/N don’t be like that; you know what I mean.... I just want you to start messing with people that can raise your standards.”

Pursing your lips at her words you say "Kells if I wanted someone who could raise my standards, I would just date one of the doctors from the hospital and finally fulfill your little greys anatomy fantasy.”

Grinning she says, "Please do because I’m ready for some real-life Meredith and Derek action." Scoffing you say, "Girl, bye why you choose the most problematic characters.... matter fact they all problematic so never mind!”

Giving each other a look you burst out laughing at y’all antics, "Besides, I'm already surrounded by that daily at work, so no thank you.”

Calming down she smirks, "Okay fine...but you acting just like them, sneaking away so you can get som-”cutting her off you give her annoyed look. Kelly raises her hands in defense,” Hey, I'm just saying you gave it up pretty quick, you made Rafe wait for months before you let him hit.”

“Don’t even try it, that was different, we were in a relationship, this was just a quick fuck.” you say already getting annoyed again by the mention of your ex.

“Y/N, you do realize that ever since you got involved with this mess, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you, and the way he's been glancing at you, says otherwise." she said pointing behind you.

Gazing over your shoulder you see, Armando watching the interaction between you two, locking eyes, you see him smirk and give you a wink.

Shaking her head at the scene in front of her Kelly mumbles “quick fuck my ass.” Breaking the intense eye contact you turn back to her saying Huh, with a lost expression.

“One look at him already has you acting dumb.... damn girl he must’ve put some work in," Kelly says running her eyes over your figure. Snapping out of your stupor, you smack your lips, "He....ain’t do all of that, I mean don’t get me wrong it was good ...AMAZING....girl I’m not finna even lie...he had me wobbling.”

Covering her mouth Kelly dramatically wipes away a fake tear, "He done turn my best friend into a hoe." As your about to say something smart you hear a familiar voice cut in "She not wrong Y/N/N, and I was being serious when I said you're going to my therapist.”

Rolling your eyes, you peer up to see Dorn approaching, with a smug look.

“Not you too......and y’all gonna stop using that hoe word so freely." you said pointing at both of them with a semi-serious look.

“Y/N you had sex with him knowing that he was a fugitive...knowing that he killed Captain Howard....Knowing that he was trying to kill us in the process....and girl you barely know him." Pausing to scan your figure he says, "And by the looks of it you definitely didn’t use protection....A.K. A definition of a hoe.”

Placing your hand on your chest in shock you say, "You did not just read me!”

“I did but only out of love, cuz you need a wakeup call!" he says looking at Kelly, who nods her head in agreement.

“First of all, I don’t need no damn ‘wakeup’ call, when I was fully aware of what I was doing, and secondly why is everyone forgetting I’m a grown woman,I can fuck whoever I want!” you said nose flaring while glaring at Dorn and Kelly.

“Y/N were not judging you we just want was best for you.......especially after what happened between you and Rafe.” Dorn says with concern, while staring at his friend.

“I know it’s just tiring hearing everyone criticize my actions." Rubbing your face in frustration, you sigh look everywhere but at them. Walking up to you, Kelly pulls you in a tight hug, silently allowing her presence to comfort you.

Hugging her back you look to see Dorn standing their hesitantly, sighing you wave him over with a small smile. Embracing the comfort of your friends you say, "I love you guys but I swear your worser than my parents."

Laughing Kelly pulls away shaking her head in disagreement,”Nah,Y/N your dad is definitely worser than us, he had me in a death grip earlier mumbling about how your gonna birth gangster babies!”

“No, he didn’t!” you say glancing at Dorn for confirmation, not believing it, watching as he gives a firm nod of his head with a smile, had you rolling your eyes.

“Y’all are going to be the death of me.”you said laughing while wiping at your eyes.

Shivering slightly from the light breeze you say, "We should make our way back to the other’s I know they’re wondering where we ran off to.”

As y’all begin to make your way back towards the front of the lake house you start to hear yelling and scuffling. Looking at Kelly and Dorn they quickly make their way to the front immediately drawing their guns. Following behind them quick as well, you see them pause, confused and alarmed at the sight before them.

Stepping out from behind them, your just about to ask why they stopped until your eyes landed on the scene in front of you.

Marcus seemed to have caught Armando lacking because the sight in front of you doesn’t even seem real and to be completely honest you pinched yourself to double check. Somehow your dad had Armando in a headlock, while shouting some crazy shit at him, as Mike tried to pull him off his son.

Watching as Armando runs in circles trying to pry your father off him without truly hurting him, made you spring into action. ”DAD..WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!" you say trying to pull him off along with Mike.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN SLEEP WITH MY BABY WITHOUT CONSEQUENCES! OH, HELL NAH!” Marcus say seemingly lost in his on frustration.

Listening as Armando lets out a few grunts and cuss words in anger, as your father tighten his hold on him, almost made you laugh but the agitated look he sends you had you biting your lip instead.

Moving in front of Armando you attempt to remove your father arms as you yelled, "HOW THE HELL, DID HE GET YOU! IN A HEADLOCK?!”

“Mierda, no sé, estaba hablando con Mike y luego lo siguiente que sabes es que se está aferrando a mí como un puto gorila!(Shit, I don't know, I was talking to Mike and then the next thing you know, he's clinging to me like a fucking gorilla!)” he growls in spanish becoming agitated the longer Marcus hangs onto him.

“BOY DID YOUR ASS JUST CALL ME A MONKE-” finally breaking his hold Armando fly's forward in your arms causing you both to fall, while your dad was being held back by Mike who was starting to struggle. Seeing this Dorn and Kelly runs over to help Mike restrain Marcus as he continues to thrash around crazily.

Somehow during the fall Armando shifted your weight causing him to take most of the impact. Groaning you roll to the side, trying to catch your breath. Moving your head in his direction, you were met by his pained expression as his eyes scan over your face.

“You're okay, Nena?” he says breathing hard to catch his breath, nodding your head, you grimace as you sit up, eyes quickly assessing him.

“I should be asking you that." you said slightly winded from the fall but eyes remaining on him with concern. Sending you a small smile, he nods his head still trying to catch his breath.

Looking at your father who has a satisfied grin on his face, made you rolled your eyes at his immature behavior. "I can’t believe he did that.... he’s literally the cause of his on stress.” you said still in disbelief by what just happened.

Hearing slight movement, you look back to see Armando, sitting up looking more annoyed than in pain now. "I wanted to throw him off of me.... but I knew that would’ve caused more problems." he said sending you an unsure look as he waits for your response.

“Yeah, that definitely would’ve made it worse but to be honest..I don’t think anyone would blame you." you said with a smile.

“You guys alright!” Mike says as he makes his way over to you two. Nodding your head, you move to stand up, letting out a moan in the process. "Just a little sore but other than that nothing too serious.”

Offering Armando your hand, you pull him up from the ground, with little effort. “I’m just surprise that he attacked me...I mean Y/N warned me but I didn’t think he was actually going to do something. "Armando says dusting himself off while gazing between you and Mike.

Mike rolls his eyes at his reply, "Marcus little ass always trying to prove a point, he didn’t mean no harm by it, and thank you for not hurting him.... I know you could have.”

“Yeah, thank you for that." you said giving his shoulder a light squeeze in appreciation. Gazing up at him with a smile you were met with a smirk, confused you tilt your head to the side silently questioning him.

“I can think of a few ways you could.....really thank me.” he said pulling you into his side while giving your hip a light squeeze.

“See that’s the reason we dealing with Marcus's bullshit right now." Mike says pulling you away from Armando with a disappointed look.

” Keep your nasty ass hands to yourself, matter of fact until this mission is over with, y’all ass bet not be near each other...comprende!”he says glaring at you two but more at Armando.

Shaking your head, in agreement you gaze over at Armando, who is squinting his eyes at Mike. Watching as they have a staring match, made you raise an eyebrow in amusement, giving Mike a fake smile Armando says sure.

Exhaling nosily through his pursed lips, Mike just accepts that it was a lost cause, "I swear if y’all give Marcus another reason to flip the fuck out tonight, he ain’t gonna be the one you have to worry about.”

And with that he walks away seemingly done with dealing with everyone’s problems. Sighing you move to leave as well but is stopped by Armando grabbing your hand, "You gonna let his little threat stop us from having some fun."

Glancing up at him you see him peering at you with a coy smile, "No, but I think we done had enough fun tonight." you say slightly narrowing your eyes at him. Rolling his brown eyes, he pulls you in a small embrace, hands falling to your waist.

“Okay fine...but I still think I deserve a reward for not acting on my impulses." he says looking down at you with want.

Fluttering your eyelashes in fake contemplation, "I don’t know.... you did show restraint when it came to my dad.... but right now, you're struggling with staying away from me.”

Eying the way you lightly run your hands against his arms, made him smirk, "Doesn't seem like I’m the only who’s struggling, querida.”

Staring up at him with a teasing smile,” Oh I’m not struggling at all, in fact I’ve been wanting to jump on you, since we left the apartment," pausing you look away from him, gazing at the others, "but for their sake, I'll wait until we rescue Christine.”

Grabbing your chin, Armando pulls your attention back to him, "Well I can wait as long as you want, the only thing I want from you right now is a kiss." he says tracing your bottom lip with his thumb.

"I think I can manage that." leaning forward you lick your lips in anticipation, "I mean after all I still need to reward you….right."

Keeping his intense gaze on your full lips,he hums in agreement.Deciding to tease him a little you lean up and give him a quick peck.

Shifting his low lidded brown eyes to yours,he reaches a hand down to pinch your ass hard,”Don’t be a fucking tease,Y/N.”

Jumping from the pinch you smack his chest playfully,”Okay,fine just wanted to see how eager you were.”

Pressing your full lips against his warm soft ones made you release a content sigh,as he pressed your body closer to his.

Shivering lightly from the way his tongue grazed yours,made you pull away from the kiss,”It might be smart to stop now before this get out of control.”you said taking in a breath while giving him a smile.

Staring down at you in thought, Armando smirks,”What…scared of giving them a show?”

Smacking your lips you pull away from his embrace,”No…I’m worried the longer I stay in your presence,the more I realize that I might actually have hoe tendencies.”

Face going blank he says,”What?”

Laughing at his expression you take his hand,pulling him with you as you walk towards the others.”Nothing just…never mind,I’ll explain it later.”

Armando trails behind you,still confused but choosing to disregard it as he keeps a sharp gaze on the way your hips sway.

“Y’all done being all lovey dovey.”Marcus say eyeing the way you keep a tight grip on Armando hand as you approach.Rolling your eyes at your dads comment you say,”Maybe…you done acting like a fool?”

Rolling his eyes as well,he cross his arms,while watching you two,”…..For the sake of my future grandchild,I am.”

You and Armando eyes immediately widen in shock,as y’all say,”What!!!”

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Authors Note🗣️:Marcus just don’t know when to quit ,and y’all starting to get on Mike nerves 😭😭😭.

⬇️That’s your ex Rafe(I wonder why he wasn’t in the new Bad Boys🤔)

#armando aretas #bad boys ride or die #x black fem reader #Armando #jacob scipio #armando armas #bad boys #new writers on tumblr #Armando aretas x black reader #mike lowrey #marcus burnett #Will smith #martin lawrence #Armando x daughter Burnett reader #x black y/n #x reader #First Encounter Series

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athenamikaelson · 2 years ago

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Complaints and Harriet Styles

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary- The reader likes to complain a lot, everyone in Mystic Falls knows this. Klaus Mikealson finds it quite entertaining though.

Word Count- 2.2k

Warnings- Swearing, biting, one innuendo from Santa Klaus

Note from Author- Might do a part 2 to this is ya'll want it, let me know.

“Listen, Damon. This whole, “I’m the scary brother” act you got going on it’s such a cliche man. Why not try something different, switch it up. It has got to be hella boring to have been playing the same role for over like 1,000 years, or however old you are. I wasn’t listening when Stefan was telling me the story of you two.” I try explaining to Damon as he stares blankly at me while holding a bourbon in his hand.

“Y/N, who let you into my house?” Damon asks me as he throws back the rest of his drink and then starts to pour himself another one. I just shrug my shoulders.

“You left the door unlocked and I thought, why not? Elena and Bonnie are off somewhere and Caroline is planning some dance for Ms. Lockwood. So I had no one else to talk to.”

“You mean to complain to?” He asks with a roll of his eyes. Which in turn makes me roll my eyes.

“I don’t complain a lot.” I defend myself, which only gets me an annoyed look.

_____

“This is too heavy!” I yell to Caroline as she hands me a box of party supplies that she roped me into to decorate her house with for some stupid party. I look into the box and pick out a long hot pink boa scarf.

“The hell is this for?” Caroline looks at me holding the scarf and rolls her eyes.

“To wear obviously. And stop complaining, that box is like less than five pounds.” She tells me as she takes a balloon from his pile of decorations and starts to blow it up.

“Ok 1. You’d have to hold me down and knock me out if you ever wanted to put that thing on me. And 2. I’m not complaining, you just have inhuman strength so you can’t tell when something is heavy to frail humans like myself.” Caroline just rolls her eyes at me placing the balloon back onto the table by her. She walks over to me and grabs the box from my hands, “You complain too much.”

______

“Ok, listen up, fellow soon to be seniors! If I get superglue stuck on my fingers one more time I’m throwing in the towel and going on home, it’s past my bedtime anyways.” I say walking into the classroom that holds Elena, Caroline, Matt, Tyler and Bonnie. They all turn to me, I hear a giggle come from Elena as she looks at the clock on the wall.

“Y/N, it’s only 8 p.m.” I look at her in confusion then glance at my watch, “Oh.”

Tyler walks over to me and grabs the super glue from my hand.

“If you have such a hard time with the super glue then Caroline and I will go and do it.” He glances at Caroline who just shakes her head and laughs, “And you say you don't complain a lot.” She says to me as she passes me and squeezes my shoulder.

“I do not complain a lot!” I yell to her as she walks out of the classroom. Elena walks up behind me and wraps her hand around my shoulder.

“Come on, you can help me superglue Ric’s desk, but don’t worry I’ll handle the superglue.” She giggles to herself as she leads me out of the classroom and into the hallway. I’m about to start talking about how hot the hallway is but Elena halts us as a man walks in front of us.

“Yo dude! Didn’t you see us walking here? Move!,” I look at him as he slowly takes his eyes off of Elena and onto me. He stares silently at me, a crease in between his eyebrows as if he’s debating something in his mind. The hallway is dark so I can’t quite see his features as well as I would, but the features I do see are very nice to look at.

“Dude you deaf or something? Usually when someone tells you to move you’re supposed to move,” I frown to myself and then turn to Elena, “Wait, was that offensive?” Elena just looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. A look of fear in her eyes. I look back at the man in front of us.

“Sorry if that offended you man. Sometimes I just say things, but also like to move out of my way now please, thank you.” I go to walk around him bringing Elena with me but I feel the man grab me by the elbow pulling me into the opposite direction.

“Hey! What the actual fuck man!,” I see that he also has Elena by the elbow as he says something to her, but I’m too busy trying to break myself free from his grip.

“Dude literally let me go, also your cologne literally smells like the pre teen-boy section of an Aeropostle.” We halt. I see the man turn towards me with a dark look in his eyes.

“What did you just say to me?” Oh. He’s british. God that’s hot.

“Um, the let go of me part or the shitty perfume thing?” I watch as he looks at me also like I’ve grown a second head. I really need to find a mirror because I’m starting to wonder if I actually have.

“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” He asks me with a hard tone.

I tap my chin with my finger in a thoughtful manner and shrug one shoulder, “The sixth member of one direction?” I look up to him with a sarcastic smile and then laugh at the incredulous look on his face, a very nice looking face.

He begins to open his mouth to speak before he shuts it and shakes his head in frustration. And starts dragging Elena and I again.

“Dude-,” “If you open that mouth of yours one more time the next thing to come out of it will be your tongue.” Mr. British cuts me off without giving me a glance. Ok then.

_______

Ok, so Mr. British guy’s name is actually named Klaus. The same Klaus who killed Elena, or he thought he killed her then she came back to life or something. I keep on getting bored with all these stories people keep talking about. Klaus is here though I think to not kill Elena again, or to kill Elena? Once again no clue. But he made me sit on the bleachers and just watch as he snapped Tyler’s neck and told Bonnie to contact some witch or something. There was also a pretty blonde girl, but she left with Tyler’s body and Caroline. I sit on the bleacher for another moment then stand up, screw you British guy.

I step off the bleacher and walk over to Elena who is shaking in fear. I pull her into a hug since I think she might need one. I feel a hand pull me away from her after a moment though and come face to face with the brit.

“Oh, great. It’s you.” I say sarcastically.

“Did you not hear me when I told you to stay seated on the bleacher?” He asks me angrily. His hand was tightening on my shoulder.

“Obviously I heard you man. You like to talk loudly and a fucking lot. You must love to hear your own voice huh? And besides, my ass started to hurt. And also, who died and made you the boss! Just because you’re all strong and have a hot accent doesn’t mean you can just go bossing people around, asshat.”

“Y/N! Stop!” Elena yells to me desperately. I just turn to her and shrug my shoulders, then look back to wannabe Harry Styles. Harriet is looking at me with a dark look, but the grip on my shoulder has lessened.

“Have you always had no self-preservation skills? Or are you just stupid?” He asks me.

I stare at him in disbelief, “You know what dickwad? Just because I don’t want to deal with whatever mid-life crisis you’re currently having doesn’t mean I’m stupid. To actually let you know I have straight A’s,” I stop my rant and then roll my eyes, “Ok, mostly straight A’s, I have one D in art but that’s because my art teacher is like you,” I point to him, “A jackass, and he thinks that only his tastes and thoughts are correct. So it actually isn’t my fault. I personally think my art is much better than his.” I look back up to Klaus and he’s looking at me with an almost contemplative look.

“Has anyone ever told you, you stare a lot?” I ask him with a sarcastic tone.

“Has anyone ever told you, you complain a lot?” He says with the same tone of voice that I used. The corner of his lip starts to move as if he wanted to smirk.

I look up in thought at his question and tap my chin, “You know what, I actually have heard that before. I personally don’t think of it as complaining though. More of, sharing my annoyance with the world.”

The smirk on his lips is very present now and for a second I could’ve sworn it started to turn into a smile.

“To answer your question, I only tend to stare at people who gain my attention.” He tells me, making me stare at him for a second too long.

Ya. Ok. Whatever that means. I go to give him a snarky remark but Stefan runs in looking more brutish than usual.

“Oh look! Stefan’s back!” I say, smiling at him. Which doesn’t even get me a glance in my direction as he keeps his eyes on Klaus who I now notice is standing a little too close to me. Weirdo.

Stefan goes on to say something about something but once again I don’t quite care to listen. So I go and lean against the wall until Blondey from earlier comes in and bites Elena for some reason. I quickly lean up and start walking over to her.

“Hey bitch! Hasn’t anyone ever told you to keep your hands to yourself!” The blonde, who as she looks at me I now notice is very attractive. I have to stop my ogling though because after Klaus rips her from Elena she starts to storm her way over to me. Before she can get to me though my vision is blocked off by Klaus’ back.

“Not her.” He tells blondey rather sternly.

“Whatever.” She says as she storms off out of the gym. Klaus turns back to me and looks at me, eyes moving over my face oddly.

“You need to go home.” He tells me then turns around dismissively. I walk in front of him, stopping him from confronting Stefan.

“You are not the boss of me, and besides why the hell would I ever leave Elena, who is my friend, alone with vampires?” I yell at him, which makes him just roll his eyes.

“Y/N, I’m not going to ask you again, you need to go home.” He tells me.

“Bitch what? You didn’t even ask me shit! You demanded me.” I want to start ripping him a new one but Elena places her hand on my shoulder

“Y/N, I’m going to be ok. Please go home, I need to know at least you’re going to be ok.” She says to me with a dreary smile. I go to argue but she interrupts me again begging me to leave quickly. What the heck is up with people interrupting me.

“Fine,” I turn to Klaus, “But, if anything happens to her, I’m going to rip your dick off.” That makes him give a slight flinch. I give one more look to Elena and Stefan, who gives me a small nod and then head to the door.

When I grab the handle of the door I hear Klaus call my name from behind me, I turn around and jump when I find Klaus standing right behind me.

“Jesus man, warn a woman.”

“Next time we see each other Y/N, I’d like to see that artwork of yours that you believe deserved better than a D.” Klaus says as he looks down to me. I go to speak but nothing seems to want to come out. Klaus must’ve noticed this because a smirk forms onto his face.

“Is this the first time you’ve ever not had a response?” He has the audacity to gain a bigger smirk, “What a shame, I was growing fond of that mouth of yours.”

“Um, ya. Um,” I start to feel my face heat up under his gaze, “I’m leaving now, oddball.” I say as I book it out of the gym. As i make it to the end of the hall I glance over my shoulder and make eye contact with Klaus who’s still standing in the same spot with the same stupid smirk on his face.

“I’ll make sure to wear different cologne next time we meet Y/N.” Klaus says as he walks back into the gym leaving me alone.

“What the actual fuck?”

PART 2- HERE

#author #athenamikaelson #klaus mikaleson imagine #klaus x reader #klaus mikaelson #thecwshows #thevampirediaries #the vampire diaries #the originals #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson #stefan x elena #elena gilbert #the vampire diares imagine #x reader #rebekah mikaelson

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g1rld1ary · 9 months ago

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hope your requests r open! lockwood x reader where lockwood think reader likes george (but she doesnt) and reader thinks lockwood likes lucy (he doesnt). basically just a whole bunch of misunderstandings with angst and a happy ending please <3

miscommunications - anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wc: 6316

cw: swearing, angstish, series typical injuries

i am SO sorry this took so long lovie i had the biggest writers block but i loved loved loved this request so thank u for sending it in i hope i did it justice!!!! love u xoxo

Lockwood and Co was absolutely the weirdest psychical detective agency you’d ever been a part of. Not only were the actual case methods… unusual, but you were a bunch of kids. You didn’t know anything about running a company; the logistics of managing four teenagers and trying to be responsible whilst also experiencing hormones and teen dramas, all while living in the same house with no adult supervision. But it was great, most of the time at least.

However, even teen psychical detectives weren’t immune to the trap of cliques and you often ended up spending much more time with some members than others. For example, it often ended up being Lockwood and Lucy, and you and George.

It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision or something that happened because you didn’t like the other two members of the agency, it just tended to be the easiest decision. Lockwood and Lucy were undeniably in perfect sync on the field, and you and George worked better in the research department, so it only made sense that those pairs spent more time together.

The only problem? You were totally in love with Lockwood. And you were pretty sure he was basically fucking married to Lucy Carlyle. They were the dream team on and off the field, you were half convinced they could actually read each other's minds. Plus, they were both genuinely amazing people. Lucy was your best friend and roommate at Portland Row, and you loved her with all your heart. And Lockwood? Well, there were a million and one good things to say about Anthony Lockwood. So who could blame you if you spent more time with George? It hurt less than watching the love story unfolding in front of you, and George was good company anyhow.

You couldn’t avoid them though, nor did you really want to, so life was testing your limits as to how much Locklyle you could handle at once.

You and George had been cooped up in the library most of the day looking through archives and research for the agency’s next case, so you’d been glad to get home and have a long warm shower in the evening. Lockwood and Lucy were off on a smaller case together so you’d had the bathroom all to yourself while George was cooking; a small luxury when living with three other teenagers.

Your hair was still wet as you sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, droplets sinking into the paper of the thinking cloth. It was a lovely dinner with George, he’d made your favourite meal upon request, the most glorious dish of butter chicken you thought might’ve ever been made. Everything should have been perfect, except that it was just the two of you. Again. It seemed like you never had family dinners as a four anymore, you and George stuck eating across from each other amongst empty chairs and untouched plates.

“So, anything new?” You made conversation in decent humour, picking at the chicken you weren’t quite as pleased to be eating anymore.

“Anything new in the twenty minutes we’ve been apart all day?” George replied in his characteristic dry tone. You rolled your eyes, trying to stay playful.

“Just checking.”

You took the cleanup after George did all the cooking, switching on the radio as you stood in front of the sink and washing the dishes in peaceful quiet. It was past midnight when the door jingled and creaked open and you could hear Lockwood and Lucy’s tired chatter floating through the old house. Even their damn voices belonged together, making the perfect cadence. You calculated whether you could get away with running up the stairs and pretending to be asleep before they really made it inside, however, agents are known for their speed, and you could hear boots hitting the floor before you could move.

“You’re still up?” Lucy asked as a greeting, stretching out her arms with a sigh. You smiled, shrugging as you began pouring hot water into the mugs you’d prepared earlier, making you all tea how you liked it. Lucy took hers gratefully, adding in the sugar as she pleased, but you were still yet to see Lockwood, taking the initiative to prepare it for him.

He came in a few minutes later, smiling softly as he looked at you.

“You’re a godsend.” He took the mug gratefully, visibly relaxing as the heat penetrated his body. You just smiled, turning back to the dishes.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll head up to the shower,” Lucy said, patting you gratefully on the arm as she passed. That left you and Lockwood in the kitchen in careful silence.

You talked about nothing for a while, Lockwood filling you in on the tabloids he’d read the night before, and you told him all about the music and news you’d been listening to on the radio.

“How was the research, how’s George?” Lockwood was beside you now, taking a few of the plates you’d finished drying. His tone sounded almost bitter, but you figured it was his exhaustion taking hold.

“It was fine, I think we’re pretty much good to go for this weekend. Oh, you should have seen it! George absolutely stacked it on the steps of the library earlier. He’s fine, of course, but I nearly pissed my pants laughing, it was so funny.” Lockwood managed an unenthused chuckle, turning away to put the cutlery away in the drawer. “How was the case?” Lockwood made a noise of affirmation, coming back next to you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

“As well as cases can go,” He said, smile back on his face. You listened to him tell the bloody details of the case, illustrating his own heroic moves with a full production of actions and impressions, drawing giggles from you as he fought around the room. “And of course, Luce was brilliant as always, saved my arse for the millionth time.”

Fuck. Of course Lockwood was singing Lucy’s praises again, right in front of you! You couldn’t catch a break. You finally got a moment alone with the boy you had a massive embarrassing crush on and he was talking about your best friend! You could feel your smile fading fast, jealousy bubbling in your chest as you imagined them out on a case together, all quick banter and soft touches while you were at home. With George.

You tried to stay obliging, giving him a small smile and finishing up the drying quickly.

“Well, I should be off to bed. Goodnight, Lockwood.”

“You’re not gonna read with me?” You could have sworn that Lockwood had disappeared and been replaced with a kicked puppy the way his eyes were making your insides twist with guilt. You often sat up in the library with Lockwood; he could never sleep and you often made up for the late nights in the mornings, starting your days hours after everyone else. You held eye contact for a moment, willing yourself to be strong.

It didn’t work, and you found yourself back in your familiar spot in front of the fire, digging into your novel as he flipped through a magazine. When your eyes began to strain in the low lamplight you closed it softly, chancing a glance over at Lockwood. He looked almost perfect in the moment, yellow light illuminating the highlights in his face, his eyes glinting as he found humour in the dramatised tabloids.

He looked up suddenly, his senses evidently alerting him to your staring. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, curiosity seeping from his features. You smiled softly, unable to give him any explanation, so you were glad when he returned it in a way that made his whole face light up. You looked away first, studying your hands intently as you heard Lockwood breathe a subtle laugh.

Another case later, you were going crazy. You’d hit an obstacle (of course) and the case had started going awry. A few relicmen interfering with the site threw you all off your game, the original case put aside in favour of your lives. You and Lucy had been together when the ambush happened, both fighting as a team to protect yourselves. Admittedly you weren’t as fluid as her and Lockwood, but you blamed that on the lack of opportunity. You were doing pretty well for yourselves, all things considered. Still, you were grateful for the two boys to come bursting in like heroes, rapiers at the ready. What you didn’t appreciate was the way Lockwood immediately leapt to Lucy’s side, falling into their familiar rhythm. That left George to help you, the both of you sharing the quickest of looks, your eye roll lost to the fight.

You’d all made it out alive but were severely battered and disheartened. You’d all sustained a few cuts and bruises, you knew you were bleeding from somewhere in your midsection, but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet so you pushed through.

You also weren’t particularly glad to see Lockwood looking at Lucy like she’d hung all the stars in the sky in the cab on the way back. He hadn’t spared you a glance.

“I know this wasn’t exactly what we planned,” He said, still not making eye contact with you, “But we’re all okay so I think that’s a win. Luce, good job on the defence and keeping the relicmen at bay. George, brilliant catch with the source, mate, you saved us all. And, uh, good work.” He looked over briefly, but you thought he was looking slightly above you still. He didn’t even care enough to look at you on the case! It was absolutely maddening.

Sometimes, like now, you wondered why you even liked him. He was obsessed with another girl, barely paid you attention and had you begging for crumbs of affection. And yet, sometimes you were sure he liked you back. The soft smiles, the time together in the dead of night, the moments he showed you such gentle care. Lockwood was a puzzle you just couldn’t solve, but you were really, really trying.

You weren’t in the best mood when you all arrived home. Your case had been compromised, you were injured, and Lockwood was basically ignoring you. The night was not looking good. And, on top of all that, George called the first shower so it was unlikely there’d be any hot water left by the time you got in. Silently, you peeled off your overcoat, hanging it on your designated hook before discarding your rapier in the umbrella bin. The cut on your side was beginning to sting, the adrenaline having worn off in the cab, but you powered through, figuring you’d take care of it when you had privacy in the bathroom. Instead, you followed Lucy into the kitchen, chatting away as she made some toast.

She’d already left when you got up from the dining table, motivating yourself to make some tea and something to eat. Your body was starting to ache though, and you really didn’t want to be moving much longer. It was all mostly fine, though uncomfortable, until you were reaching up for the sugar for the tea. It was a little out of your reach up on one of the higher cupboards which usually wasn’t so much of an issue — you were a high jumper — but raising your arm above your head was making it feel like your cut was splitting open, pulling a strangled hiss from you.

“What is that?” Lockwood’s voice made you jump, the harshness unfamiliar. You turned slowly, folding your arms across your stomach in vain.

“It’s nothing, I was gonna look after it in a bit.” It was the first time you’d made proper eye contact with Lockwood all night, and he looked pissed.

“Bullshit,” He argued, gaining proximity, “Sit down.” You weren’t typically in the habit of being bossed around by a man, but you could tell Lockwood was serious so took a seat. He stomped around the kitchen rather dramatically, tossing you an ice pack from the freezer. You placed it tentatively over the cut, groaning and throwing your head back when it stung. Your breathing was shallow, erratic as you waited for the icepack to do its job and start numbing the pain.

When you unscrewed your eyes Lockwood was standing at the kitchen bench, aggressively buttering your toast. You watched him put together the meal you’d started, all with deep furrowed eyebrows, ending with him placing it in front of you, looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him despite the pain in your side, pulling the mug of tea closer. He’d made it just as you liked it, too much sugar and a bit of honey. You sipped it pathetically, tension bubbling between you and the boy in front of you.

“What’s new?” You asked in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. Lockwood wasn’t impressed.

“Eat,” He urged, “You’ll already be weak from blood loss, don’t let yourself get dizzy from hunger too.” You took an exaggerated bite of the toast to appease him, melting into a moan when the food hit your mouth. Somehow, it tasted better than all the millions of times you’d made your own. Lockwood had found the perfect balance of butter and bread, soft in the middle but the crusts were still crunchy and satisfying. The corner of his mouth flicked into the smallest smile seeing you enjoy the food he’d made you, but it was clear he still wasn’t happy with you.

You continued to eat as he got up from his seat, disappearing out into the hallway for a moment. He returned with the first aid kit and you groaned. This was going to suck. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, asked for your permission to start helping you, lifting your already cherry red case shirt up to tuck under your bra, out of his way as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, you didn’t think you’d need stitches or anything, but it was long, wrapping halfway across your stomach.

“This is going to hurt,” He said simply, but you could have sworn there was some gentleness there. Lightly, Lockwood began to clean your wound. Initially, it wasn’t so bad as he cleaned what had already spread and dried away from the cut which lulled you into a false sense of security. You cried out as he touched the wound itself for the first time, grabbing onto Lockwood’s shoulder for stability, though you were already seated.

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick. Promise,” He hushed you, offering his hand for you to grab instead. You clutched onto it for dear life, squeezing until both your fingers were turning white. Lockwood never uttered a complaint, working away at cleaning and treating the wound one-handed until it was done, stopping every so often for breaks when he thought you needed them.

When he was done he looked up at you from his position on his knees and it suddenly felt like the world around you was quiet. Lockwood’s eyes were so pretty. You’d always thought so, but it was particularly relevant when he was only inches away from you, sparkling in the amber light of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, staring into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t want to end this moment between you but you didn’t know how to make it last. Well, you did, but that was highly inappropriate given Lockwood was in love with another girl.

“Thanks,” You settled on awkwardly, cringing as Lockwood seemed to realise where he was and what was happening.

“Any time,” He jumped up, backing up towards the sink and busying himself with pouring his own cup of tea.

You left the kitchen shortly after, unwilling to sit in the awkwardness any longer. The first step was to get out of the soiled clothes and clean yourself up a bit, the second was to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.

“I’m going to die alone,” You said to the roof, catching the attention of your roommate.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said simply, “You’re hot, anyone would be lucky to have you.” That pulled a smile from you, tilting your head back to look over at Lucy on her bed.

“Thanks, Luce. You know what I mean though.” Lucy rolled her eyes with a soft smile.

“If Lockwood can’t see all your brilliant, attractive qualities then he’s a prat.”

“I’m sure he sees many of my great qualities — he hired me. The issue is that he’s blinded by your brilliance.” It was a conversation you’d had countless times before; you decreeing Lockwood’s love for Lucy and Lucy being disgusted by it.

“You know that I have zero interest in Lockwood. Like, zero. Honestly, I’d sooner get with you than him.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I have terrible taste in men,” You laughed, mostly cheered up.

Lucy flicked off the lamp, putting you to sleep with a story from before you’d joined the agency.

Lockwood had a similar conversation with George a few weeks later. It was after another case, all had gone well and the four of you were strewn about the house, tending to various chores that needed to get done. Lucy was mopping the floors, you were organising and putting away the mountain of books that had been used over the case, and Lockwood and George were both in the basement, tidying the store room and going over paperwork.

Lockwood looked at George, hunched over the form he was filling in, and wondered how to broach the subject. He thought you might’ve been avoiding him lately, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and thought it might be because you were trying to make your feelings for George known. In fact, it had nothing to do with George and everything to do with Lockwood. You figured if Lockwood hadn’t noticed by now that you liked him he never would, so you’d started the mountainous task of getting over him. It was unsurprisingly extremely difficult, given you lived and worked with the man. Still, you were doing the best you could.

“So, gone on any, uh, dates recently?” The sentence was awkward and Lockwood cringed. It was so unlike him and George to talk about anything emotional, especially romance.

“What are you on about?” George didn’t even bother looking up, figuring it was just one of Lockwood’s moments that he’d move on from soon enough.

“It’s just, you’ve never really dated anyone, at least while living here, so I was just asking. Um, maybe there’s someone in the house you’d like to take out?” George looked up, turning his wheelie chair to face Lockwood, resigning himself to the conversation he knew would follow.

“Yes, Lockwood. Can’t you hear Lucy and I having loud, passionate sex every night?” Both boys rolled their eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Then say what you mean. You’re trying to figure out if I like her because you do and you’re too scared to say anything about it.” Lockwood was silenced, caught out with his true intentions. “Let’s face it, you’re about as subtle as a car horn; you moon over her. She’s the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lockwood mumbled, “She likes you.” George burst out into uncharacteristic laughter, wheezing and gripping his stomach.

“God, you’re daft!” He laughed, “The two of you are perfect for each other, you’re hopeless.”

Lockwood made an excuse to leave, something about folding his laundry. George watched him go, rolling his eyes before turning back to his paperwork. If the two of you weren’t going to get his exceedingly obvious hints, you were going to have to work it out between yourselves.

Your angst was bleeding into the company. You were trying (and failing) to get over Lockwood which was not only making you generally miserable, but it was impeding your ability to be a good agent.

You were on a relatively easy case, and for some reason you’d been paired with Lockwood, a rarity. Lucy and George were on the second floor of the house scoping out where the source may be whilst you and Lockwood were on the ground floor, preparing your defences and putting on the tea kettle. It was extremely awkward. Lockwood was trying to make conversation and you were trying to keep it as short as possible. If you fell into conversation you’d be reminded of Lockwood’s many wonderful qualities, and it would just get harder to get over him.

“Did you end up finishing that book?” He asked as you pulled the chains out of their duffel bags. You perked up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You had finished the novel and absolutely loved it, you wanted nothing more than to talk about it. Still, you controlled yourself, shrugging off the question with a “Yeah, it was pretty good.” Lockwood hesitated, caught off guard by your answer. Usually you were keen to discuss what you’d been reading, especially if you liked it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softness in his voice and eyes. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m fine, Lockwood, promise.” You busied yourself with arranging the salt bombs but you could still feel his eyes on you.

The case progressed, all four of you ending up on the second level of the house to confront the visitor, each splitting up to cover the different rooms. You were in the master bedroom when the en suite bathroom caught your eye. You could have sworn you saw movement near the shower and crept towards it, trying to stay focused and address the urgency on hand.

You were immediately distracted by the similarities between the en suite and the bathroom in Portland Row. Set out almost identically, it was almost scary how similar they were; George’s soap (fancy and way more expensive than the one the rest of you bought) was on the ledge of the shower, and Lucy’s blue hairbrush sat by the basin.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising that either of those items were there, they were both bought for cheap at a grocery store so ought to have been common, but it surprised you nonetheless. You’d been so distracted by the weird similarities that you didn’t notice the figure floating through the shower curtain until its translucent hand was beside your face. You panicked, the only thing you shouldn’t have been doing, and flailed about in the tiny room, rapier knocking bottles off shelves and creating a general racket that was not pleasing the ghost.

You stumbled on the tiles trying to get your footing and get the fuck out but slid on a slippery substance — probably conditioner from the bottle you’d sent flying to the ground. It was a comedy of errors you would have quoted as impossible in an old slapstick comedy, but there you were, and the consequences were infinitely more dire than those faced by Charlie Chaplin.

The proceeding moments vanished from your memory; a violent fall, a sickening crack and an overwhelming darkness. Three more moments of light where you caught visions of the ghost, Lockwood, and aggressive flashing lights.

You woke up in hospital. You wished it was the hazy, unsure innocence that you saw in movies, but the incessant beeping and sanitised smell had you groaning as you gained consciousness. Lockwood was slumped over in the chair next to your bed, breathing uncharacteristically calm as he slept.

You watched him sleep in the least creepy way you could manage, admiring his features when they weren’t scrunched up in worry or stress. He must’ve felt you watching him as his eyes fluttered open, doe eyes overflowing with relief as he saw you awake.

“You’re up, thank god,” He said, pulling his chair up even closer to you.

“Why am I here?” You asked, examining the various wires and machines you were plugged into.

“What aren’t you here for?” Lockwood joked and you tried for a smile. He straightened himself out and continued, “Linear skull fracture, concussion, scary-looking cut on your forehead. We think you slipped and bashed your head on the countertop.” You grimaced, the pain of the fall manifesting in your head.

“That would be right,” You agreed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in your hospital gown, “And the hand?” Your left hand was bandaged up so thick it looked more like an oven mitt than a hand.

“Ghost touch.” Lockwood didn’t sound so happy and casual now.

“Oh.”

“What happened? It’s not like you to put yourself in danger like that; it was stupid and reckless.” You didn’t understand why Lockwood was getting so angry. Clearly, you didn’t intend to get injured, it was an unfortunate accident that you would have avoided if you could.

“As opposed to you, who never gets injured and always sticks to the plan?” You couldn’t help the venom seeping into your voice but you detested being criticised by Lockwood when he was just as bad, usually worse.

“This isn’t about me,” He said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep his cool while you were vulnerable. You were angry though and didn’t want to back down.

“Of course this is about you, Lockwood! You wouldn’t blink an eye if it was you who’d ended up here, or George or Lucy. It was an honest mistake, why are you being such a dick about it?” You were raising your voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks coming to the surface.

“Because you could have died —”

“So could any of us, that’s the job! I still see you jumping head-first into danger.”

Lockwood groaned your name, hands in his hair and pulling in frustration. “You’re misunderstanding me, I just don’t want to watch you get hurt—”

“Then close your fucking eyes, Lockwood. I fell and I got injured. It happens and I resent having you treat me differently than the others. Fuck this, I want Lucy here instead, or George.”

“Of course you want George here, why wouldn’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” If you could stand you would be shoving past him and out the door, but you were at a significant disadvantage being hooked up to so many machines, stuck in your place.

“You know what I mean, you and George are such a close pair, aren’t you? Always working together and laughing about your own inside jokes,” He spat and the burning anger only got hotter.

“Are you fucking crazy right now? Or are you forgetting that you’re the head of this company and therefore you’re the one pairing us together in every case? Or are you so fucking busy making heart eyes at Lucy that you don’t even notice that we’re actually getting work done? Forgive us for trying to make ten hours of research bearable!”

“Heart eyes at Luce? You’re the crazy one, she and I are just friends, I swear. But you and George will make a great couple, I’m sure.”

“George and I couldn’t be less interested in each other! And if you could see past your own nose for once maybe you’d see why!” You all but yelled, surely alerting the whole floor of your argument, “Leave me alone, Lockwood, I don’t want you here anymore.”

Lockwood looked as if he was going to dispute that statement as well but a nurse came to your rescue, clearly hearing the disagreement from outside. She ushered him out, claiming it wasn’t good for your vitals to be getting angry and that you could continue the fight when you were discharged in a few day's time.

Alone in the sterile hospital room, you felt yourself beginning to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and landing on your embarrassing patterned hospital gown. In a perfect world, that conversation would have gone completely differently. In a perfect world, Lockwood’s eyes would have softened when he saw you were awake. He would have confessed how worried he was about you and how much he truly cared for you. He would have brushed his lips across your hand that he was holding, then pressed them again against your own as he admitted how he’d always been in love with you. You didn’t know that it was your own defensive nature that had stopped that from happening.

But it wasn’t a perfect world and you were alone, overwhelmed by the various noises and movements going on around you. You did eventually fall back asleep, a fitful, unsatisfying nap that had you groaning and exhausted when you woke up. You weren’t alone though, which did make you feel better. George and Lucy were sitting next to your bed, deep in a whispered conversation.

“Hey,” You said, shimmying up to a sitting position. They both stopped talking immediately, turning to face you with small smiles on both their faces.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked, pulling her chair up to be right next to your bed.

“I’m alright now, just tired and worn down.”

“You scared us,” George added, characteristically stiff but clearly trying to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” You admitted, “I really didn’t mean to. And believe me, Lockwood’s already yelled at me enough for it, please just forgive me.” They looked at each other, communicating non-verbally.

“We heard,” George said, “He basically punched a hole in the wall trying to recount it.” He let out a clipped laugh before Lucy shoved him, signature glare working its magic.

“You should really apologise, he’s cut up about it.” Your mouth dropped open as you stared at Lucy. How was this your fault?

“I’m not apologising, he was the one who got angry. Right, George?” You pleaded with him, praying he wouldn’t let you down now.

“I… I don’t think it has to be right now, but you two should get over it after you’ve cooled down a bit.” Ok, it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped he’d say, but it was better than nothing. And better than the moral lesson you knew Lucy would try and impose — what a hypocrite.

“But he was so mean!” You whined, “I seriously just had an unfortunate fall, I didn’t die.”

“But you could have,” George quipped and you rolled your eyes.

“You know it’s because he really cares about you, right? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t save you.” You couldn’t tell if Lucy’s statement was making you feel better or worse.

“Yeah, really felt like it when he was yelling at me,” You grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the scratchy blanket.

“Well, you know Lockwood is emotionally constipated,” George added and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter — what a statement to come from George.

“OK,” You agreed finally, “I’ll apologise when we get home. As long as he stops being a massive prick.”

You were discharged a few days later, healing nicely. It would have been sooner, but the head injury worried your nurses and kept you there, not trusting you would stay on bed rest. Lucy came to your rescue, posing as a very concerned caretaker who would ensure your safety.

In fact, it wasn’t Lucy who was enforcing your bedrest. It was George who was cooking every meal and Lockwood doing all the other motherly fussing. You hadn’t discussed your fight yet, both too exhausted and too awkward to broach the subject. You hoped your six-to-eight-week recovery time wouldn’t consist of the same heavy tiredness, but you figured it would improve once the concussion had faded.

The rest of the company had started doing two-man cases so that someone was always home to supervise you. It was a little stifling but you appreciated the effort. It also shook up the status quo of the company, Lockwood and Lucy’s perfect partnership being disrupted by no one wanting to be left at home each time, which was both a blessing and a curse.

In your first few days of being back home at Portland Row, Lockwood was home with you, helping wash your hair. You’d whined so much about how gross it felt, still blood-stained where you cracked your skull open that Lockwood gave up and told you he’d wash it for you. Of course, you’d protested, saying it went way beyond what you could expect of a friend or coworker, but Lockwood would not take no for an answer, justifying that it would be more dangerous to let you do it yourself since you could mess with the stitches since you couldn’t see the back of your own head.

You sat awkwardly in the bath, dressed in an old t-shirt and bikini bottoms to preserve what dignity you could. Lockwood stood outside the bath behind you, preparing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to his side. The anticipation was destroying you, becoming fidgety and uncomfortable even in the perfectly warm water. The second Lockwood’s slender fingers threaded through your greasy hair you felt your body soften, relaxing into the feeling with no opposition. The feeling was heavenly, the careful but thorough massaging of your scalp could have sent you to sleep in three seconds if you weren’t simultaneously on edge at the proximity.

You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head lolling back subconsciously against Lockwood’s forearms, drawing a small chuckle from him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you the other day,” You said out of the blue, your voice cutting through the radio that was sitting next to the basin.

“It’s no worries, just forget about it,” Lockwood replied instantly, continuing his labours.

“No, I want to take this seriously. I said some terrible things I didn’t mean and I want you to know that I’m sorry for it. And, as I understand it you think I have some big crush on George which I would just like to disprove. I don’t. Like him like that, I mean.” Lockwood paused for a moment, hands going still in your hair.

“Oh,” He said after some time, “Well thank you for the apology but it is completely unnecessary. I started the argument and I was way out of line, I didn’t mean a word of it. What I meant to convey was that I was worried about you getting hurt because I… care about you. A lot.” You knew that was hard for Lockwood to say, vulnerability never coming easy to him. You turned to face him in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest as your just-rinsed hair dripped down onto your t-shirt.

“I care about you a lot too, Lockwood,” You smiled sweetly, glad you were finally getting over the weird tension that had been between you. Lockwood didn’t look as satisfied.

“No, it’s, fuck. I care about you in a different way than the others. I really like you, like, romantically.”

“Shut up,” You said quickly, not wanting to wake up from a sick dream. There was no way that Anthony Lockwood, after all these years, was telling you that he liked you. Lockwood looked lost for words. Obviously it wasn’t the impassioned reciprocation he hoped for, but it also wasn’t exactly a rejection. What was he supposed to do?

“I, uh, understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” You affirmed again. “I have been madly, foolishly in love with you since I started here, and you’re telling me this now? After we’ve screamed at each other and been moping around?” After a moment of him processing your statement, he began to laugh, mouth breaking into one of his light-up-the-room smiles.

“I guess so.” You joined in his laughter, admiring the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he did it.

“So what now?” You asked once your giggles had died down, leaving you two looking at each other across the edge of the bath.

“Well,” Lockwood inched closer, “We could try this?” He leant in for a soft kiss, pressing his mouth against yours lightly. You subconsciously followed his mouth as he pulled away, unwilling to open your eyes just yet.

“Mmh, maybe we could try that one again?” Lockwood laughed at your daze and happily obliged, swooping back in for a longer, deeper kiss that set your nerves on fire.

And if Lucy and George returned from their case to find the two of you still in the bath fully clothed, that was none of your business — and neither was the ten pounds that George reluctantly handed Lucy.

309 notes · View notes

clonerightsagenda · 2 years ago

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Lockwood: Lucy you don't understand. I hate ghosts. They killed my entire family.

Lucy: Sure but then they became ghosts so it evens out right.

Lockwood: You're not helping.

The last Lockwood & Co book is in transit but it just occurred to me that if Lockwood said his parents were his first ghosts, that means his sister died afterward. So while he was still a preteen his parents died, he saw and possibly fought their revenants, his sister died, he destroyed the ghost that killed her, and then just..... kept living in their family's empty house on his own. No wonder he is so deeply unwell.

#they just switched teams at halftime #lockwood and co

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sleep-i-ness · 3 months ago

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5 Midnight Conversations (Anthony Lockwood x reader)

SERIES MASTERLIST | LOCKWOOD & CO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

You wake with a start, heart pounding, the feeling of too many hands on your skin, and you press a hand to your side, expecting to feel the warmth of blood seeping through your borrowed pyjamas. When it comes away clean, you are still breathing far too fast to be able to calm down, but at least your brain is slowly starting to register where you are. You haven’t screamed, so there are some small mercies at least.

Patting the air beside the sofa, your hand lands on the small table and fumbles around for the switch to the little lamp you assured them you wouldn’t need during the night. As warm light caresses your face, you force yourself to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling slowly and ignoring the adrenaline simmering beneath your skin. Until you get your heart rate down, there’s no way you’re falling back asleep. Your fingers close around your phone, taking comfort in the familiar weight in your hand, until the screen flickers on and you see the time. 3 a.m.

Fuck.

You wrinkle your nose. A meagre four hours will hardly last you through the next day, and you aren’t going to call in sick to Arif for just some bad dreams, which means that for the next few hours, you are at least going to have to try and sleep. Close your eyes and hope that the sensation of cold fingers bruising your skin fades if you wait it out.

Perhaps a nice cup of tea might do the trick. And maybe a couple of doodles added to the Thinking Cloth, just to provide some entertainment for when they next look at it. You’ve been itching to add Kipps’ face onto it, even if you don’t get to see either of their reactions—it’s the mere thought of it that brings you joy. You can hardly imagine that Lockwood will derive any pleasure from seeing his face all the time, anyway.

You swing your legs off the sofa, hissing at the cold seeping up from the floor before braving a stand. You should have asked for slippers as well, but you haven’t wanted to take advantage of their hospitality, even if Lockwood is the one to suggest your overnight stay.

You make your way to the door, feeling around in the darkness to avoid bumping into anything, and then creep through the moonlit hallway to the kitchen, frowning when you see the door lit up with an amber glow.

The door creaks open as you gently push it, bringing you face-to-face with a half-asleep Lockwood, hair awry and eyes half-closed. He seems softened by the lamplight, chiselled features blurred in the half-light, in his pyjamas, body relaxed into the chair.

You cough, and he jolts upright, fixing a smile onto his face at the sight of you in the doorway. You frown.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs.

You nod. “I thought a cup of tea might help.”

“You sit down; I’ll make us both some.” He stands despite your protests, so you just close the door with a gentle click and settle into the seat at the head of the table. Picking up an already uncapped pen, you take a look at some new additions and grimace at curling handwriting in the shape of your name.

“Peppermint work for you?” Lockwood asks from where he’s rifling through the cupboards.

“…Yeah,” you respond, too focused on the Cloth to really answer. He glances over at you and frowns. “Hey Lockwood, why’s my name on this?”

“We were trying to think of ways to get more information for this case. Kipps suggested you, which is why we brought you in, but Lucy had already mentioned your name, so we just jotted it down.”

“Hm.”

Lockwood sets a mug down in front of you, and you force a smile. His eyebrows furrow, mouth twisting slightly. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend that you’re fine.”

You scowl. Hypocrite. “I’m sorry, what do you want me to do? Mope around and act like a dark gloomy cloud in the corner of every room?”

Lockwood winces.

“I don’t mean it like that,” he murmurs softly, and you feel a little pinch of guilt. Not huge, but he doesn’t really deserve you biting his head off, especially after apologising. “I…”

He hesitates, and you raise an eyebrow, eyes narrowing slightly as he runs a hand through his hair. You hate to admit that the strand flopping into his face, disrupting that carefully sculpted poise, makes him far more endearing than he has ever seemed before.

“I didn’t want you to do the thing earlier.”

You frown. That is the last thing you are expecting him to say. “I could’ve just said no.”

“But you wouldn’t have. It was obvious you did it for Kipps.”

You shrug. He is right, but you owe Kipps. You can’t count the number of times he has saved your life, has held you as you cried after every mission, has helped you get out of there. You would do anything for Kipps because nothing can repay what he has done for you.

“I’m sorry, anyway.”

You purse your lips. “Don’t apologise. I wouldn’t have done it, and Kipps wouldn’t have asked me if it wasn’t going to be okay. I’ll just take sleeping pills until the nightmares are gone.”

Lockwood’s face twitches, an unreadable expression flashing across his features. And then it is gone. “Why did you do it for Kipps?”

“I owe him. He’s saved my life far too many times, and I don’t like seeing him stressed.”

Lockwood frowns. “Are you two—”

There is an odd sort of pinch to his mouth as he speaks, something strange behind his eyes, and you grimace. “God, no. He’s like a brother.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I just…” Lockwood shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing for a second before his expression smooths over again. “I was just curious.”

You take a sip of your tea. “Well, you know what they say.”

Lockwood blinks at you, lips pressing together as he tilts his head.

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

A grin breaks across his face. “And satisfaction brought it back.”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh. “Curiosity satisfied then?”

Lockwood taps his spoon against the side of his mug, laying it flat on the Thinking Cloth before picking up a pen to fiddle with. “Somewhat.”

Steam curls upward from your mug, and you stare at it, uncomfortably aware of his eyes still on you. Out of the corner of your eye, Lockwood tilts his head, pursing his lips.

“Go on then. Ask away,” you lean back in your chair, feeling it wobble on two legs and quickly steadying yourself.

A sheepish expression flits onto Lockwood’s face, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, who did you work for?”

“Fittes,” your nose wrinkles, lips pursing together as if you have tasted something sour. You, of all people, are not blind to the reputation your previous agency holds; it has been an unpleasant working environment, both with the cases and the people assigned to them.

“Is that how you came to know Kipps?”

You nod. “Yeah, he always kept me under his wing. People like me don’t tend to last very long in agencies.”

“Why did you leave?”

You take a deep breath. “Bad case. Really bad case. I don’t really want to talk about it. You can ask Kipps in the morning, if you have to.”

He nods, face softening as his eyes search you. Looking for something. You aren’t sure what, but it is disconcerting to be read so intently. Heat creeps up to the tips of your ears, tinging them pink, and you feel yourself cringing away from the intensity of his gaze.

“What?” Your words come out harsher than you intend, and Lockwood smirks.

“Nothing. It’s just… interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

Lockwood leans forward slightly, fiddling absentmindedly with the pen you left on the Thinking Cloth. His smirk deepens as he tilts his head.

“You.”

You frown, the heat at your ears creeping down your neck. “Me?”

He hums, swirling his spoon through his tea before taking a slow sip. “You’re an enigma.”

A snort escapes before you can help it. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Lockwood rakes his fingers through the hair falling over his eyes and shoots you another easy grin. “Perhaps. But I’m an open book compared to you. Do you make it a point to not tell anyone anything?”

You roll your eyes, taking another sip of your tea to avoid responding immediately. There’s something about the way he looks at you, so earnestly and so deeply, that makes you want to squirm. Besides, he hasn’t earned an answer to his question.

He leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs, and you have to fight the urge to watch the fabric tighten around his legs, how comfortably he seemed to take up space, even in the quiet light of the night. “Do you think it’s worth it?”

You blink, whiplashed by the change of topic. It isn’t like Lockwood to give up so easily, and so you narrow your eyes. “What?”

“This job. The ghosts. The nightmares.”

You sigh, looking down at the swirling steam of your tea. “No. But who else is there to do it? I had the chance to leave, but some people aren’t quite so lucky.”

For once, Lockwood doesn’t have a quip ready. He just nods, something unreadable flickering across his face before he drains the rest of his tea.

The silence that settles isn’t uncomfortable, not really. It’s heavy but not suffocating. Just… there. Shared.

You trace a lazy swirl onto the Thinking Cloth with your fingertip, the ink beneath smudging slightly. Lockwood watches, quiet.

“Would you do it all over again?” he asks eventually.

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you tap the side of your mug, considering. “Would you?”

Lockwood exhales a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he sets his empty mug down. “You really hate answering questions.”

You huff, rolling your eyes again, but the corners of your lips twitch despite yourself.

The clock on the wall ticks, the sound blending with the soft hum of the city outside. You have a feeling sleep would still evade you tonight. But, oddly enough, sitting here, bathed in warm lamplight, with Lockwood’s steady presence across from you, it doesn’t seem so bad.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #anthony lockwood/reader #anthony lockwood x reader angst #lockwood x you

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maraschinomerry · 1 year ago

Text

Meddling Git

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: When George connects with Arif's new shop assistant, Lockwood makes it his mission to make more opportunities for them to meet

Content: fluff, meddling Lockwood, insecurity about agent work, slight mention of blood

A/N: I'm back!! After an unintentional 7 month hiatus, I've finally been inspired to write again! I've also decided to switch from using (name) to y/n if anyone has any opinions on that. Thank you to everyone who shared anniversary/meet content for reminding me how much I love this fandom, and all my love to the multiverse of George chat for giving me so much inspiration and encouragement 💛

Word count: 4k exactly!

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear @honey-with-tea @mischiefmanaged71 and also tagging @bobbys-not-that-small @bella-rose29 @oblivious-idiot @uku-lelevillain @lewkwoodnco

Lockwood, Lucy and George marched proudly towards Arif's. They'd completed another house call and been tipped generously by the owner, so Lockwood had promised to treat the team to breakfast. Of course, with the first rays of the morning only just beginning to peek through the clouds, there weren't any cafes open yet.

“I'll cook,” George offered, “as long as you buy the ingredients…”

“Of course.”

“...and those strawberry cream doughnuts.”

“Fine,” Lockwood rolled his eyes dramatically. Lucy grinned.

The bell above the door rang out lightly. Only agents would be around at this hour, and Lockwood & Co was the only agency who ever came to Arif's. In fact, their presence was so regular that the boy who worked the morning shift, Max, would greet them before they even came into view. Today, however, the shop remained silent.

“Morning, Max!” Lockwood called over a shelf when the quiet lasted a moment too long. “I don't suppose you have any of the strawb-” He hesitated as the group rounded the corner and finally came into view of the counter.

—

You frowned a little to yourself at the gentle chime of the bell. Surely there wouldn't be anybody about this early? Though you couldn't see the front door from behind the counter (a bit of a security flaw, you reckoned) there was a small window to your left which showed only the slightest hint of sunlight. Then again, Arif had mentioned a group of agents that would come by often. You weren't aware there was a local agency, but you were so new to both the area and the job that you didn't like to question it. The bell had been followed by overlapping footsteps and more than one hushed voice. Maybe this was them.

“Morning, Max!” one of the voices suddenly spoke up, a little deeper than you expected but unmistakably that of a boy and not a man. The footsteps drew closer. “I don't suppose you have any of the strawb-” At last the owner of the voice appeared from behind a shelf. The words stuttered to a stop, as did the movements of the tall boy in the black overcoat. Behind him, a girl in a blue jumper almost ran into him with the sudden pause.

“You're not Max,” she stated bluntly.

“No, I'm not.”

“Is he…?”

“Moved back to Cornwall with his parents,” you reassured her. You knew what it was like, wondering whether someone's absence meant the Problem had claimed another victim. “I'm y/n.”

“Well,” the boy cut back in with a charming smile, “morning, y/n. I'm Lockwood, this is Lucy, and George is around somewhere. As I was saying, do you happen to have any of those strawberry cream doughnuts?”

You returned his smile with one of your own as you fetched a square box from the chilled cabinet. “You're in luck, but I suppose you'll have to fight over who gets the fourth.”

“We won't,” another boy piped up from the far corner of the shop - George, you assumed. “If I'm making breakfast, I'm calling dibs.” Lucy giggled and you felt yourself suppressing one of your own.

“You'll have to forgive George, he's-” Lockwood began.

“No, no, he's got a point.”

“Finally, somebody gets it!” George's voice sounded triumphant, and much closer than before. After a beat, he arrived and you were able to put a face to the voice.

George was taller than Lucy but a little shorter than Lockwood, with dark curly hair and round glasses. Under his jacket was a vibrantly orange T-shirt, and in his arms he cradled a carton of eggs and a few different vegetables. He shuffled closer, attempting to place the produce on the counter without dropping the eggs but having trapped his hand in too awkward a position to keep a good hold of them.

“Let me,” you found yourself leaning over the counter, your fingers brushing the crook of his elbow as you rescued the carton and set it down gently. The boy blinked at you in surprise before quickly recovering and placing down the bulb of garlic he was holding. “What are you making?”

“Gojeh farangi, a sort of omelette.”

“Sounds good.” You handed him the ingredients, now bagged, and slid the box of doughnuts towards him as well. Lockwood stepped forwards with a handful of cash, and George shrunk back.

“It's been a pleasure meeting you, y/n,” Lockwood gave you another of those smiles. You got the sense he was the head of the team, the diplomat, the charisma. “No doubt we'll see you again.”

“Nice to meet you all too. I'll be here most mornings, in case you want to beat the regular crowd to the good doughnuts.” Without realising, you found yourself directing the latter part to the other boy, and you could have sworn you saw a flush tint his cheeks as he gave a slight smile and a nod of acknowledgement. What you didn't see was the glance exchanged by the other two.

—

The trio were back at Portland Row, the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh tomatoes and the glow of a job well done.

“Y/n seemed nice,” Lucy remarked as casually as possible.

“Mm,” Lockwood agreed into his cup of tea. “What did you think, George?”

They turned their attention quite unsubtly to their friend at the oven. He stayed with his back to them, and they couldn't be sure it was just because he was focused on breakfast, as he shrugged. “Suppose so. Didn't get much chance to judge.” He turned at last, not making eye contact as he slid two plates across the table.

“Ah well,” Lockwood continued after thanking George, who had turned away to collect his own plate, and he took the opportunity to throw Lucy a conspiratorial wink. “Plenty of time for that.”

Lucy almost choked on her mouthful.

The next day, George was halfway down the main stairs on the way to the training room when Lockwood poked his head out of his room. His hair was dishevelled, the collar of his shirt was wide open and his tie was hanging loosely around his neck.

“Ah, George! Do me a favour and run down to Arif's? We're out of detergent.”

“Why can't you go?”

“I've got that meeting with Mrs Pemberley to go over the details of the case and I'm running late as it is.”

“And Lucy-”

“Has gone to see Barnes.”

“Right.”

George held the door open for an elderly man just leaving the shop before slipping inside. He made his way to the detergent, stopping for a packet of chocolate digestives. Seeing you at the counter made him falter a little. You'd said you worked mornings, but it was almost lunchtime and he thought someone might have taken over by now.

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him cheerily. “Didn't hear you come in. George, right? Are your friends with you?”

“Just me,” George huffed. You picked up on the huff and wondered whether he was just having a bad day. From the small interaction you'd had yesterday, he seemed to get on well with his fellow agents and his annoyance was playfully exaggerated. Was it too soon to play along? You'd only met him yesterday. Then again, it was ordinary enough for shop workers to make conversation with the customers, and you wanted to at least try and make an effort at this new job.

“One of those days?” you prompted.

“Tell me about it.” The response was dry but not sarcastic, and you got the sense that he would have opened up more if he knew you better.

“Surely these will help,” you held up the biscuits as you passed them back to him, which earned you a slight smile. That was all you got, however, as he paid and walked away with only a muttered thanks. For some reason, you found yourself fishing for a way to make him stay and talk more. There weren't many people your age who came by while you were on shift (not many people at all, to be honest), as most of them worked the night shifts and barely went out and about until later in the afternoon. You just wanted someone, anyone, to talk to, and he was right there and getting further away by the second. Plus, you couldn't deny you were intrigued.

“Can I ask you something?” you blurted.

The boy turned, curiosity colouring his gaze. For a moment, you thought he'd still leave, but he came towards you and placed the detergent bottle back on the counter with a thud. You continued, “Which agency do you all work for? I noticed your rapiers yesterday, and Arif mentioned you being in the area, but I wasn't sure where."

George brightened. “We're Lockwood & Co, on Portland Row.”

—

A few more days passed, and the longer it went on the more George was unable to stop thinking about the new shop assistant. There was something about their question - most people didn't pay much notice to off-duty agents, much less care about which agency they were from. Sure, Arif had mentioned or warned them about Lockwood & Co, so perhaps it was just polite conversation, but they'd seemed genuinely invested in the answer. And with the shop opening in the early hours specifically for agents, it often took someone with Talent of their own to be brave enough to be out so early. Maybe…

His thoughts were interrupted by Lucy wandering into the study. She flopped into the armchair opposite, trying not to pay too much attention when George peered at her over the top of his book.

“Everything okay?” he asked. It wasn't often Lucy joined him for research.

“Lockwood's going to buy food so I thought I'd come and hang out with you. Don't mind me,” she shrugged. George took that rather literally, turning his attention back to the book on his lap. In the distance, they heard the front door open and close again, marking Lockwood's exit.

Lucy spoke again. “Oh, I almost forgot! He said we're out of cornflour but can he just use baking powder instead?”

George's eyes widened, and Lucy heard him mutter something particularly cutting as he dropped his book onto the arm of the chair and darted from the room. Moments later, the front door sounded again.

Lockwood turned in his stride and met George with a sharp grin, almost like he was expecting the other boy to come after him.

“I take it we do need cornflour, then?”

“You're such an idiot.” George fell into step beside him, and the two walked quietly for a while. George wondered whether it was worth going back to the house at all after this or whether to carry on to the Archives; it was early enough in the day that they might not be full yet. At least it would mean not being a part of whatever scheme his friend seemed to be cooking up.

—

You were greeted by Lockwood remarkably quickly after the bell alerted you to his presence, but he barely got a word in before you apologised, explaining that you hadn't meant to be rude when you first met, you just didn't know the agency to put his name to it.

“It was only when George explained-”

Almost as if you'd summoned him, the curly-haired boy stepped into view and gave you a small nod.

Lockwood's grinned, wider than before. “You didn't tell me you'd been chatting to y/n, mate.” He turned his attention back to you. “You must have quite the impact if you're getting more out of him than I am.”

A glowing warmth spread through your cheeks, and instinctively your eyes flew to George, whose expression reflected your own. The other boy glanced between you both with delight. “I suppose so,” you mumbled. “I was just curious because-”

“You have Talent.” It was George who had spoken, and he moved forward with his gaze levelled on yours. The words were spoken not as a question or a statement, more like a realisation. It struck you that behind the unassuming first impression the boy gave off was a quiet but brilliant intelligence for him to have figured you out so quickly. Very few people ever figured you out at all, especially not about your Talent.

“How did you know?”

George seemed to suddenly realise how close he'd come, practically leaning over the counter to study you; he pulled away and dragged his gaze to his shoes. “Educated guess.”

Lockwood, on the other hand, was having none of it, eyeing you up mischievously. “Don't be so modest,” he elbowed his friend in the ribs. You tried very hard not to fixate on the way the movement tightened his shirt across his chest and waist. “He's not our researcher for nothing, he's a genius.”

George sighed, but his head lifted with a burst of confidence. “I figured you must to feel safe working here before dawn, I just wasn't sure why you're not an agent. Oh, and the iron cross above the counter is new.”

There wasn't a single other person this week who'd noticed the cross you installed on your first day. This boy was really something.

“Wow,” you breathed subconsciously. George's cheeks reddened; this time he was definitely blushing. As for why you weren't an agent, what were you supposed to say? That you were less scared of the Visitors than you were of never finding your place within a team or worse, finding the right people but then losing them? How could you possibly explain that to him? So you didn't, and after a few more pleasantries Lockwood headed for the door. George threw you a backwards glance and a small wave, and the butterflies that had appeared in your stomach waved back.

Lockwood was positively beaming as they stepped out into the midday sun. Golden rays danced across his face, the air was mild, a soft breeze ruffled through his coat. It was all far too cheerful.

“What's got into you?” George frowned. “I haven't seen you this happy since we watched Kipps fall over his own rapier.”

“Am I not allowed to be happy?” Lockwood feigned outrage, clutching his chest. “And it's you that I'm happy for!”

George stopped. “What?”

“Come on, I've known you long enough to see there's something between you and y/n. Why don't you ask them out?”

“It's not like that! We've only spoken a couple of times, I don't know them well enough for anything like that.”

“If you say so…”

—

God, Lockwood was insufferable. He'd abandoned all subtlety, and it was driving George up the wall.

The smell of strong black coffee drifted up the stairs as George drifted down them. Lockwood had booked a big case for that night with absolutely no background information, so he'd spent the whole night on initial research. Hopefully caffeine would keep him awake long enough to get through the day.

Lucy was standing by the toaster, wielding a butter knife and humming to herself. George slumped into his usual chair with a groan.

“Coffee? Toast?” she offered.

“Please.”

“Sorry,” Lockwood appeared from the basement. “That's the last of the bread, you'll need to pick up more while you're out today.”

“You're joking,” George looked up. “There's still three slices in the bag there.” This was the third time this week he'd pulled something like this. The first was ‘accidentally’ stepping on an entire packet of biscuits. The second was announcing the milk was off, pouring it down the drain before anyone could check with enough force that it splashed back and went all over his trousers. And now this.

Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Lockwood was faster. Before anyone could react, he pulled out the remaining slices, folded them all in half and took a massive bite. When he unfolded them, it left a gaping hole down the middle of all three slices, which he held up and peeked through triumphantly.

“You're ridiculous,” George scowled.

“ ‘m miwwian’” Lockwood mumbled around the wad of bread in his mouth.

George wanted to put his foot down. He didn't want to let Lockwood win. He knew he'd be so smug about it. But he also knew that every time he was sent to Arif's he stayed a little longer, talked a little more, watched you smile a little brighter. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he'd started looking forward to being sent out for things.

“Oh hey, Georgie!” Your face lit up when he entered the shop, and he smiled back. You weren't sure when you'd started calling him Georgie, he'd been here so often it was hard to tell which day was which any more. Not that you were complaining - he was easy to talk to, more interested in your Talent than anyone else had been, understanding when you'd finally explained your concerns about becoming an agent, and undeniably cute on top of all that. “What do you need today?”

“A boss who's not a meddling git,” he scowled dramatically, “...and milk.”

“I can only help with the second one,” you teased as you made your way out to the shop floor. Speaking to him from behind a counter felt so impersonal now, so you'd taken to wandering round the shop with him. You really hoped he didn't think you were overstepping or anything. As far as you knew, he thought of you as just the shop assistant, nothing more. You hoped it was more than that, could be more at least.

Another customer came and went, and George was still there, enraptured by your opinions on the Problem. He'd taken up a stance leaning against the shelves, one hand tucked into his pocket and looking the most relaxed you'd seen him since that first time he came into the shop. A light smile played across his face as he watched you hop onto the counter, not breaking your train of thought at all.

“I should get on before my shift finishes,” you sighed eventually. George immediately stepped forward and offered his hand to help you climb back down. His skin was warm and slightly calloused. You stumbled a little as you hit the ground and his other hand flew to your elbow, eyes scanning yours in concern.

“Thanks,” you murmured, painfully aware of how close you were. You'd put your hand out to steady yourself; it was clutching at the soft fabric of his orange plaid shirt. His eyes met yours once more and you both hastily pulled away.

“I'd better get back,” he cleared his throat.

“To the meddling git?”

He chuckled, a low sound which rumbled pleasantly in his chest. “Exactly. We're, um, we're out on another case tonight, but I'll see you soon, okay?”

“I hope so,” you replied, hoping he knew you didn't just mean because he made it back safely. “We'll have those doughnuts you like again tomorrow, if you're back in time.”

“I'll definitely be here for that,” he grinned.

—

It had been a hell of a night. The man who hired them had tried to bolster his ego by downplaying how intense the Visitors were. ‘A couple of Type 1s’ had turned out to be three particularly vicious Type 2s and it had taken until dawn to neutralise all the sources. The team emerged into the dewy morning covered in dust, rubble and, in George's case, blood. He'd taken a piece of debris to the face and, while it wasn't a serious injury, it had left him with a small cut which throbbed when he spoke. They were quite far from home too, and it was almost midday before they made it back to Portland Row.

George flopped onto a sofa in the living room as soon as they were through the door, while Lucy fetched the first aid kit. She sat down next to him, clicking open the case, and her face paled even more than it had with the exhaustion.

“We're out of antiseptic.”

“Lockwood,” George glared at his friend. He really wasn't in the mood.

“This isn't me this time! Look, you stay here and rest, I'll go and get more. Anything else we need?”

George pushed himself up to his feet. At least venting to you might make him feel better, and you had promised him doughnuts. “It's fine, I'll go.” Lockwood glanced at Lucy, taken aback by his insistence. He'd only been teasing George about going to see you, he never expected it to actually work.

“Please tell me you've still got those doughnuts, y/n,” George groaned as he pushed open the door to Arif's.

“Sorry,” came the reply from a voice distinctly unlike yours, as Arif glanced up from the shelf he was reorganising. “They took the last box at the end of their shift, maybe ten minutes ago.”

The last glimmer of hope that George had harboured fizzled out in his chest. Of course there was going to be no silver lining to the day. He was tired, he was hurt, and he didn't even get the doughnuts he'd been holding out for. Worse than that, though, he finally admitted to himself (and practically to his friends too) that he wanted to see you, that he liked you, and for what? Of course you weren't, you'd finished work and why on earth would you stick around just in case he showed up? It was unreasonable, he knew, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He'd have to wait until tomorrow, when he'd recovered a bit and could have a proper chat to you about everything. Ranting with Lockwood and Lucy was alright - they'd been there, they knew what he went through - but you were so gentle and understanding with him every time that he was desperate to hear your thoughts.

A figure on the steps of 35 Portland Row made George stop in his tracks. A new client, perhaps. Nothing unusual there.

The figure turned.

“Georgie?”

His face split into a grin the instant he recognised you. You'd changed out of your plain uniform into more casual clothes. The vibrant colours made you look almost radiant.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?”

You shuffled awkwardly on the step, suddenly aware of just how much of a risk you were about to take.

“When you didn't show up this morning… well, I was worried about you on the case. And I know I said I was scared of becoming an agent in case I made friends with my team and then lost them, but I realised I could just as easily lose you like this and I'd never get to really know…” George watched you in awe, silently gravitating closer with every breath. Your own breath was trembling, the sound of it echoing from your chest up to your ears. Finally, he was close enough that you noticed the stark red line on his cheek. “Oh my god, you're hurt.” Just imagining him in pain sent ice through your veins.

“I'm okay,” he assured you gently. “Just a scratch. I've just been to Arif's for antiseptic and…” he looked almost as nervous to speak as you, “I missed seeing you.”

You wanted to reach out to him, to take his hand or hug him close, but instead you held up the box you'd forgotten you were holding. “Me too. I brought those doughnuts just in case, figured you might need the extra one.”

His expression softened. “It's not an extra if you're here. I mean, if you want? You could come in and we can share them with the rest of the team.” Team. He gave you a look that showed he meant the implication behind it. You were one of them now, if you wanted to be. With a smile, you wound the fingers of your free hand into his and allowed him to lead you into the house.

#lockwood & co #george karim x reader #george karim #gn!reader #save lockwood and co #anthony lockwood

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