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lockwoodsbane · 1 month

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Additions and Donuts

Lockwood proves just how well he knows you, but he still can't piece it together. You're both oblivious, but Lucy is quick to pick it all up.

"This is the kitchen," you heard behind you, following the sound of the kitchen door opening. Lockwood glanced at you at the sink as you turned with a frown, the corners of his lips tugging upwards at the sight of the yellow rubber gloves on your hands.

"Don't mind Y/n looking sullen over there, she's like this when she's hungry."

"Shut up, Lockwood." You beamed at the pretty girl with him pointedly, taking in her ruffled red hair and the heavy belongings she held. She fumbled with the strap of her bag as she shot back a nervous smile, looking at Lockwood as though she expected an introduction. He seemed to notice, because that was exactly what he did.

"Y/n, this is Lucy, our newest addition. Lucy, Y/n." He turned his back to you, yet remained purposefully loud. "She's a handful, so I'd steer clear of her if I was you."

"I assure you I'm not, Lucy." You said, though Lucy could see it was directed to the owner of the house rather than her. She saw your eyes flicker to her many bags and a scowl cross over your face.

"You could have at least took her bags for her, Lockwood!" You exclaimed, and her eyes widened shyly. He furrowed his brows like he hadn't even thought of this.

"Oh yes, would you like me to— erm—"

Lucy stared at him. "It's okay," she spoke, but you heard the strain in her voice.

"Right." Lockwood looked to you again. "You'll be sharing rooms of course, like I said. Y/n, if you'd show her upstairs?"

"Gladly." You took off the gloves, left them beside the sink and made for the door, but Lockwood blocked it, arms crossed and avoiding eye contact as though he expected you to ask him to move. When you didn't, he moved of his own accord with a huff, and you headed into the hallway closely followed by Lucy. She shut the door gracefully.

"Here, I'll grab one of those for you," you offered, nodding to her bags. She smiled gratefully and swung one off her shoulder and into your hands. Comfortable with other girls, you noted. You could tell immediately that you were going to get along well.

"I'm sorry for this, having to show me around. I know you were busy." She fidgeted with her hands as she spoke, and for a moment you were reminded of your own first day in the house, a chaotic one. You stopped mid-step and dismissed it with a wave of your hand.

"Don't apologise, I hate dish duty." You smiled and began ascending the stairs again. "I'm just glad I've finally got another girl with me in the house."

"Are they that bad?" asked Lucy, her lips tugging upwards.

You shrugged. "I mean, George can be a bit eager at times, especially when he's passionate about something, though that comes in use. He's quite fussy about keeping everything orderly, but he really is a nice guy overall."

She nodded in understanding. "Yeah, he was in the interview earlier."

"I'm so glad I don't have to sit in those interviews," you huffed. "You're the first person today who hasn't left in a fright, be that from George or from that skull of his."

She looked unfazed, as though she expected such.

"And Lockwood?"

You sighed as you reached your room upstairs, hand on the door. "Don't even get me started. Unbearable, to say the least, but he can talk for the whole of England, I'll give him that."

Lucy frowned as you pushed open the door. "Is that a good thing or bad?"

She saw your lips widen. "Good for business, bad for arguments. Well, this is our room."

She looked away from you finally and around the room. Not too big, she had to admit, but the fairy lights and little polaroids you had stuck beside your bed were more than enough to make it homely.

"I'll shuffle a few things around slightly to make you a bit more room. Lockwood's probably told you already, rent gets deducted from wages, so you're fine to decorate as much as you like. I think."

Lucy nodded, smiling gently at the thought as you set down her bag. "Thank you."

You grinned back. "'More than welcome. I'm going to head downstairs before George riots because I haven't finished with the dishes. If you need anything, let me know, yeah?"

She nodded, and you took it as your cue to leave, shutting the door behind you. As you headed down the stairs, passing by the private locked door, you saw Lockwood heading up the set of stairs below you, near his own room. He glanced up, the casual expression morphing into a smirk at the sight of you.

"Haven't scared her off, have you?" He grinned toothily at your face.

"If your face didn't scare her off, believe me, mine won't."

He pouted, but stepped closer, voice falling slightly as he leaned on the frame of the staircase. "She's a good listener, from what we saw in the interview. I think this is finally our breakthrough."

"Really?" You stepped onto the landing beside him. "That good?"

He nodded. "I'm sure of it."

"In that case, you had best find us a case, Lockwood. I'm getting tired of staying here all day, I need some sort of action." You sighed, heading down the stairs again to the kitchen again. To your surprise, he followed, falling into step beside you. What on Earth was he up to now?

"Just think of the possibilities! George as our researcher, Lucy as our listener, me as the beautiful face of this company!"

He looked to you with a lopsided smirk as though waiting for you to point out the fact that he hadn't mentioned you. You sighed, dreading what was to come.

"I'm not even going to ask."

"No, go on, ask."

"Fine. What about me?"

His smile spread from ear to ear. "The finest dish scrubber in London."

He barely had time to slam and lock shut the library door as you chased him.

A few hours later, Lucy found herself sitting at the kitchen table with George, who was deepy immersed in a book. He barely spared her a glance, and instead, she sat assessing the notes carved into the table before her.

The most recent one, it seemed, was a rather exaggerated drawing of Lockwood, his head at least three times bigger than the rest of him. She couldn't help but smile a little.

A crash upstairs, followed by multiple yells knocked her out of her thoughts. George, on the otherhand, seemed unbothered.

"Is everything okay?" Asked Lucy, glancing upwards at the fancy little chandelier shaking above them.

"You get used to it." said George, taking a sip from his cup of tea without looking away from his book.

"Are they— is there something going on with them two?" She asked hesitantly, as a scream of "LOCKWOOD!" echoed down the stairs.

"I'd have to ask you to define something, because if you define that as hatred, then yes most definitely." He turned a page.

"No, I mean, you know...romantically?"

George looked up, eyes wide. "I should hope not. They'd set the word alight if so. It would be dangerous."

Lucy bit back a grin. That sounded close enough to her.

She heard footsteps in the hallway, and soon the door opened, and in stalked a jolly looking Anthony Lockwood. "Oh, hello!" He exclaimed at the sight of Lucy. He headed over to the kettle, fumbling with its switch as he looked out of the window. "Thought you'd already gone to bed. It's good you didn't, that racket she's making upstairs would have kept you up."

Goerge tutted across the table, and Lockwood looked back at him. "What?"

"Do you need to wind her up at every chance you get? You know it never ends well! I go to bed with a headache every night!" George huffed, flicking a page again. "Not to even mention the noise the neighbours must hear."

Lockwood chuckled, pulling the chair beside Lucy out from under the table. "Come on, it's funny."

"Does she find it funny?" asked Lucy, and Lockwood glanced at her sideways, as though he had forgotten she was there. She froze, as though she had accidentally spoke out of turn, but he didn't seem bothered. A smile spread over his face again, and he leaned back in the chair.

"She does, though she'll never admit it." He stood up at the ping of the kettle and went over to it, his back to the pair once again.

"Doesn't seem it." grumbled George.

"You wouldn't be able to tell, George." said Lockwood, grabbing a mug from the stand.

"It's not hard to tell that she's mad, Lockwood."

"She's not mad, George." It was now Lockwood's turn to tut. He turned to face them, his back to the counter top as he mixed the mug in his hand with a little spoon. "She only scrunches her nose like that when she's holding back a smile. And she doesn't chase people she's mad at, nor does she push them the way she does me all the time, with her hands flat forward like that. It's too soft to do damage."

Lucy stared at him, and then over at George, who had stopped mid sip, his mug in the air, and his brows knitted together. Lockwood, on the other hand, continued with a little smile, paying no heed to the pair at the table.

"If she was mad, she'd raise both her eyebrows while arguing," he stated matter-of-factly, "and she would sit here tugging on her sleeves and eyeing us all silently." George met Lucy's gaze at these words, remembering the conversation they had only minutes ago. Lockwood took a seat in his chair again, mug on the table.

"And she isn't giving me the silent treatment, or talking overly quickly. And most importantly," he paused to reach for a chocolate biscuit, before leaning back with a grin as he took a bite. "She isn't calling me Anthony. That would be a dead giveaway to anyo- why are you both looking at me like that?"

He looked between them, as neither replied. "Is there something on my face?"

George shook his head in disbelief. "You fool!"

Lockwood's forehead crinkled. "What?" He looked to Lucy, who shrugged, pushing her chair back with a piercing screech and getting up.

"I'm going to, er, head to bed." she said awkwardly. "'Night."

Lockwood nodded, still frowning and bid her farewell. George, meanwhile, remained astounded. "I can't believe I didn't piece it together earlier..."

"What, that Y/n doesn't get mad? Not hard to see." said Lockwood with a shrug.

"You really are clueless." George rose from his chair too, placing his mug in the sink. "Absolutely clueless."

He left without another word, leaving the brunette baffled.

"I really do work with weird people," muttered Lockwood, staring down at his tea.

"You're no better." His eyes shot up as you entered, and he feigned a sigh, pinching the bridgenpf his nose as you passed by him. "Talking to yourself, Lockwood, is a sign of insanity, I believe."

"Perhaps you're right, seeing as you do it all the time." He grinned at you as you opened the fridge and grabbed the box of donuts you'd bought last night as you returned after a meeting with DEPRAC.

"Well maybe I am insane." You sat across him, where George had been moments before. Lockwood rocked forwards on his elbows on the table, leaning in.

"Give me a donut."

Your brows creased together, and a grin spread over your face. "No."

"Oh, come on, just one!"

You feigned a look of thought. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I'm your favourite?" He said hopefully, earning a laugh in return. Lockwood's own eyes crinkled in the corners as he watched you, lips tugging into a smile for the hundreth time that day.

"The white one, right? Coloured sprinkles?"

Lockwood nodded eagerly, hand held out. You reached into the box, and he saw a look of fake guilt pass over your features.

"Oh no, would you look at that! I've already took a bite!"

Lockwood let out a gasp of offence. "What?"

"Sorry, my dear favourite person." You shook yaour head with a dramatic exhale. "You wouldn't want one I've already eaten, looks like you'll have to go buy your own."

With a smirk irritating enough to counter his usual one, you held up the white donut in your hand so it was clearly on display. Lockwood's eyes remained on it, studying the bite in it closely, and then over to you. His gaze remained steady, and you held yours too, but you could feel a smile threatening to bloom. But suddenly, his eyes had lit up, and before you could even question it, he'd reached across the table and pulled your hand over to him by your wrist. He'd taken a huge bite out of the donut in the time it took you to process the feeling of his warm hand around your wrist.

He sat in glory, staring at the shocked look on your face as he swallowed. You looked from him to the donut, then to his fingers around your wrist tightly. Lockwood seemed to notice it too, and let go instantly.

"You won't want one I've already eaten, Y/n." He quoted with a smirk, holding his hand out again, looking pointedly to the donut you still grasped. With a scowl, you handed it over. "Thought so."

He took an exaggerated bite from it, and his eyes travelled onto the rest of the box, which you grabbed and hugged to your chest. "Don't even try it. The rest are mine and Lucy's."

"I'm sure Lucy won't want all of them, Y/n."

"Well I do, so back off."

He laughed as you stormed out of the kitchen, steps echoing off the floorboards.

"Good night to you too!" He called, and you could practically hear him grinning.

"Unbearable," you muttered, but the smile on your face as you took the stairs two at a time wasn't one that would disappear any time soon.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #Anthonylockwoodxreader #lucy carlyle #george karim #george cubbins #cameron chapman #ruby stokes #DEPRAC #bring back lockwood and co #neflix

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jc-writes-bullshit · 3 months

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@ elon musk why can’t you do something that’s actually useful to society like giving Netflix a big chunk of money to renew Lockwood and Co.???

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kestisvrse · 10 months

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bad for business

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff with a bit of angst. fake dating.

synopsis ⋆ the three times you found yourself fake dating anthony lockwood.

warnings ⋆ swearing, reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood, being followed, kissing (written by someone without their first kiss send help). | wc: 1.4k

♫ - bad for business by sabrina carpenter

1. a walk home

“ladies first.” you snort at lockwoods comment as he holds the door for you to exit arif’s, a box of donuts secured in your hands.

“wow what a gentleman.” you joke making lockwood laugh a little as you begin your walk towards home, a comfortable silence falling between you two, a minute or so passes.

“someone’s following us.” lockwood says nonchalantly, you furrow your eyebrows looking at him, “he was standing outside arif’s when we went in, he was staring at you the whole time and now he is getting closer.” lockwood says looking over his shoulder, shuffling slightly closer towards you.

“well what do we do?” you ask slightly panicked.

“hold my hand.”

“i’m sorry?” you say, he failed to answer as he grabs the box of donuts out of your hands, using his free hand to intertwine your fingers.

“just trust me okay? maybe if he thinks we are together he will leave us alone.” lockwood clarified.

“o-okay, i guess” you mutter, a light blush painting your cheeks at the feeling of his thumb lightly rubbing your hand.

you were nearing portland row, you and lockwood standing closer together, you freeze up as he places a kiss on the top of your head to nonchalantly glance behind you two, “i see him, he is walking away. just… keeping holding on until we get home… just incase.” you nod, silently agreeing with him.

he didn’t let go of your hand until he placed the box of donuts on the kitchen table.

2. too close for comfort

lockwood had convinced you, lucy and george to go to this ‘ball’, you honestly didn’t know what to call it. it was a fancy building filled with agents dressed up and the adults that exploit their talents for money, celebrating nothing in particular and somehow, lockwood and co. got invites.

lockwood looked like he was at home, while george uncomfortably tugged at the collar of his button up and wandered off with lucy, leaving you and lockwood, standing in the middle of the ballroom.

“why are we here, lockwood?” you pried.

“why not? every agent in london is here.” he responds.

“that doesn’t mean we have to be.” you shot back, annoyed by a man who pushed past you, causing you to knock shoulders with anthony.

“it’s a good opportunity, to meet new people and get our name out there.”

“with our competition? yeah alright. i need something to drink.” you wandered off.

some time had passed, it included you leaning against the wall observing everyone that passed by, you had found george and lucy at one point where george had gave up and went home while lucy decided to investigate around for god knows what. you decided it was time to find lockwood again.

wandering around aimlessly you spotted him in the sea of tuxes, talking to a blonde girl, in a blue 90s like prom dress, inching closer and closer to lockwood.

you rolled your eyes at the sight, lockwoods charming smile seemingly working again, but it didn’t look like he used it on purpose this time.

“there you are, i’ve been looking for you everywhere!” you smoothly entered the conversation, linking your arm with his and his whole face seemed to light up.

“oh.” the blonde commented, squinting her eyes, “who’s this?”

“i’m-“ he cut you off, taking the lead.

“this is my partner.” lockwood replied, you smiled at the girl as she realized she misread the situation, quickly saying goodbyes and walking off.

“i couldn’t tell if you needed saving or not.” you explained, a hidden apology heard beneath your words just incase he was enjoying the girls company.

“no i did, thank you.” he said, making eye contact, “maybe we should head home now?”

“let’s find lucy first.” you suggested, and he sent you a grin.

that damn grin.

3. distraction

you had warned him.

you had told him there had to be a better way to get information that didn’t involve breaking and entering. but as per usual he used his charisma and webbed you into the whole plan.

and now, you two were running down alleyways, after being caught. ‘i told you so’ repeating over and over again in your head as you focused on running, and of course you reached another problem.

“shit!” you whispered, lockwood dragging you back behind a wall, your only escape had multiple body guards roaming the area.

“how the hell did they even get there.” lockwood said to himself.

“what do we do?? there are two other body guards about to block off the way we came from!” you panted out, catching your breath from running.

“i have a crazy idea.” lockwood made eye contact with you, he seemed nervous as he ran his hand through his hair.

“all your ideas are crazy, anthony.” you countered.

“just listen okay?” he whispers, you slowly nod, “if we can make it seem like, we have no idea what’s going on around us and that we accidentally stumbled up here maybe they won’t think it’s us.” you gave him a blank stare.

“what are you even suggesting right now lockwood?!” you grumbled, faintly you heard footsteps approaching.

“we do not have time for this, do you trust me?”

“do i have a choice?” you quipped, but suddenly the conversation was over as he cupped your cheeks and suddenly his lips were on yours. you froze up, you expected his plan to be anything but this, but then you heard the footsteps turn the corner and you needed to act just like him, quickly kissing back.

his lips were chapped, rough against your soft ones. as you brought your hands up to his face, his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you closer. it felt eager, like you had been waiting to do this forever, and it felt right.

“HEY!” you two snapped apart from the loud yell, breathless as you stare at the taller man infront of you “this is private property, you kids can’t be here.” his tone was threatening, making you tense up.

“we are so sorry sir.” you replied sweetly, “we didn’t know, we will leave right away!” you grab lockwood’s hand and hurried towards the exit before the man could question you anymore.

you held hands all the way home, but didn’t mutter a word to each other.

4. overdue confession

it had been around a week since lockwood had kissed you. you hadn’t spoken. the house having an awkward atmosphere as you avoided lockwood like the plague.

you couldn’t avoid the knock on your door, unfortunately.

“come in.” you called out from your spot on the bed, expecting lucy to walk in but were met with lockwood.

he was wearing his usual suit but he looked disheveled, his tie loose, his hair slightly messy and he looked so tired, even more tired than usual, he was a mess.

“hey.” he spoke just above a whisper, scared any louder you would run away from him again.

“oh. hi.” you sat up in your bed, suddenly looking anywhere but him, fiddling with your hands.

“i want to apologize, i shouldn’t have kissed yo-“ he began.

“we wouldn’t have gotten out of there if you hadn’t, it’s okay.” you stated, sniffling slightly. your bed dipped as he sat down.

“then why won’t you talk to me?” you looked up to his eyes, “please talk to me.” he begged, you looked into each others eyes for a moment.

“i was avoiding you because of the fact that i.. i didn’t want the kiss to end.” you confessed, “i like you, lockwood, and i didn’t want to ruin anything so i thought avoiding you would be better..” you trailed off, the air was tense as he stared at you.

“oh thank god.” he laughed out.

“what?” your anxiety kicked in, as you stared at him.

“i was scared to confess, i’m glad you did first.” your eyebrows furrow at his response, “i really like you, i have since i met you. i didn’t want the kiss to end either.”

your eyes widened slightly, studying his voice for any sound of sarcasm.

“can i kiss you again?” he whispered, scared of your rejection, you just slowly nodded looking down at his lips, he lent in.

his lips weren’t chapped this time, they were soft and you took notice of just how well they fit against yours. this kiss was softer than the first, it washed your anxiety away, and the tense air disappeared. he pulled away and laid his forehead against yours.

“i thought i was being dreadfully obvious about my feelings.”

“you were not.” you laughed at him

“oh no i was, you are just oblivious.” he responded

“shut up.” you said, and he did as his lips met yours yet again.

#lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #anthony bloody lockwood #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #x reader #lucy carlyle #george karim #netflix #lockwood and co netflix #fake dating #oblivious idiots #sienna’s fics

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g1rld1ary · 6 months

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omg hiiiiii! just saw your requests opened, so excited! i was hoping you could write something for lockwood with the enemies to lovers trope. anything you feel like with that is awesome! and ofc if you don’t want to feel free to not write it 🩷🩷

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you and lockwood hated each other, you had since you were just starting out as agents. when your team is made to work with his on a big case, deeper feelings might just get revealed

➻ word count: 10K (exactly, what are the chances?)

➻ warnings: swearing, mentions of kissing, angst maybe?, injuries

➻ thank u so much for this request lovely!!!! i am SO sorry this took almost a month, but it's the longest fic I've ever posted here so hopefully that makes up for it a little?? if this isn't what u had in mind pls let me know and I'd be happy to write something different! ik it might not be exactly enemies to lovers but I hateee when the dynamic has no respect or reason to be lovers. anyway thank u for the request lolol!!!! xxxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You thought you were a good person. You dedicated your life to fighting ghosts, you helped old ladies cross the street, you recycled when you could. That was enough to be considered a good person, right? You were almost totally convinced, except for the all the vile things you had to say about Anthony Lockwood.

He was, with no exaggeration, the bane of your existence. You had known him all your life, but hadn’t been friends with him since you were both twelve, just beginner agents. And yet, despite all of this hatred burning up within you, it seemed like the universe wouldn’t give you a moment of peace.

You understood running into his company every once in a while — agency events, maybe the occasional case, but lately it seemed like it was every week you had to face Lockwood’s nauseating grin and infuriating attempts at being charming. Whether it was your respective teams being sent on overlapping missions, picking up more supplies or just trying to pick up a coffee after a draining night, you had started to see Lockwood everywhere.

When you saw him again whilst you were picking up some doughnuts for your team you couldn’t help yourself snapping at him.

“God, are you obsessed with me or something, Anthony?” You barely spared him a glance as you finished the transaction with the cashier, quietly thanking him as you left. Lockwood did the same, practically throwing down his cash to catch up to you.

“You wish I was obsessed with you! I am just as unhappy as you are, trust me.”

“So what, you chased after me just say something we both already knew? Or do you have something you’d like to say, an apology perhaps?” You chanced a look in his eyes. Hurt flashed through them, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He cried, almost dropping his own box of pastries when he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You didn’t try to hide the rolling of your eyes.

“Whatever,” You huffed, before being struck with an idea. “By the way, did you hear that I’m now a team leader? That makes me the youngest in at least ten years — maybe ever. Pretty good for someone not fit to be an agent, don’t you think?” You feigned an interest in his opinion. His face dropped for a moment, then contorted to become almost polite.

“That was never—” You interrupted him with another sigh.

“Anthony, I really don’t care to listen to you discredit my achievements anymore.” You left him on the side of the street, marching back to your dorm at Fittes. You didn’t need to hear him tear you down and ruin your self-confidence more than he already had — not that you would ever tell him that. Lockwood was similarly disgruntled. Every interaction between you two turned into a fight regardless of what he said; he just couldn’t win.

You had a week of blissful distance from Lockwood and Co before you ran into them, quite unfortunately. You and your team had been assigned to an apartment that allegedly housed a few Type Ones, nothing serious but the residents had complained of hearing noises at odd hours. You held a bit of doubt — living in the dorms had forced you to become accustomed to the most bizarre noises at night, and those were most definitely not ghosts. Plus, adults tended to be paranoid; the noise could be anything from rodents to their little children being awake in the early hours of the morning.

Still, you had a job to complete, so you trudged your small team up to the apartment in question, ready for a quick job and to be cozy in bed before midnight. When Lockwood and Co were standing outside the apartment next to your appointed one, your face dropped into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped, talking directly to Lockwood. He hesitated for a moment before turning to face you, brilliant smile shining.

“Lovely to see you again too, sweetheart, we’re actually here on a job? Nice of you to come as our clean-up crew, but that really won’t be necessary. Run along now.” You had to hand it to him, Lockwood had perfected his condescending tone. You were going to respond when the girl behind him began to talk.

“Hey, I recognise you! You’re—” Lockwood cut her off quickly.

“Alright, Luce, I think it’s time we go inside, don’t you?” He was shepherding the girl through the apartment door before you could process what was happening. George, to his credit, looked highly amused at the whole thing. You always liked George, even when he was at Fittes, and seeing him was usually the only upside to your interactions with Lockwood and Co.

“Who’s the girl?” You asked, nodding your head to where she and Lockwood had disappeared to.

“Lucy Carlyle,” He answered, “She’s a Listener — still learning the ropes.”

“And she knows me how?” George just smiled, and you could tell he was keeping secrets.

“I’m sure you’ll find out one day.” He began to follow the rest of his coworkers and you pouted.

“I hate when you side with him!” You called after him, before composing yourself and directing your own team to start the night. They just went along with it, used to your behaviour, and set up your equipment for the mission.

It was not going well. You could all feel a supernatural presence, but no ghosts and no signs of what you’d thought might’ve been the source. Plus, all you could hear was the apartment next door — their stompy footsteps, their laughter over the tea you knew they always had, and one of them wouldn’t stop knocking on the fucking wall.

It was supremely childish, and you would put all of your bets on it being Lockwood trying to throw you off your game. Unfortunately, it was working. And your bad mood was spreading to your teammates. The mission was certainly not going well, all four of you picking fights and throwing digs at each other as you searched uselessly for what could possible be the source, all with no confirmed supernatural presence.

Just as you were about to say something really cruel to your favourite member of your team, the words died in your throat. The temperature rose a few degrees, and you could practically see all your negative thoughts floating away. By the looks of it, your teammates all felt it too. When the freezing shock of the change wore off, you all resigned to embarrassment, realising exactly what had just happened.

This was only furthered when Lockwood waltzed into the apartment, cocky grin practically blinding you.

“Guess that another successful mission for Lockwood and Co now includes saving the careers of egotistical Fittes agents too now,” He crowed, and you rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might disconnect from your face.

“Clearly,” You tried to keep your tone level, “The source wasn’t in this apartment, so we couldn’t have found it regardless of if you were here.”

“Plus they were just Type Ones. You didn’t save any lives, Lockwood,” Your best friend, Sarah, piped up and you smirked.

“Maybe not in the physical sense,” He conceded, “But I definitely saved the career of the ‘youngest ever team leader’ — don’t think you would’ve kept the position for very long if you couldn’t fight a simple Type One.” You turned red in humiliation. How dare Lockwood act so high and mighty, like you owed him the career you fought so hard for? You wanted to express all the seething fury that burned your tongue, but the only thing that came out was a vicious declaration.

“I hate you, Anthony Lockwood.” Lockwood at least had the decency to look somewhat hurt. Although you’d been arguing for years with the insults only getting meaner as you both grew up and developed more precise vocabularies, neither of you had ever vocalised any hatred before. It cut deeper than Lockwood thought it would. You didn’t wait to observe the intricacies of his reaction, storming out of the apartment, making sure your kit bag hit him heavily as you passed.

“Well,” Lockwood broke the awkward silence that fell over the apartment, “I think we’re all done for the night. Let’s go.” Lockwood and Co began packing up their kit bags and gear, Lucy sweeping some leftover magnesium dust under an armchair. Lockwood paused in the doorway, looking back to Sarah with a curious softness.

“Make sure she’s alright, yeah?” Sarah nodded, swallowing a curious look. With a final nod he was gone, leaving the rest of your team to wonder what had just happened to shift the dynamic.

Back in your dorm at Fittes, you were still fired up. Pissed off by Lockwood’s ego, his audacity, you had practically already paced a hole in the floor upon your short return from dinner. All of these years and he still didn’t believe you were a capable agent, let alone team leader! You may not have really hated him; it was hard to truly hate someone who you shared so much history with, but you were glad you said it. Glad you hurt him, even a little. Maybe then he’d know how you felt.

He had — probably unwittingly — saved you arse though. It was one of your very first missions and unfortunately Lockwood was right; a team leader who couldn’t defeat a simple Type One, or realise that their case was a goose chase in the wrong apartment, wouldn’t last. So although he was the one who had told you you couldn’t be an agent in the first place, you probably owed your current position to him, which only mad you more mad. It was an endless cycle of being angry at Anthony Lockwood.

When Sarah came in to sit on your bed, you still weren’t done, taking the opportunity to verbalise your stream of thought.

“He is simply the worst person in the whole world and has no respect for me! I mean, he wouldn’t have helped at all if it didn’t serve his own inflated ego ,” You said, throwing your hands in the air in anguish. Sarah simply watched, barely concealing her amusement.

“Ok, but have you considered maybe he just argues back because you hate him? I mean, where did it start?” You huffed, vaulting yourself back onto your mattress.

“When we were twelve years old, he told me I couldn’t be an agent. I said ‘fuck you’ and have worked my bloody arse off to be one despite it, and to become the youngest team leader at Fittes, and yet every time I see him he still tries to sabotage my career or make me look stupid! God, he drives me up the wall!”

“So you’ve said all these horrid things because he didn’t believe in you?” She laughed a little, eliciting a deep frown from you.

“You don’t get it,” You said, tone solemn, “He was my best friend. He was supposed to believe in me even when everyone else said it was dumb.” The dampened mood brought a premature end to your conversation, Sarah leaving you to your thoughts and feelings as you dwelled on the past in a way you would usually forbid yourself from.

You pulled a framed photo out from behind your stack of books on the shelf. You and Lockwood as children, smiling brightly on a day at the beach, a spade in your hand and a bucket in his, your free ones intertwined as kids often do. You didn’t know why you’d kept it after all these years, looking at any photo of Lockwood typically made you mad, but you felt a bit guilty discarding the keepsake, especially the handmade frame his parents had given you one birthday before they passed. Plus, the memory untouched was one of your favourites — one of the last of your carefree days in childhood when you and Lockwood were best friends and both your families were whole. You held it softly for a moment, indulging yourself in being swept away by memories before deciding enough was enough and returning to the present, distracting yourself with a novel you’d picked up.

You were given a few weeks to cool down, blissfully free from any trace of Lockwood. You thought he must’ve been aware of the heightened tension between you recently, since you’d seen Lucy shopping around Arif’s and ran into George whilst getting your usual Friday night takeaway.

Hearing your name being called from around the corner of an aisle you turned quickly, reflexes on edge. Seeing it was just the redhead you relaxed, making yourself smile.

“Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you?” You made polite conversation, continuing on with your shopping. She replied cordially, a vague awkward air between you that you were both trying your best to overcome.

“We’re all really sorry about the case the other day, by the way. We didn’t mean to take it over or jeopardise your job or anything.”

“It’s nothing,” You assured, “I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me, every agent knows that.”

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

“Lucy,” You interrupted, “You don’t need to condemn Lockwood, or defend him. We both know where we stand with each other and that’s ok. I hope that doesn’t stop us from being friends either; you’re sweet.” Lucy managed a smile, revealing a pretty sparkle in her eye.

“I’d like to be friends too. Maybe we just won’t tell him,” She giggled, and you nodded gravely.

“Sounds like a plan.” You left Arif’s with a bag full of groceries and plan for coffee sometime.

George was less forgiving than Lucy. As you bickered over who got the last can of Coke in the restaurant’s little fridge, he imparted some of his very much unwanted advice.

“You should apologise. I think you crossed a line,” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“He questioned my right to even be where I am — I think I have the right to be pissed at him.”

“He didn’t mean it,” George said quickly. Almost too quickly.

“How would you know?” You narrowed your eyes. George recoiled — he’d been caught.

“You know,” He trailed off, “Lockwood’s not like that. You should know that better than anyone.” You huffed again, fed up.

“I knew,” You corrected, “He’s shown me exactly how he feels about me now. And I am absolutely fine with that. I’m taking the Coke.” You ended the conversation abruptly, snatching the can out of George’s grip.

“But Lockwood doesn’t like any of the other flavours!” He called after you. You exaggerated a laugh, not looking back as you opened the restaurant door quickly.

“I know!” You yelled over your shoulder. George watched you leave, calculating look in his eyes. You said you hated Lockwood, he didn’t doubt you believed it, too. But he knew that most people didn’t remember which fizzy drinks their enemies liked.

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Thankfully, you got just the distraction you needed. Your team had been given one of the most exciting cases on the Fittes roster. One of those old boutique hotels with funnily named rooms and a long, terrible history that had you buried in fascinating research. You couldn’t believe your team had been given the assignment, it was a sign that you were really beginning to be respected as a team leader in the agency. So, you couldn’t screw it up.

You and your team had been practically camped out in the Fittes archives, researching as much as you possibly could about the old hotel. There were a smattering of unfortunate deaths across the years — some darker than others, but you were confident it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The owners hadn’t specified exactly what supernatural experiences they had seen around the hotel, just that it was clear there were several presences around and they wanted them all gone to reopen the hotel as soon as possible. This did admittedly make you a little apprehensive — you didn’t actually have a solid idea of how many ghosts you’d be dealing with, and it was anyone’s guess how many of them would be Type Twos.

Finally, you were confident you and your team had done as much research as you could, and you were prepared for anything. And so you packed your kit bags, took the train ride and rocked up to the hotel mid afternoon, confidence overflowing. By nightfall you’d been on a tour of the grounds, set up your base and had started brewing some tea to get you all in the zone. You took a glance out the front window, seeing movement in one of the windows of the house next door. It was owned by the people who ran the hotel and they intended to open it as a second venue, but delegated the job to some smaller agency since the stakes for it weren’t as high.

It was all going well for a while. You had a plan to go room by room, making each ghost free before finishing in the majorly haunted kitchen. You were inclined to believe there’d be a cluster of Type Twos there since it was set alight years ago, and the accident had been swept under the rug in favour of saving the business.

The entryway was easy; a few Type Ones that practically led you their sources, clearly just wanting to finally be laid to rest. There was one nasty Limbless that gave you all a fright, but your researcher, Ben, was always miles ahead of the rest of you and knew exactly who the ghost was and therefore how to put him to rest. You told him you owed him a beer later and moved on, crossing a single room off the floor plan and shifting into the library, which was not so easy.

You started to think things were not as great as you originally anticipated when you turned to face the mass of Type Ones. Not the end of the world, a little bloody annoying though. Sarah seemed to agree, kicking the leg of a couch in frustration. The four of you figured your way out of it, though significantly depleted of supplies.

You returned to your home base to recoup, physically and mentally battered.

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked, chugging down mouthfuls from her water bottle. You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought hard, tapping your fingers insistently on the old wooden table.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough for one more safely. Kyan, you go outside and get the rest of our equipment whilst we hit the second bedroom.”

“If we’re right then there should only be the one ghost there, right? The strangled woman?” You nodded in response to Ben, mentally drawing your plan.

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

“We won’t be,” You affirmed, tapping twice on the table to get you all moving.

Kyan left the building to go fetch the spare supplies and the remaining three of you ventured into the second bedroom. Everything was as it should be; lower temperature, creeping feelings of unease and miasma. You’d put together your chain circle and were feeling good about the Type Two woman you were facing, well, as good as you could in those circumstances.

That was, until it wasn’t just one Type Two. Despite the research and preparation you’d undertaken, there was definitely more than one Type Two enraged by your presence in the room at that moment. There was the woman, an angry apparition of some sort — you didn’t have the time to exactly figure out which subtype she fell into when a man also appeared. Shit. He wasted no time showing you he was aggressive too, and your heart sunk into your toes.

Doing some quick mental calculations, you announced the new plan — to get out. As team leader, you refused to be responsible for an injury or something worse because you wouldn’t back down when you knew you didn’t have enough defences left.

“Soon as it’s safe, get the fuck out of here,” You said, feeling to make sure they were still both in the circle with you as you stood with backs inward. “Use your defences as liberally as you feel you need to — we’re all getting out of here tonight.”

“What about the sources?” Sarah asked nervously, “We’ve only got one or two so far.”

“Who cares? Most agencies get one or two a mission and we’re in a giant bloody hotel. We’ve got more nights to get this done. We can’t get it done if you lot go off and die, can we?” Ben shrugged.

“S’pose not. Let’s go.” With that the three of you made a run for it, bolting out the bedroom door and into the corridor.

“Oh fuck!” You yelled, dodging out the way of another phantom headed your way. Evidently your previous endeavours had attracted the attention of some of the other ghosts inhabiting the hotel, none looking all that happy.

Your swear words didn’t falter as you continued the escape, ducking and jumping and making an utter fool of yourself to ensure you all made it out alive. You’d been covered by Sarah a few minutes ago with one of her magnesium flares, and so returned the favour without hesitation, only faltering slightly when you realised it was your last. You tried not to worry about it too much, you were nearing the laundry where there was a back door you could get to.

The closer you got to your escape the fewer visible apparitions there were. That was a good thing, your chances of ghost touch reducing greatly. However, that didn’t mean you weren’t still being hunted. A poltergeist had found you somewhere along the way, and the stream of things being thrown at you hadn’t ended yet. You’d vaguely felt something heavy hitting the back of your head and shoulders, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins was withholding the pain for the moment.

You’d crossed the threshold into the laundry, the back door within your sights. Maybe you got complacent, believing the end was nearer than you thought. Maybe it was just awful timing. However, as your feet hit the tiles of the room, you were being swept off your feet by the washing machine sliding into you, crushing you between it and the wall. You cried out unintentionally, feeling a sickening crack inside your chest. Your teammates turned back, door wide open and safety in sight.

“Don’t you dare come back for me,” You croaked, the wind pushed out of you. “Or I swear to God I’ll come and haunt you.” Ben took the threat and ran, ducking out the door into the fresh air of the night. Sarah hesitated, turning back to lock eyes with you, regret painted across her features. With a final threat she left too, leaving you to try and push the machine away from you in order to make your own escape. However, in an unfortunate series of events, the adrenaline started to wear off after your chase and you felt the sharp pain running along your skull, a thick drop of blood making its way down from a strand of hair into your left eye. Plus, you were pretty sure the machine had broken one of your wrists as any pressure you put onto it trying to move the machine set your nerves on fire, leaving you just your legs to try and make an escape. Turns out it’s harder than it looks to push a stupidly heavy washing machine away from you with your legs when you’re incapacitated on the floor.

Seeing your best friend the strangled woman approaching you sighed, trying to resign yourself to your fate. There was no way you were making it out without a miracle, and you were never the lucky kind. As she spotted you, you sealed your eyes tightly closed, unwilling to watch your own demise. It never came. When you chanced one eye open all you saw was sparks, the unmistakeable smell of a magnesium flare filling the room. You didn’t know what to feel. Relieved, of course, pissed off that your team had disrespected your wishes and endangered themselves, faint from the adrenaline and blood loss. Mostly faint, you decided, as you lay your head back against the tile, a sleep sounding like the nicest thing in the world suddenly.

You must have passed out for a minute or two as when you opened your eyes again you were in the air, distant voices yelling over the explosions and lights, but you felt a million miles away. You cuddled yourself into the body of whoever was carrying you — they were warm and your body felt ice cold. Everywhere you looked appeared blurry (and slightly pink, presumably from the blood in your eye), so you granted yourself some mercy and simply closed them. You thought you heard a mumbled “Hold on for me,” But you couldn’t be sure, everything was ringing in your head and the weight of staying awake was heavy on your foggy brain.

The next time you woke up was about half an hour later, or so you guessed. The sky was fractionally lighter than you remembered seeing, inching towards dawn, and you were laid down on dewey wet grass. The cool of it was nice on your skin, though you knew it would do major damage to your hair. Not that that was your greatest concern at the moment. You pushed yourself up on your elbows slowly, looking around at the scene that was coming into focus. Your team were on one side of you, looking exhausted but mostly physically fine. Straight ahead of you was Barnes, not looking as disappointed as you thought he would after a failed case. To your left was Lockwood and Co. Why were Lockwood and Co here? Why was Lockwood looking at you so intently, and why did he look like he was worried about you?

Only the first of your questions was answered. Evidently Lockwood and Co were the ‘small agency’ the hotel owners had given a chance for the smaller house on the edge of the property. They heard the commotion your team had made and Sarah’s screaming outside the kitchen door and came to save the day — of course. You were about to put up the protest that you didn’t need saving but it died in your throat when you saw the serious looks of everyone around you. Clearly this wasn’t the time for any of your bullshit.

“Clearly this case is bigger than your team can achieve,” Barnes said, and the fire was reignited within you. He must have been able to see what you were going to say and cut you off, “But I’m not taking you off the case.”

“Thank you,” You said quickly, tension in your shoulders releasing slightly.

“Lockwood and Co will work with you until the hotel is ghost free.”

“What?” You and Lockwood cried in unison, and you felt his eyes fall back on you. You refused to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir—” You started, being cut off by Lockwood.

“We don’t work well together—”

“I happen to know you both need this case, or do you not care about the future of your jobs?” Barnes raised an eyebrow in the intimidating way only he could pull off. He had you there. Failing in a case, especially one that resulted in a near death experience would certainly jeopardise your trajectory at Fittes, and, unbeknownst to you, Lockwood and Co were pretty desperate for some good representation, unable to receive the praise deserved from the Combe Carey Hall case. You looked at Lockwood to find him already searching your face. After a moment of silent arguing between the two of you, you turned back to face Barnes, exaggerated smiles on both your faces.

“We’ll do it.” You smiled sweetly. A few more formalities sent Barnes and the other DEPRAC officer off, and only the two teams were left standing around, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of all the kit bags.

“So what do we do now?” Sarah asked, a thought very similar to the ones bouncing around your head at the moment.

“Breakfast?” George suggested, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen your team agree to something so enthusiastically. The group of you all headed back to the train station, but Lockwood didn’t let you continue in the line to get your ticket. Instead he pulled you away from the crowd, seeming to have already told Lucy what was happening, judging from her cheerful wave goodbye.

You glared at him, yanking your arm away then groaning at the pain.

“What are we doing, Lockwood?” You asked with an exaggerated huff.

“We’re going to the hospital,” He said, unbothered by your protests. “And don’t say you’re fine because it’s clear you’re injured. I’d say a broken wrist, concussion and maybe a cracked rib, but we can let the doctors tell us I’m wrong, I’d be happy for them to tell you otherwise.” That shut you up, not least because you knew he was probably right. You’d been given a shot of adrenaline and a few painkillers by the DEPRAC officer who accompanied Barnes over, but you probably did need actual medical attention.

It was a very awkward cab ride to the local hospital. You and Lockwood were so used to arguing by now that silence felt like the only other viable option. You couldn’t make small talk, what would you even talk about? The only thing you knew about his life was his childhood, and you sure as hell weren’t gonna talk about that. The tension was palpable in the backseat, and when the cab driver wished you good luck for the hospital visit, you figured he didn’t just mean because of your injuries. You did force yourself to thank Lockwood when he paid for the ride though, even if it was just for the sake of the day moving on faster.

At least the waiting room created its own noise; beeping and chattering and footsteps filling the silence between you two. You struggled with the form in front of you, inconveniently having your dominant hand be out of working order. You painfully etched out your information over an embarrassing amount of time before Lockwood huffed loudly and snatched the clipboard from your lap.

“Fuck’s sake,” He muttered, pulling his own pen from his suit pocket, beginning to scribble down the answers for you. You just relaxed, your tired, drug-addled brain being allowed to rest for a moment. It wasn’t until he asked about your health insurance that you fully realised he was answering the questions by memory and forced your eyes to focus on the paper. Sure enough he’d gotten it all right, birthday and middle name included. You glanced up at him curiously, but it seemed like this was the moment he refused to make eye contact. You only had to inform him of things that had changed since you’d fallen out, neither of you verbalising that fact.

Things didn’t change when you were called into the doctor’s office either. The mix of pain, medicine and sleep deprivation led you to embrace the exam table and bordered on falling asleep as Lockwood talked for you. He’d gotten the rundown of the actual events from Sarah and his brief moments when he saved you, and explained the night as you got an x-ray for your hand. Plus, as you were waiting for the cast (it was, in fact, broken), he explained your previous medical history — the knee you dislocated when you were nine and the broken pinky finger from the year after. You only had to participate to explain the injuries you’d acquired during your career as an agent; the ones from after you and Lockwood stopped being friends.

The whole trip was extremely bizarre and slightly unnerving, and you were glad to get on the train on the way back.

“You were wrong about one thing,” You said, pulling out your walkman from your kit bag.

“And what’s that?” Lockwood asked, and you got the impression he was bracing to be yelled at again — you felt almost bad.

“No cracked rib for me.” You grinned, beginning to laugh uncharacteristically. You didn’t know why, it really wasn’t that funny, but Lockwood followed suit soon after. The two of you laughed borderline hysterically, much too energetic for that hour of the morning when everyone else was still heading to work. It only tapered off when your poor ribs couldn’t take it anymore (not broken but aggressively bruised), and the two of you fell back into silence. You had your music and Lockwood had a magazine you suspected he’d stolen from the A+E waiting room.

The only other time you spoke during the trip was when you summoned the courage to utter a somewhat genuine “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thanks. For not letting me die. And stuff.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Lockwood shot you a smile, the glowing kind you rarely got to see anymore.

As you got back to London and closer to Portland Row where your team was waiting, the air seemed to get thicker between the two of you once again. Maybe it was the proximity to the things that had torn you apart or the sense that you had predefined roles to play, but the carefree air between you had dissipated, leaving only the familiar tension that had been building over the last four years.

You followed Lockwood inside, trying to hide the out of body experience you were having returning to his family home after so many years. It had changed a little, of course, but still felt overwhelmingly the same, which both scared and comforted you. All the freaky foreign ghost hunting objects still littered the shelves, and you took the liberty of admiring them once again, remembering the stories Lockwood’s parents would tell about them and the adventures they’d had when collecting them. In your periphery you saw Lockwood hurriedly grab something off the wall by the stairs, shoving it in a drawer, but you really had no interest, choosing instead to reacquaint yourself with the house. The glimpse you got up the stairs showed a myriad of framed pictures of Lockwood and you scoffed — of course his ego would be on full display within his own home.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It was surprisingly easy to get into the groove of working with Lockwood and Co. Obviously you already liked George and Lucy, but your team seemed to work unexpectedly well with theirs. You and Lockwood stayed out of each other’s ways, the few times you were left to work together resulting in another stupid argument. The first time when you thought he was calling you dumb, the second over something minuscule; who’d let the tea brew too long so it tasted shit. And then who had to subsequently get up and make the next pot. Despite both of you honestly trying to be professional and get on with the job, it was agreed by everyone that it was simply easiest to keep the two of you apart as much as possible.

However, when the hotel owners wanted the leaders of both teams to meet up for updates on the case, you couldn’t get out of it. The day wasn’t looking good. You’d shown up to Portland Row so you could get a cab together — the meeting being dinner in central London, and had already argued with him over his choice of socks. In your defence, the powder blue socks matching your dress did make it look like you were a high school couple trying to match at a formal! However, George had rolled his eyes and pushed the two of you back out and towards the waiting cab, effectively ending that argument. You’d also teased Lockwood for bringing his rapier to a business dinner, but that was neither here nor there.

You’d held it together for most of the dinner, both of you putting on your best fronts and using your most formal tones to convince the elder couple that you were confident about the case. You found yourself kicking his shins to stop Lockwood from making promises you couldn’t keep regarding the case, and he got you back with condescending remarks, correcting you when he disagreed with how you presented the case. Altogether though you thought you were pretty subtle, and the two of you were presenting a model image of your respective companies.

However, when you shot Lockwood one of your saccharine smiles under the pretence of friendliness — he’d just undermined your authority again and stolen the best piece of dessert that you were going for, as if he didn’t torture you enough — you were shocked to hear the woman across from you laugh.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two bicker like an old married couple,” She giggled, and both you and Lockwood’s jaws dropped. “I mean, it just seems so dismal to be dating in these times, but you two give me hope that the future generations will still be able find love despite the Problem.”

“And clearly you’re both sensible kids, which is very important for a lasting relationship. Working for two different agencies would surely diffuse tensions around all those dangerous missions and such you agents partake in — except for this one, of course,” Her husband chimed in, jolly glint in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, but it’s important to remember to be kids as much as you can. But you two playing footsies all night has proved that you’ve got that covered too. Silliness is just as crucial as being sensible, it’s how a marriage stays fun. We would know, we’ve had fifty odd years of it!”

You didn’t know how to react, and by the looks of it, Lockwood didn’t know either with his signature smile frozen on his face. First of all, you were not playing footsies with Anthony Lockwood — the bruise forming under his trouser leg was testament to that. Second of all, you had no idea how the woman could get your dynamic so incredibly wrong. Aside from all of Lockwood’s double edged comments and cocky corrections of basically anything you said, the two of you had hardly addressed each other directly all night, you might as well have been strangers!

The dinner wrapped up very soon after. The couple had taken a liking to you both and so trusted your teams to handle the case as you saw fit, only making you promise to take a romantic weekend getaway (or honeymoon! As the woman had remarked optimistically) to the hotel once it was completely ghost-free and renovated. For once you were glad that Lockwood was unable to ever shut up as he took the lead, seeming to believe that corroborating their assumption was the best choice in your situation. You weren’t sure you were entirely comfortable with lying to this sweet old couple, but you couldn’t deny that Lockwood was a better talker than you, and would probably handle the situation with more delicacy.

That was how you ended up being led out of the restaurant with Lockwood’s hand on the small of your back. You wondered if he’d ever done this before, and you didn’t know if you meant for a real or pretend relationship. You both said your goodbyes to the couple, flattered by the abundance of compliments they paid you — both personally and professionally, assuring you they were overjoyed to have your teams work the case. Just before they stepped into the cab the woman took you aside.

“Hold onto a boy who looks at you like that,” She said, “You might fight, but when he’s this in awe of you, you’ll find a way to make it work.” You didn’t know how to respond to that and so simply nodded, offering a weak smile as she slid into the back seat of the taxi.

That left you and Lockwood alone. You just looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you mind if we walk home? I really fancy some air right now.” Lockwood easily agreed, looking rather flustered himself, and off the two of you went into the night.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but you could tell he wanted to. Lockwood always chewed his lip when he was holding something back, he had since he was a child. You sighed and asked him, knowing it was the only way to make the habit go away.

“Nothing,” He said, “Just weird. Don’t you think?”

“Nah,” You lied, “Old people just say things like that all the time. They don’t care to know the full picture.”

“Which is?”

“We hate each other.” Hurt flashed through his eyes, but it didn’t make you feel as good as it did the first time you’d said it.

“I don’t hate you,” He said quietly, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“I don’t hate you. We don’t get along anymore, but I don’t hate you. I hope you know that.” You faltered for a second. Had his use of ‘anymore’ been intentional to create a stabbing feeling in your gut?

“Oh. I guess I don’t really hate you either, if we’re getting sappy about it.” You tried to diffuse the tension growing between you, not wanting it to evolve into a discussion about what estranged you in the first place. Lockwood refused to apologise and you refused to forget, resulting in the bitter stalemate you’d been locked in for the past few years.

Your distraction came with a glance over Lockwood’s shoulder, and the wisp of a phantom coming into view. Lockwood was trying to continue the conversation about your developing relationship, but stopped when he noticed you frozen beside him. Turning slowly he swore when he saw the ghost, going straight for his rapier.

“Put your hand into my coat pocket,” He said, effectively drawing you from your freeze.

“Excuse me?” You whisper-yelled, not in the mood for him to try and lighten the mood with whatever dumb joke he was trying to make.

“Just trust me, I have flares in the inside pocket, just reach in and grab them to defend yourself whilst I keep an eye on them.” Them? You wondered until you looked around, seeing other ghosts start to emerge from the shadows, attracted by the scene you were obviously creating. You wasted no more time, ignoring the intimacy of reaching into Lockwood’s jacket, grabbing yourself a flare for each hand. With you accounted for, Lockwood told you the plan, he’d fight a path back to Portland Row and you’d cover the both of you with the flares, since you weren’t good for very much else with a broken wrist and no rapier.

It was hardly the most intense situation you or Lockwood had been in, but as the primary fighter in the situation, Lockwood was still putting up a good show of skill. Despite yourself you were entranced, admiring the graceful way he moved with the rapier, so in tune with it you’d think it was connected to his arm. As much as you hated Lockwood — well, you’d just established you didn’t actually hate him. As much as you thought he was egotistical and irritating, you had to admit that you really admired him as an agent. Lockwood was undeniably talented with a rapier — it was the fencing competition that got him started in this business in the first place — but to watch him in action was really something special. If you didn’t know better you’d think it was easy for him, he fought with the same ease and elegance he might drink a cup of tea.

You were so caught up in watching him that you hardly noticed when you arrived in front of 35 Portland Row, both luckily un-ghost touched. You were also alerted to the proximity you’d found yourself in. You’d stayed close obviously, not wanting to be left to the ghosts, but when Lockwood had turned to make sure you were still with him safely inside the iron fence, you found yourself only inches apart.

At this distance you were alerted to just how much he’d changed since you were kids. He was taller, obviously, your chin tilted up to make eye contact. He’d lost the baby fat that used to fill out his cheeks, leaving his face defined and bordering on gaunt — you figured he wasn’t taking very good care of himself, judging on the dark circles that seemed by now permanent. Plus something had changed in his eyes. He didn’t look carefree anymore, something dark and tortured lay behind the charming smiles. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was, and you figured you probably had something identical. However, the small scar on his jawline from when you accidentally flung a plastic toy into his face was still there which drew a small smile from you. Something within you urged to run your finger along it, and you felt your fingers twitch before you realised how inappropriate it was. That instinct didn’t feel so bad though when you caught Lockwood’s gaze shift down to your lips. Only momentarily, but you saw it. And worse? The fact that you didn’t mind. After all of these years and the fighting and terrible words shared, here you were maybe about to kiss Anthony Lockwood. You would be disgusted with yourself if you didn’t have so many other feelings fighting their way to the top.

The front door opening was enough to make you both jump apart, you rushing towards it to get as far from Lockwood as possible.

“Hey Lucy!” You called, practically floating up the front steps you were going so fast.

“Uh, hey, guys. We thought we heard you outside so I got sent to check. Had to make sure you weren’t secretly making out or something,” She joked and you forced out a laugh, far too loud to be real.

“As if! Come on, I’m dying for some tea.” You slid past her, rushing straight to the kitchen for a minute to think.

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

“What did you do?” She interrogated, all her scary Lucy-ness coming out.

“I don’t know,” Lockwood replied earnestly, still somewhat dazed himself. Lucy gave him one last look up and down before returning inside, leaving Lockwood to fix his smile on before rejoining the two teams.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The week leading up to your team’s next attempt at the hotel was extremely weird. You and Lockwood hadn’t spoken about what had happened (or almost happened) out in the front garden, but you had had a long talk about your behaviour lately. Over a few cups of tea in the kitchen whilst the rest of your teams were working down in the basement, you managed to both admit you were being dickheads. There was no mention of the underlying factors of your resentment, but you both agreed for the sake of your jobs you would try and be friends, or at least civil. No more bickering, no more picking apart small comments, no more rolling eyes.

It worked for a bit, which was really complicating your emotions. On the one hand, Lockwood was lovely, like he’d always been, and it was kind of nice to be able to talk and joke with him again after so many years, although you both carefully avoided the topic of your personal lives. On the other hand, it made you sad to pretend that everything was fine when you knew what you did. He didn’t think you could be an agent; Lockwood didn’t think you were good enough. And you could both pretend all you liked to be friends, but as long as that was what he thought about you it could never be real. So, while you’d both stopped your rivalry on the surface and gotten on with the case, there was a tension bubbling behind your smiles that both of you could see whenever you locked eyes.

It all came to a head when you started discussing your action plan for the hotel. All seven of you were standing in the basement of Portland Row, staring at a blown up floor plan of the place, little figurines representing each of you. It didn’t take you long to realise that you weren’t being represented.

“Where am I?” You asked, an uneasy silence falling over the room.

“You’re not coming.” Lockwood took the fall, even though it had been a unanimous decision whilst you were on an Arif’s run one afternoon.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t help the biting tone in your words, fury you’d worked hard to conceal bubbling back up to the surface.

“Your wrist—” Sarah tried to reason, but something in you had unlocked and you were not backing down this time.

“You and I know full well if this was a Fittes case I would still be out in the field, broken wrist be damned,” You spat, and you could practically see the gears turning in Lockwood and Lucy’s heads.

“They make you go into the field injured?” Lucy asked, but you weren’t focused on answering her — George nodded for you.

“So who’s barred me from being in the field, on what I might remind you, was my case first.” There were a few moments of silence where no one wanted to be the subject of your anger, but with a resigned sigh, Lockwood accepted the blame.

“It was my idea.” You couldn’t help the frustrated groan that came out of your mouth.

“God, this is so typical! You’ve never thought I was good enough, and now what? Sabotaging my cases? My career? Because you don’t believe in me,” Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you could feel the tears heavy behind your eyes, threatening to fall. You spat a final “Fuck you,” before running up the basement stairs, up to where you knew the bathroom would be for some privacy.

You realised when you were at the top of the stairs that in your time working with Lockwood and Co you hadn’t actually used their bathroom, and didn’t remember which of the closed doors it was. Choosing one blindly you shut yourself inside, finally letting the tears that blurred your vision roll down your cheeks.

You sobbed heavily, indulging all the terrible feelings you’d been concealing for far too long. When the tears weren’t so frequent the setting around you came back into focus, and you noticed with a start you definitely weren’t in the bathroom. The view from the window told you it was Lockwood’s late parent’s bedroom, but the used furniture and messy bed said someone was still living there. Your stomach dropped as you stood, wiping the tears from your eyes. Looking around you were sure this was Lockwood’s room, the suit jacket on the desk chair a dead giveaway. However, a picture frame on his nightstand attracted your attention the most. It was the same one you had in your dorm at Fittes, the one gifted to you by Lockwood’s parents for your birthday. Both of you grinning widely and carelessly joyful. It had been so long since you’d felt like that, even longer since you’d felt it around Lockwood. The thought made your heart ache a bit. His parents would be so disappointed in the two of you. That made you start crying a little again, picking up the photo to examine it closer.

“It’s been there since you left,” A voice from behind you said. “I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.” You hadn’t noticed Lockwood come in and you didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You put the photo down with a start, turning away to wipe your face dry again.

“Go away, Lockwood. Just give me a minute and I’ll be back downstairs. I overreacted but I need to get over it, okay?” You snapped, praying your face wasn’t still red and splotchy (it was).

“No,” He said, and you turned to face him curiously. “Look, this has gone on long enough and we need to fix things.” You crossed your arms petulantly, a silent challenge for him to fix the damage you believed to be all his. “You said downstairs that I thought you couldn’t be an agent. Why?”

“Don’t you remember when I told you I wanted to be an agent like you?” You scoffed, “You all but laughed in my face! You said I couldn’t do it, that I’d be injured or killed and I couldn’t handle it. I’ve thought about that every case since, you killed my self esteem for years. I thought that if no one else, my best friend should have believed in me. But here I am, youngest team leader at Fittes with the highest successful case rate for my division. All in spite of you.” Lockwood stared at you, and you could practically see his neurons firing and making connections at a million miles an hour.

“That’s not what I said.” You could barely contain your bitter laugh.

“Does it matter? You didn’t believe in me, that’s what’s important.”

“No,” He said, “Because that’s not what I meant at all. I did believe in you — I do. I always have.” You scoffed again as he stumbled over his words. A little grovelling now couldn’t make up for all the years of anxiety and insecurity he’d caused.

“I mean it! If I didn’t believe in you, then what’s all this?” He led you to one of his dresser drawers. Opening it there were a stack of papers and you picked a few of them up, flipping through them. Every single one was about you. Photos from your childhood together, newspaper clippings of your successes throughout the years, the magazine article you interviewed for talking about women in power in the ghost hunting field. Lockwood had saved every piece of media about you, the ragged edges showing he’d ripped them out just to keep them. You remained silent, astonished by this new revelation. You looked up at him, and Lockwood could have cried at the look in your eyes.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be an agent,” He explained, “Or that’s not what I meant. I meant that you shouldn’t, or more clearly, I was saying don’t. Asking. Don’t you remember? My parents were dead, my sister had just died. You were all I had left, and I didn’t want you to jump head first into the most dangerous job in the world. I wanted to protect you.” It was Lockwood’s turn for his voice to break and tears to arise, and you suddenly felt supremely stupid.

“Oh,” Was all you could say. After all of these years; the insults thrown and dirty looks exchanged, all your anger came from a misunderstanding? Not only that, a misunderstanding that twisted such an earnest declaration of care into something so awful.

“But you did it, and you weren’t just any agent,” He laughed slightly despite his emotions, “You were the best bloody agent Fittes has ever seen and all I could do was watch from the shadows and be proud of you silently. Why do you think Lucy knew who you were already? There were pictures of you all over the house before I made them take them all down when I knew we were working together. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“But all the arguing…” You trailed off, still unable to completely process this information.

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean you don’t drive me up the wall, especially when you were being — or I believed you were — deliberately obtuse to my efforts to explain myself. But now I see we were just on totally different wavelengths.” You were really struggling, there was a lot of new information being revealed at such a rapid pace that was completely changing your perspective on your whole adolescence.

“You love me?” Lockwood did laugh this time, loudly and with the same charm he usually had.

“Yes, you idiot. I have since we were kids.”

Oh. Oh. You suddenly felt like an idiot. All of this time you thought that Lockwood believed you were weak, not good enough, not worthy of your successes, when in fact it was the complete opposite. And then you thought about how you felt about Lockwood. How his believed lack of faith in you affected you so much because you cared so deeply about what he thought of you. How you could never bring yourself to look away when he was fighting because he was so completely in his element. How nice it had been to be able to joke around with him during your research. Oh God. You thought you simply respected him and his skills as an agent, but evidently the truth had been just out of reach your whole life.

“Anthony?” He was already looking at you, eyes searching deep into your soul. “I think I might love you too.” Neither of you could help the kiddish smiles making their way on your faces, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly before you knew what was happening. It felt nice to be held by him again, the last time would have been after his sister died. These were much better circumstances.

When you both came down the stairs later, no one mentioned your intertwined hands. You all had a lovely dinner at Portland Row, warmth and laughter filling the space and making you feel at home like you used to when you were a kid.

It wasn’t until you were on your way back to the Fittes dorms that Sarah leaned over to you, mischievous grin on her face.

“Tell me you were making out up there, please,” She giggled, and you shoved her away lightheartedly.

“Shut up,” You laughed, “Besides, it wasn’t making out.”

264 notes · View notes

marvelwitchergilmore · 6 months

Text

Punch At First Sight

Summary: Anthony Lockwood x Fe!Reader -> You and Lockwood have met a few times before, however after a punch to the face for the third time, Lockwood, which a push from Lucy, decides to make things different.

Disclaimer: Multiple uses of the f-word. Mentions of accidental violence, ghosts, Kipps being a dick, a slap across the face. Fluff, angst, hints of jealousy, and Lucy giving Lockwood a needed talking to. Not Proof Read.

It was meant to be an easy case.

A couple of type ones haunting an abandoned building just outside of London. The local ghost hunters had all created that big of a myth they had scared themselves away. And the cost of a Fittes agent was too high of a price for the type of ghosts they had. So, Lockwood and Co were the business chosen.

Only, it would have been nice to know if one of the previous agents had reached out to an old friend to take care of the job as well.

But, no.

Instead, whilst listening out for the ghosts, Lockwood stepped around a corner and when getting ready to attack what he thought was a ghost, he was met with a punch to the face and then a voice calling out; “Oh my god, you’re human.”

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

Then, through watered eyes, he saw the outline of the person who had punched him and it seemed she had clear enough vision in the dark to recognise him.

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

“Holy crap. I am so sorry. Are you okay? Wait. Why are you even here?”

“The same as you, I’m guessing. Unless you tend to sneak into abandoned buildings at two in the morning.”

“Sophie didn’t even tell me they hired someone else. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lockwood managed to stand up straight this time just as Lucy and George came running round the corner.

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

George looked from Lockwood to you. “Y/n?”

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“She was hired.” Lockwood explained just before Lucy spotted him.

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

“We really have to stop meeting like this.” Lockwood said, with a slight smile as he looked at you.

Then came a scream.

“Considering we’re all here and considering no-one else was hired to do this job-” George began.

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished.

“And since we’re here with minimal weapons.”

One of the ghosts, a woman, came floating through a wall and turned to look at them.

“Run?” you offered.

“Run.” Lucy replied.

Making a break for it, you all tried to outrun the ghost before another one of her friends joined her, pushing all four of you down a different corridor.

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

By the time the sun was beginning to rise over the city, you all made it back to Portland Row where a fresh bruise had made its way to decorate Lockwood’s face.

“You have a hell of a punch.” Lockwood said before prodding his own bruise in his reflection of the pan on the stove.

You chuckled, pulling a bag of peas from the freezer before closing it and walking over. “Quit moaning. It could have been worse. Here.”

Standing, Lockwood seemed to have grown even taller than you. Taller than when you’d both last met.

Looking at you, you watched as his eyes closed at the cold contact of the bag as you pressed it to his face.

“Hold it there for a while. It should help with the swelling.”

“You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.”

You narrowed your gaze a little and clicked your tongue. “You’ve already used that line.”

“Have I?” Lockwood seemed to think for a moment before, “Oh, yeah. Suppose I have. But it is true.”

“Hey, the first time was an accident. I thought you were trying to-”

“The first time is an accident, three times is a pattern.”

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.” you said before, “Maybe? Can never be too careful when hunting alone.”

Lockwood’s demeanour changed for a moment. “Alone? You’re hunting alone again?”

“Relax. I’m safe enough.”

You moved backwards and began to tidy the kitchen a little to give yourself something to do whilst Lockwood leaned back against the kitchen counter, lowering the frozen bag from his face so he could watch you more closely.

“Are you?”

“Yes, Lockwood. I’m fine. Honestly, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

You held his gaze for a moment, a million thoughts running through your head until it landed on He’s just a friend…

From there, you shifted yourself from the kitchen table and placed the empty glasses in your hand in the sink beside him.

“Move here.”

“What?”

Lockwood stood tall once more and turned to face you properly. “Move in here. Lucy got a deal when she bought her bed, so she’s got a second one spare. We can set it up on the other side of the loft. I don’t like the thought of you hunting alone.”

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

“What happens if something happens to you? Look, I can put you on the payroll so it won’t be a favour. You’ll be working with us. And you’ll have a team behind you. You’ll also be safe. Please.”

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

Looking up at him, you saw the desperation in his eyes.

It wasn’t often he opened himself up or let himself show any kind of vulnerability but when he did…

“Okay. Fine. But you can’t hover over me.”

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.”

“Why did George kick you out of the Archive room in the last case we were in together?”

Lockwood thought back and when he didn’t answer, you answered for him.

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

“But before anything is written, the others have to agree. Lucy, too.”

“She will. I know so. It’ll be nice for her to not be outnumbered.”

You moved in three days later.

Lucy had prepared the spare bed for you and even decorated the walls behind your bed with a couple of pictures she found in some old boxes that had yourself, George and Lockwood in them.

“I didn’t know what you’d want to do, but I thought I would do something to help at least.”

“I love it.” you smiled, dropping one of the boxes onto your bed. “Thank you.”

Over the following week, yourself and Lucy got to know one another, sharing stories late into the night when researching cases and in desperate need of a break.

Lucy came to learn what Lockwood meant by the punch when you all met not being the first time. You came to find out what brought Lucy to London. And you both came to discover that, with the right planning, you could both scare Lockwood and George.

Only, one night, George and Lucy decided to tag team which also gave them a chance to talk about you and Lockwood.

“Do they know? They have to know.”

“Don’t bother.” George sighed. “Three years and nothing has changed.”

“They’ve been like that for three years?”

George just nodded.

“Seriously?”

“You know I walked into the kitchen yesterday and they were slow dancing in the kitchen and…it was like nothing happened.”

“Yeah…”

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

“Maybe,” Lucy nodded. “But that was then. Now you’ve got me. Tag-team. What do you say?”

“Well, considering it would take an earthquake to wake them both up from whatever coma they’ve convinced themselves that they’re in…sure. Why not? But how.”

“I haven’t got that far into the plan yet.”

But it didn’t take too long.

After six months of living with each other, the plan practically made itself. The chemistry between yourself and Lockwood was palpable and even more so when you were outside together.

Like when you and Lockwood were in the library with George and Lucy where Lockwood was standing behind you, reading the section of paper you were pointing to, his arms caging you in from where you sat, when a group of Fittes Agents waltzed over.

“You might want to give your girlfriend a little breathing room, Tony. After all, PDA can be off putting especially in such a public place.”

Standing, and not denying it, Lockwood practically burned Kipps a hole in the ground for him to fall through.

“Relax, Tony. Just having a little fun. So, are you going to introduce me to your girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Kipps couldn’t help but widen his smile. “You’re not. Well then, Tony.”

However, you were up like a shot standing beside Lockwood. “But I would be very careful in your next choice of words. He might not be my boyfriend but he is my friend.”

Closer up, Kipps seemed to recognise you. Or at least, that’s what his face told you.

“You know, for all the people in the world, I wouldn't have considered one of the best rogue agents being best buddies with our very own Anthony Lockwood.”

“And why not?”

“Although, rogue is very fitting for Tony. After all, it was breaking the rules that got him into trouble in the first place. Sweetheart, if I were you, I’d walk away whilst you still can.”

The only thing anyone could remember was hearing the contact of your palm across Kipps’ cheek and the red mark left in its place.

“Fuck you.”

It took a moment to get over the shock before Kipps and his team walked away and you relaxed a little before grabbing your jacket and telling the others you’d be back.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine, Lockwood. I’ll be back in five.”

It was in those five minutes that one of Kipps’ team found you by the vending machine.

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

“Why? You didn’t say it. And I’m guessing you’re assigned to be with him.”

“Still, I could have said something to stop him and I didn’t.”

“Something tells me even if you did, he still would have said it anyway.”

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

Meanwhile, across the room and up a level, Lucy spotted you talking to Victor. Even laughing every once in a while. And when Lockwood joined her, she saw the pain in his eyes before a brick wall came up.

“We should be getting ready. George found something. I’ll be back in a minute.”

For the rest of the day, Lockwood seemed closed up. Especially towards you.

“What is your problem?” you eventually asked him.

“Nothing.”

“Lockwood, I heard you snap at Lucy earlier.”

“She made a mistake.”

“Exactly,” you cut him off. “A mistake. And she’s never made one before.”

“One that could have put one of us in serious danger-”

“We were outside the perimeter.” You could have laughed, until Lockwood asked you a question you weren't expecting.

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

“Kipps? You did see me slap him, didn’t you-”

“Not Kipps. Vinny. Or Vincent or…whatever his name is.”

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded.

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know if you’re fraternising with the enemy.”

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did.

“You know what, fuck you, Lockwood. What I do with my time outside of work is no concern to you. You know what, do this yourself. I’ll go and help George.”

A few minutes later, Lucy walked inside the room to a very grumpy Lockwood.

“What the hell did you do? Fraternising? This isn’t Bridgerton, Lockwood.”

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

Sighing, Lucy did as she was told, but not before telling Lockwood a couple things he desperately needed to hear.

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

Picking up some of the iron chains and laying them down, Lucy explained. “It might not be Victor, but one day it will be someone. And it probably won’t be long before they come along and whisk her away from your grumpy arse because you’re too stubborn to tell her the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That you like her. Love her, even. If my gut feeling is right. And it usually is.”

“Lucy-”

“Look, you can go on being an arsehole because you’re scared. Or you can talk to her. All I’m saying is do something about it before somebody else does. Both me and George have seen the way you look at her. It’s more than you want to admit, Lockwood. But one day you’re going to have to, or else you are going to lose her and all you’ll have is a bruised eye and a broken nose once every couple of years, if that.”

Lucy didn’t say anything else after that but Lockwood did apologise for snapping at her earlier which she forgave him for after calling him a frustrating bastard. From then, she watched as you all completed the job together and that look that she often saw in Lockwood’s eyes, returned when he looked at you.

Yet, by the time you had all gotten home, he still hadn't apologised to you. So, with a hard nudge from Lucy, Lockwood finally made his way to find you.

“Do something before somebody else does, and that includes apologising. And she’s in the Library. Goodnight.”

Lockwood stood outside of the Library door for a while, trying his best to find the right words so he wouldn’t end up with a broken nose, despite how much he probably deserved one.

You had lit the fire to try and cancel out the cold that had seeped in through a forgotten open window, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought it was midnight, not 6 in the morning.

“Hey.”

Looking behind you, you tried your best not to roll your eyes at Lockwood as he walked inside.

“I’m just looking over some old cases. Just so you know that I’m not fraternising with the enemy by reading a book.”

“I shouldn’t have said it like that.” Lockwood began. “I shouldn’t have said it at all. I just…I guess I panicked.”

“That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.”

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

“Really, really sorry. For the fraternising comment and the bullshit excuse.”

You took a minute and it was the longest minute of his life.

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know, that’s why I forgave you. But a cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.”

Lockwood smiled. “Okay. One tea coming up.”

Only, as he walked away, you answered his question.

“And I’m not…fraternising with the enemy. Victor and I were just talking. I think you’d like him. I think he might hate Kipps just as much as you do. And, no.” you shook your head. “I don’t like him. Just so you know…”

Lockwood nodded and for a moment, turned to walk away until Lucy’s words echoed again in his head.

“Do something about it, before somebody else does.”

So he did.

Sighing under his breath, he took the jump, turned around and reached for you.

Taking your head in his hands, he cupped your jaw before bringing your lips to his. At first, it shocked you and for a split second, he thought he was about to get his nose broken for good this time.

Until you kissed back.

You felt yourself stumble a little but Lockwood caught you, holding you close to him before his forehead came to touch yours, your eyes still closed.

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologise.”

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

“So you’re not going to break my nose.”

“Not this time,” you laughed a little.

“Okay…then I’m gonna jump. I like you. Well, I more than like you. Like way, way more. And I…I want to do something about it before someone else does.”

“Like Victor?”

“Yeah,” Lockwood laughed a little. “Like Victor.”

“Then…good. I’m glad you finally jumped.”

“You are.”

You nodded. “I mean, you have terrible timing but yeah, I’m glad you jumped.”

“Good.”

“Good. Now, are you gonna kiss me again or am I gonna have to-”

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fe!reader #quill kipps #lucy carlyle #george karim #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #netflix #lockwood and co fanfic #lockwood fanfic #fluff #angst #swearing #pining #hints of she fell first but he fell harder #falling in love #kissing #ghosts #renew lockwood and co

183 notes · View notes

lewkwoodnco · 3 months

Text

Masterlist

All works written in third person fem!reader

➳ timeless ♡✧✿ 900 w 🖋️

you see your relationship with lockwood reflected in an antiques’ shop and realise you might be more than friends

➳ cruel summer (part 1, part 2) ♡✧✿ 3.2k

you agonise over the push and pull between you and lockwood as you navigate ordinary cases and the Fittes ball together

➳ august (tsitp version) ✶ 1.3k 🖋️💙

haunted by a Changer’s terrible prophecy, you make the difficult decision to leave Lockwood & Co.

➳ the alcott ✶✿ 1.8k 🖋️

after having left Lockwood & Co., lockwood finds you at an old haunt and persuades you to return by mending the rift between you two. can be read as a sequel to august (tsitp version)

➳ I Can See Youᶻ♡✧✿☆ 5.9k 💌

(enemies to lovers, Fittes!reader) as a rival agent at Fittes, you loathe the smug bastard that is anthony lockwood. or love him. one of the two.

➳ and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind✶ 6.3k

after getting laid off from Fittes, you struggle to find another job and struggle even more with accepting lockwood’s affection. can be read as a sequel to I Can See You

➳ You Belong With Me ♡✧✿☆ 2.4k 💌

you stumble along in your relationship with lockwood until he realises no one else is going to feel like home the way you do

➳ False God ✶✿ 4k 💌💙

the tension bubbling between you and lockwood finally pushes you to a breaking point as you leave Lockwood & Co., but someone helps you find your way back home

➳ Question…? ✶✿ 4.8k 💌

you deeply resent your ex-employer after a miscommunication on why he fired you, but the both of you can’t help but terribly miss the other

➳ Dressᶻ✧✿☆ 3.5k 💌

after a spur of the moment kiss when you nearly die on a case, you and Lockwood struggle with staying content as friends

➳ You Are In Love ♡✧✿☆ 2.4k 💌

bit by bit, you realise your love for lockwood over the course of a case

➳ Gold Rush ♡✧✿☆ 2.8k 💌

(friends to lovers) you find your employer utterly deplorable, but can’t help being drawn in by his wayward ways

➳ Safe and Sound ✶✿☆ 2k 💌

(hurt/comfort) you help Lockwood through a nightmare

➳ get him BACK! ♡✧✿ 5.4k 💙

(slight enemies to lovers, Fittes!reader) you hated Lockwood for being such an aggravating personality, and now you hate him even more for proving you wrong

➳ London Boy ♡✿☆ 3.1k 💌💙

(european!reader) anthony lockwood finds his newest employee’s accent terribly adorable

➳ How You Get the Girl ✶✿☆ 4.8k 💌💙

an unresolved fight with lockwood pushes you to leave Lockwood & Co., as you’re convinced he’d be better off with lucy, but he doesn’t give up on you

➳ Invisible String ♡✿☆ 5.4k 💌

(neighbour!reader, estranged friends to lovers) as an old friend, you start becoming more involved in lockwood’s life again with the arrival of lucy carlyle

➳ only love can hurt like this ✶✿☆ 4.7k 💌💙

your boyfriend risks his neck for you one too many times. loving anthony lockwood was anything but easy

➳ buy me presents! ♡☆ 2.6k ❄️💙

[jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood’s version)] spending christmas alone at Portland Row is terribly boring, so you decide to tease your somewhat possessive employer

➳ I got options, babe ♡✧✿☆ 2.6k ❄️❣️

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➳ tis the damn season ✶☆ 5.1k ❄️💙

after going away to boarding school, you visit lockwood for the first time in years but he doesn’t seem ready to forgive you

➳ I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey ♡✧ 720 w 🖋️💙

(first person!reader) it is both a blessing and a curse to love so deeply

➳ Falling For You ♡✿☆ 2.6k ❣️💙

it’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air, and you make a dangerous bet with lockwood over who was a better connoisseur of pick-up lines

➳ so american! ♡✿☆ 3.3k 💙

(american!reader, domestic sweetness) lockwood tries to teach you how to drive in a day in the life of Portland Row’s most nauseating couple

➳ but daddy, I love him! ♡✧✿☆ 3.8k

(socialite!reader) bored out of your skull with your lavish lifestyle, the psychical investigators your father hired provide a welcome change of pace

➳ you look like shit ♡✧☆ 1.5k 🖋️

one time you told lockwood he looked like shit and four times he told you you looked like shit

➳ loveSICK ♡✧ 2.3k 💙

you don’t know what it is you’re coming down with, but you do know it’s Anthony Lockwood’s fault, the bastard.

➳ late nights ♡✧ 800 w 🖋️💙

you fall asleep while waiting for Lockwood to return from a case.

➳ Sneaking Around ♡ 1.6k 🖋️

you and lockwood are in a secret relationship, but unfortunately for both of you, lockwood isn't very good at sneaking around. three times lockwood almost gave it away and the one time you finally did.

➳ guardian angel ♡✶ 3.8k

as a Visitor lingering in 35 Portland Row, you can’t help but worry over Lockwood and his reckless ways.

1989 TV Vault Series (In Progress)

➳ “Slut!”ᶻ ♡✶✿☆ 5.4k

as an up-and-coming agent regularly torn to shreds by malicious tabloids, you decide that you’re better off alone. That is, until you meet anthony lockwood

➳ Say Don’t Go ✶☆ 3.8k

after your apartment gets flooded, you accept lockwood’s invitation to temporarily move into Portland Row, but through unfortunate unforseen circumstances you end up moving out of his life permanently

➳ Now That We Don’t Talk ✧ 3.1k

you try to piece together how lockwood is doing through the gossip rags you once so desperately detested and reflect on how your life has soured without him around to buoy your spirits

➳ love to think you’ll never forget ✶2.5k

blurb set after the phone call with lucy in the previous chapter where you ruminate over bittersweet memories and struggle with feelings of inadequacy

➳ Wildest Dreams ♡✧✿ 3.3k 💌

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➳ After Hours ♡✧✿☆ 2.7k 💌

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➳ Be More ♡☆ 2.8k

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➳ the tortured poets departmentᶻ ✶✿ 3.7k 💙

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➳ Northern Attitude ✶✿ 2.1k 💙

Lucy struggles with a disconnect from Lockwood, who helps her through it

➳ I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey ♡✧ 720 w 🖋️💙

(first person!reader) it is both a blessing and a curse to love so deeply

♡ - fluff

✧ - mild angst

✶ - angst

ᶻ - mild smut

✿ - happy ending

🖋️ - drabble (under 2k)

☆ - popular

💌 - requested

💙 - my favourites

#masterlist #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #fanfiction #locklyle #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader

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bella-rose29 · 7 months

Text

lockwood and co head cannons - playing with hair

(some/a lot of this was influenced by the multiverse of george so thank you 😊)

Lockwood:

let's face it, he's got the hands for this

I imagine he's just really good at it

lazy evenings in the library or living room, sat curled up on a chair together while he strokes his fingers through your hair

super gentle but just the right amount of pressure

definitely puts you to sleep

while he has no idea how to braid hair, he definitely would learn how to if you wanted/had the right hair for it

he'd spend ages trying to do it properly too

probably stick his tongue out in concentration while he tried managing all the different sections of hair

maybe after a case, if it was particularly tough or tiring, he would just help you go to sleep even faster by sitting and playing with your hair

then there's the absent-minded touches

just brief moments where he reaches out to grab a bit/touch his fingers to your hair

just to know that you're still there

Lucy:

she has the perfect hair for running your fingers through

she'll do it for you as well

but more often than not you'll find yourselves sat in such a way that you can bury your fingers in her hair

either her head will be on your chest/stomach while you cuddle on the sofa

or you'll be sat on one of the chairs in the library and Lucy will come and sit between your legs, leaning back against you

and you start absentmindedly running your hands through her hair

if either one of you can't sleep at night for whatever reason then you can bet that whoever needs sleep more will have their hair played with until they fall asleep again

George:

while I don't think George would be a massive fan of playing with hair I do think that he would learn how to braid and other stuff if you wanted him to

but he'd much rather play with your hands than your hair

looking at how your fingers interlock with each other like puzzle pieces that he needs to figure out

feeling every callous and scar on your hands while you do the same for him

he'd be hesitant at first, unsure about initiating the contact

once you'd assured him that it was fine (and also that you thoroughly enjoyed it) he would do it a lot more

sometimes deliberate, nudging your hand with his until you realise what it is he's after and you gladly let him

other times he'll do it subconsciously, like when you're researching together and he'll suddenly start reaching for you and brushing his fingers over yours

or you'll be walking to/from the Archives together and his hand will knock against yours and seconds later he'll be holding your hand and playing with your fingers

tagging @bobbys-not-that-small, @oblivious-idiot, @neewtmas, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco because this is just a collected document of conversations we've had and I feel like you would appreciate

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

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justafandomgvrl · 2 years

Text

Lockwood & Co Headcanons

Sharing a bed with them

George

- probably isn't a massive cuddler

- but will have one of his limbs flung over you to make sure you're still there

- he probably wakes up first most mornings, gazing at your blurry form until he remembers to put on his glasses

- there are always glasses of water next to the bed and you gotta be careful not to knock them over when getting in or out

- there's generally a couple of books at the end of the bed that George forgot to take back to the library

- before you fall asleep, he kisses the top of your head

- he definitely makes the bed every morning

Lucy

- one hundred percent a little spoon

- she likes to feel you wrapped around her, it helps her feel safe

- you probably end up breathing in her hair but it doesn't matter cos you're close to each other

- there's about a hundred teacups on the bedside table, most of them half full from drinking them before passing out

- she almost curls up like a cat, and when you don't spoon, you often end up with her on top of you, limbs splayed everywhere

- it's a tad warm but neither of you mind. you're close, you're safe, and you're relaxed

Lockwood

- big spoon. likes to know he's protecting you, even at night

- there's a thousand blankets on the bed, most of which get kicked off every night

- he still layers them on there though. just in case you get cold

- he doesn't sleep much but knowing that you're asleep in his arms help him to relax

- on the rare occasion that you wake up and he's fast asleep, you daren't move, not wanting to wake him

- he never makes the bed other than tossing the blankets back on it

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cameronspecial · 1 year

Text

Masterlist

Welcome to my writing! Hope you find what you are looking for and if you don’t, then requests are closed. Also just comment or send me a message if you want to be a part of any of my taglists.

Rafe Cameron | 2

Drew Starkey

Zach MacLaren

Anthony Lockwood

George Karim

Evan Buckley

Tom Holland

Peter Parker

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avdiobliss · 10 months

Text

RIGHT. I AM SCREAMING.

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

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rapiersandrings · 1 month

Text

getting back into my heavy lockwood and co obsession….

save me.

#lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood and lucy #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #lucy carlyle #george cubbins #george karim #jonathan stroud #im insane

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lockwoodsbane · 26 days

Text

WHAT I'M HERE FOR

SYNOPSIS: Lockwood's had more than enough scares today, but it seems there is another one waiting for him.

REQUESTED BY: @dinosaursonaspaceship || I’m sorry this took longer than expected, but I hope this is okay!

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

WARNINGS: Mention of injury, brief descriptions of pain, an cute distressed Anthony Lockwood.

It had been an unpredictable day, to say the least, after a case had gone awry, and resulted in back-up being called out of desperation. The group had ended up heading different ways following the arrival of DEPRAC Medics and Officers, and you found yourself sitting across a depleted Anthony Lockwood in the back of the cab home.

You rested your head on the window, eyes shut in search of some form of solace. Lockwood had taken to busy himself with a tabloid he had spotted on a spare seat, but even without looking at him, you knew that brilliantly chaotic mind was racing, both in tension and in relief you’d all made it out okay…well, alive.

George had taken quite a fall down a flight of stairs during the mess, and it was a wonder he hadn’t broken his glasses. Lucy had escaped with a gash across her left cheek, one that would most certainly scar. And Lockwood was, though physically uninjured, shaken, to say the least. His hair, dusty and ruffled, stood on end no matter how hard he had tried to smooth it to a side, as the pair of you had waited in silence for the cab. You’d have found it hilarious, on any other day, but by virtue of the hurting fractured rib you were harbouring, the scene wasn’t too comical at all. The driver turned up the radio, for it seemed he too could sense the tightness radiating off Lockwood in the back of the cab.

“When,” Lockwood began suddenly, lowering the paper a fraction to meet your gaze, “are you going to start telling me when you get hurt during a case?”

An unreadable expression flickered through your tired eyes as they opened, and you pushed yourself out of the awkward position you’d taken up. You sat painfully however you could muster, a wince crossing your face. Lockwood simply stared, nonchalant.

“You’re sitting far too rigid,” he informed you, putting down the paper completely and crossing his arms as though studying you thoroughly. “It’s your side, isn’t it?”

He saw a scowl cross your face. “I’m fine, Lockwood.”

He ignored you. “Did you have it looked at?”

You heaved out a sigh. “I did.”

“And?”

“And what?” He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“What did they say?” He heard you grumble something indistinguishable in return and raised a brow.

“Come again?”

“Fractured rib.” you stated simply and he gaped at you for a moment. It satisfied you, somewhat, to give him a taste of his own medicine with your nonchalance, but Lockwood didn’t seem as though he was going to take this lightly.

“You—” he paused, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. It was normally you who did that. “I’m not even going to bother. Did you take anything?”

You didn’t, not with his very clear desire to leave among all the rushing DEPRAC officers; he looked as though he would explode if he remained on site any longer. “Yeah.”

The rest of the ride home was silent, bar the odd dusty cough from Lockwood, who was still brooding. He noticed your face scrunched up every now and then, but didn’t pull at it again. After all, he was just as knackered as you were. And he wasn’t in the mood for it either.

You lifted your head off the window when the cab stopped, blindly unbuckling your belt with a weak left hand. Lockwood was much faster, out of the door before you’d even shuffled in your seat. He mumbled something as he paid the driver, glancing back briefly to see you stumble slightly as you stepped out onto the pavement. You grabbed ahold of the back of that long coat of his to stay upright. He looked towards the driver with a sheepish forced smile as you straightened up, muttering him an apology.

The cab drove off, and Lockwood turned with a sigh, running his hands over his face before he looked at you. In the glow of the ghost lamp by you, he could finally see how tired you really were, lines etched into your face, your eyes weary and droopy. Concern surfaced over his own face, but he expected he looked no better, turning instead towards the house. He fumbled deep in his pocket for his keys as you grabbed the gate for support. Lockwood fished with more urgency at the sight, both in annoyance and sympathy.

Once he found them, he stood aside to let you into the house first, glancing back in search of George and Lucy. Perhaps they’d made it back already? He hoped so, because he knew George’s first move upon returning would be to brew everyone a steaming cup of tea.

You were still trudging up the steps to the front door irritatingly slowly, but he was far too gone to say anything. He followed you gradually in through the front door, flicking on the light of the hallway.

As he fumbled with the lock, he glanced over to the gap by the rapier stand where you’d all toss your boots in a pile after a case. It was empty, but you were already sitting nearby on the bottom stair, leaning against the wall as you tugged at your boots hopelessly, eyes half-open, laces still tied.

Those boots certainly weren’t coming off like that.

Some sympathy shot through Lockwood at the sight- after all, it was his fault you’d all been dragged through the hell you had today.

He sighed, putting aside for a second both his pride and indignation, crouching before you with a pat on your hand, motioning for you to stop. It didn’t take convincing. You barely reacted in your exhaust, leaning back to rest your head uncomfortably on the step behind you.

Lockwood was quick, untying your laces and slipping the boots off with gentle ease. He placed them down soundlessly, gaze travelling back up to your face, but your eyes were still closed, without a care in the world.

“You alright?” His hand brushed your arm lightly, earning a hum in return. He stood up, and loosened his tie with a hand, taking a deep breath. “Freshen up, I’ll go make us some tea.” His words were more of an order to himself than to you, a reassurance that he would find some comfort tonight, sitting in the dim light of the library with a piping cup of tea.

He nudged you again and you pried open an eye. He picked your boots up and put them by the rack, and kneeled now to untie his own boots as you hoisted yourself to your feet using the railing.

You let out an abrupt cry at the sudden strain at your side, awakening you from your sleepy trance. Lockwood nearly snapped his neck as he looked up, owing to it being the loudest you’d been in hours.

The look on your face made him freeze.

It was twisted up in utter pain, a shaking hand clutching your side. He stared simply for a few seconds, mouth ajar, until it hit him that you were still standing midway up the stairs.

He shot up, and just in time, too, because your knees buckled, and you collapsed backwards down the stairs. He lunged to catch you, but it was more of a case of you falling hard against his chest with a thud, than a graceful catch on his behalf. He muttered a curse, and he pulled you down into the hallway, turning you in his arms so he could see your face. He called your name, ignoring the sickening fire roaring in the pit of his stomach, but those tired eyes fluttered shut without even a glance in his direction. He pressed a shaking hand to your forehead.

Lockwood cursed, pushing your hair back out of your face, in an attempt to bring yourself- or perhaps himself- some sort of comfort, though he didn’t know how. It didn’t work. He shook you, maybe a bit too roughly, but you didn’t stirr, only terrifying the boy more.

But your breathing, shallow, almost like gradual gasps, unnerved him more than the events of the entire day had. He had a feeling George wouldn’t be too happy with the words leaving his mouth right now. He bit back the anxiety clawing at his chest and scooped you up into his arms.

He bared his teeth as he kicked open the living room door; you felt far too light, and it drowned him in worry further. He set you down gently on the couch, brushing your hair back again. Your hand, he noticed, lied against your side almost naturally, as if you could feel the pain even while out cold. Guilt tore at him at the idea, and he realised, after a moment or two, he was tugging at his loosened tie ferociously hard.

“Why wouldn’t you say so?” he whispered, but he knew you couldn’t hear a word. He let go of the tie, but not of his worry, and began to pace, in a chaotic pattern, around the room with such ferocity that it was a wonder the floorboards hadn’t caved in and sent him plummeting down below.

The silence was unbearable, to say the least.

He paused to stare, to watch you anxiously, clawing at his dry throat with a hand in panic. It was suffocating, terrifying, more so than he’d ever felt, and that was saying something, for he’d been through some fairly traumatic experiences over the years. He knew, logically, that he should ring an ambulance, seek help of some sort, but he couldn’t bring himself to move from where he stood rooted to the spot. He decided that he’d wait for you to wake up for a while, rather than bolt down Portland Row screaming for help, despite the urge he felt to do so.

He felt around behind him for his armchair and sunk into it shakily, eyes never leaving your unconscious form for a moment. Lockwood didn’t know how long he had waited, but he had practically jumped up out of his armchair when he heard a groan.

He thought he’d imagined it at first because you were still terribly still, as though in a deep sleep. But he saw your hand twitch by your side, and couldn’t stay away a moment longer. He kneeled beside the couch, relief finally washing over him as you opened your eyes.

It took a moment for your gaze to clear, to drown out the pounding in your head, the buzzing in your ears, and the ache at your rib. You took in your surroundings one by one, the dim lamp of the living room, the fluffy blanket over your body, the warm hand suddenly grasping yours.

The latter made you look up in a daze.

“Hey,” said Lockwood breathlessly, face inches from yours. He forced a smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “You gave me quite a scare.”

His lips tugged upwards when you stared at him clueless, piecing together your location and pain.

“Did I...”

“Pass out?” he grinned. “Yeah. And you’re in trouble, by the way, for not telling me how unwell you were. You’re burning up, so you were definitely feeling that way for quite some time.”

His words may have been scolding in the eyes of another, but you knew better.

Those brown eyes looked down at you with nothing but concern and— perhaps you were imagining it— a look of affection.

“I didn’t think it was necessary...” Your voice trailed off as you looked around again, shifting with a wince. “You were pissed enough already. I thought I could handle it.”

“Oh, you stubborn idiot,” he said. It was like a gentle coo, rather than reprimand. He reached slowly to tuck back a strand of your hair, a grin playing at his lips. “We’re all supposed to handle stuff together, are we not? That’s what I’m here for.”

You could feel colour rising in your face at the tenderness in his voice, but you were far too tired to do anything about it.

“I’m sorry, Lockwood.”

His face softened even more. “I forgive you this time,” he whispered, trailing the back of his hand down your face. “But only because it isn’t my first scare of the day. Never do it again.”

You felt the cold metal band on his finger brush along the bridge of your nose, and you closed your eyes at the touch. It was a wonder Lockwood didn’t physically disintegrate at this, as you and Lucy were so sure he would do if he was ever caught showering someone with obvious affection. It seemed almost as though this was natural to him, an absentminded action, as though he was made to caress your face with endless ease. It made the world around you, the chaos and carnage, all come to a pause. The pain in your body was forgotten, replaced with a feeling of pure bliss you’d never felt anywhere else. It was a warmth like no other, provided by the simple brush of those fingers against your features, but you were void of that warmth far too quickly.

Lockwood lowered his hand, pausing for a moment to tilt his head. He watched as your lips parted and your tired eyes opened, as though there desperate words playing at them. He raised a brow, as though asking you to go on.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it, to explain the feeling of being beside him, before him, with him. You refused to pour out your heart. You’d hid it for so long, and it didn’t seem like that was going to change any time soon. Stubborn, indeed. It hurt almost, but it was a bittersweet pain, the type you’d be willing to stand for a few seconds of bliss.

He was staring at you still, and the second you became conscious of it, you forced yourself onto an elbow painfully in a bid to sit up. He was one step ahead, hoisting you up with ease, propping cushions up behind you. You leaned back, and he joined you hesitantly, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa beside you.

His face was hesitant, as though he was afraid the slightest of movements might bring you pain.

The front door swung open deafeningly with a thud, and you both jumped at the sudden sound. Lockwood was on his feet in a heartbeat, but eased at the familiar voices in the hallway. Lucy trudged into the room moments later, and shot you both a tired smile, but the mark along her face wasn’t easy to ignore.

She seemed aware of this, because she waved a dismissive hand and pulled a familiar white bag from behind her back. She saw you both light up instantly.

“You Godsend!

Lockwood took the bag from her, taking a seat by you giddily and prying it open. As he fumbled through the contents, Lucy dropped into his empty armchair, eyes on you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?” She said, a look of genuine care in her eyes, and you felt a pang of guilt. “George said an officer mentioned it to him.”

As if summoned, George Karim too trudged into the room, pushing his glasses up his nose. He looked at you, wrapped in the blanket, and then at Lockwood by your side. He seemed to decide not to ask how you were, to your slight dismay.

“Arif said hello, hopes you’re both well,” he told you both (well, only you, seeing as Lockwood was more invested in the desserts at hand). He fell onto the other armchair at the far end of the room with a huff. You smiled at him playfully.

“How nice of you to ask how I am, George.” He rolled his brown eyes, but a smile danced across his face.

“I assumed you’d been taken good care of, seeing as you’re in Lockwood’s favourite blanket.”

You stared at him for a moment, baffled, before looking down at the blanket before you. It looked like any other, fluffy and warm. But perhaps that familiar smell of cinnamon and tea bags wasn’t this time coming from Lockwood, as you had assumed. Lockwood looked unbothered, instead handing you a donut and licking the leftover icing off his finger.

Lucy, on the other hand, was smirking, but she rose from her chair, brushing her hands on her clothes with the air of someone who had much to do. She bid you goodnight with a devilish simper, and George followed pursuit, muttering something about backfiring cases and a lack of sleep.

Lockwood, again, seemed far too busy to care, yamming down a white donut as though he’d been held as a hungry captive for days.

“Why’d you get the first pick?” You asked playfully, taking a bite of your own donut.

He looked at you as though it was ridiculously obvious.

“Because you owe it to me after the heart attack you gave me earlier!”

“I thought you said that was forgiven?”

“Forgiven, yes, not forgotten.” He wiggled a brow and grinned at the laugh that left you. Lockwood leaned back against the sofa, and the room was pulled into a silence again, a comforting, homely one.

He glanced sideways at you again, and yet again a grin spread over his face. That casually dashing one, his signature look.

“Tea?”

“Absolutely.”

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader angst #bring back lockwood and co #cameron chapman #george karim #lucy carlyle #ruby stokes #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #netflix #fanfic #jonathan stroud #lockwood and lucy

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